Page 41 of Dirty Martini
He shakes his head, a humorless dark chuckle leaving him as his eyes flick up to mine. “It’s not happening anymore. He’s going nowhere near you. He doesn’t get to touch you like this again.”
I’m momentarily knocked out of my daze, and I shove at his unmoving chest. “You don’t get to tell me that.”
“Yes, I fucking do,” he snaps, then his hand leaves the inside of my pants to wrap around my throat. He forces my head to the side so my cheek glides across the glass window, all of Miami privy to this brutal moment between us. His lips hover over my jaw until he bites down hard, causing me to whimper. “Because everything about you is mine now.”
I gasp, trying to wiggle out of his hold. “I’m not yours.”
“Wanna fight me?” he teases. Deftly unbuttoning my pants, he forces them down and over my thighs, my clothed cock straining toward him. “This is the way shit is going to be from now on, Everest. Whether you like it or not, the only one getting a piece of this sweet ass isme.”
“You hate me,” I argue through gritted teeth, trying my hardest to not purr as he pulls down my underwear and my cock is hit with cool air.
“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re mine. Mine to torture. Mine to hate.” His hand encircles my cock with a confidence he shouldn’t have as his lips graze mine. “Mine to fuck.”
I shake my head slowly. I’m too distracted by his hands on me to think straight. It’s unbelievable that his cruel words are turning me on this much, making me sticky and fumbling with need. He’s playing the game so beautifully, and I’m too weak to resist. “This isn’t fair.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he says, working the hem of my shirt up. “Get naked.Now.”
“Why?” I ask breathlessly, but I’m already lifting my arms over my head so he can slip off my shirt.
“Because I’m going to fucking ruin you tonight,” he tells me as he pulls me by my throat and shoves me onto the bed. “Ruin you for that fucker Knox and ruin you for anyone else.” He crawls over me, almost breathing me in, hovering just above my bare skin. “Gonna make it so that the only name you scream out when you come is mine.”
“Rhys…”
“Tell me I can,” he whispers, walking his fingers down my chest. “Tell me you want me.”
I raise an eyebrow. Even though every part of me feels like melting into this, screaming out for him, I still try to resist. “And what if I don’t?”
He snickers. “Then you’re a damn liar.”
I would be a liar. I’ve wanted even just a piece of Rhys since I was a kid. Not like this, but something that claimed some sort of ownership. Something that made me special to him like no one else was, not even Elton. Now it’s different. It’s like I want to claim him as mine. Fight tooth and nail for his attention, whatever way I can get it. That brutally wicked and devious attention that demolishes me. That magnetically cruel praise that tempts all the darker parts of me.
Our game.
No more white flags. No more cease-fires.
Let’s go to hell.
“I want you,” I say, and the combination of terror and excitement is so incredibly erotic. He shoves my hips up so I can shimmy out of my jeans, a victorious smirk on his plush lips when I start on my underwear. “I fucking hate that I do.”
He scoffs as he gets up and walks to my nightstand to grab my lube, tossing it onto the bed. For a moment, he just stares, and I think the sight of me naked and waiting might change his mind. At least, it looks like it.
He looks at me with nothing but lustful disgust because he hates how much he wants me. Because he loathes himself for what he’s about to do, but he can’t control it anymore. We both know this is wrong, and we’re willingly falling into madness.
“Me too. Now, get yourself nice and loose for me.”
It’s almost comical how quick I am to comply. I messily coat my fingers, keeping my eyes trained on him as I pull one knee up to my chest to open myself up. With each piece of clothing he sheds, I push my limit even further. It’s erotic torture watching him as I touch myself. The hard expanse of his chest that’s dotted every now and then with dark beauty marks. His thick thighs dusted in dark hair. His hard cock jutting out proudly, eager for me. I stretch myself to the brim, never escaping those hooded eyes that only watch my face, as if he’s getting more pleasure seeing my reaction than the act itself.
He gets a condom from his wallet, putting it on with careful and purposeful fingers. All the while I’m fucking myself, but my body is screaming out for him. I’m ready, but he just stands there. I don’t know what he’s waiting for until he smirks when I let out a choked groan.
“Do it.” Stroking his angry cock, he tilts his head in complete mockery of me. “Beg me.”
“No,” I spit. I refuse to. I’d rather make myself come just like this than give him the satisfaction.
There’s an almost feral tilt to his lips, a split second of silence before he’s on me, hauling me by my hips and flipping me over. With one hand pressed against the small of my back, he traps me against the mattress, teasing his cock through my crease.
“I won’t fuck you unless you ask me nicely,” he taunts, driving me mad by his smooth strokes, the way he fits me perfectly, the tease for more.
But I hold my ground. I grit my teeth and thrash under him. “Never. You’re going to be the one begging.”
