Page 53 of I'm sorry, Princess
The cameras aren’t working.
The cameras. Aren’t. Working.
Breathe, Serena. Breathe.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, my voice sharp with frustration as I try to suppress the panic rising in my chest. “And why the hell is the door locked?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, amusement flickering in those cold, unrelenting blue eyes.
“Sit down.” His voice slices through the air, cold, firm, absolute. It’s not a request; it’s a command, one that makes my spine lock and my breath stutter.
My eyes flicker to the floor. The handcuffs, open, discarded like they were never there. My pulse spikes. Now the restraints are useless metal at his feet, and he’s looking at me like I’m the one caught.
“I’m not going to freaking sit down!” I snap, my frustration boiling over. “Open the door and let me go. I’m not in the mood to play your sick games.”
His amusement only grows, a wicked smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
And despite everything, the fear, the frustration, the absolute insanity of this situation, I can feel my heart pounding harder.
Because as much as I hate this sick man, I hate even more that I’m attracted to him.
But I can’t let him win.
I can’t let myself give in.
“You’ll be in the mood for many things, baby,” he says, his voice low and sinful, dripping with confidence. “You’ll beg me to fuck your beautiful pussy, you’ll scream my name, you’ll wish for me to claim you as mine, and you’ll fucking love it.”
Claim you as mine. Make you scream my name.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hand flies up and slaps him.
The sound echoes in the room, sharp and shocking, and my heart slams against my ribs.
Oh my Gosh.
His head tilts slightly to the side, his jaw tightening for a moment, but then…
He smirks.
That arrogant, dangerous smirk that makes my stomach twist into knots.
What the hell was he thinking, saying those things to me?
What the hell was I thinking, reacting this way?
Because no matter how furious I am, no matter how much I hate his filthy words, I can’t deny how my body betrays me.
My nipples harden under the fabric of my dress, and a heat pools between my thighs, spreading, consuming me.
I hate him for this.
I hate him for making me feel this way, for making me want him.
Because the truth is, I do.
I want to be his. I want him to claim me, to make me scream his name until there’s nothing left of me but him.
But we could never have a relationship.
