Page 30 of Jig's Last Dance

“Let go,” I hiss, but he ignores me. “What’s the matter, baby? Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad. Why are you acting this way?”

He shrugs, and I growl. “You’re a dick!”

“Whatever. What’s your deal, Alice?”

“My deal? How about go fuck yourself.”

“Until I know what the fuck is going on with you, I’m gonna be all up in your ass,” he says, dropping my arm with a frown.

“I don’t fucking care what you do, Jig. This isn’t about you. I didn’t ask to come to your home. You fucking insisted.”

“I know, so when everything fades away, so will you. Until then, you better watch yourself.”

“I don’t answer to you. Get a grip. You’re fucking delusional.”

“This would be easier if you’d let me fuck you,” he says, his eyes shining.

“What?” I sputter.

“Yeah, with my dick in all your holes, maybe you’ll be a good little bitch.”

“Unbelievable.” I shake my head. “Does your mother know you’re a misogynistic asshole?”

He smiles, but it’s more a baring of his teeth. “My mama thinks I’m an angel.”

Sensing I crossed a line, I shut my trap and back away, wrapping my arms around my middle. His cold eyes follow my actions, taking on a cruel gleam when he glances at my chest before he raises his brows. “Where’d your tits go?”

Lead fills my veins, and I pause. Despite his obvious bid to hurt me, I still have to resist the urge to cover my chest, looking away from his unexpected jab. Is that what he sees when he looks at me?

Again, fucking stupid. I think I’m losing my mind. He’s making me lose my mind.

Sucking in a breath, I hiss, “That’s not what you were saying when you were groping them, fucker.”

His eyes flicker. “Like I said, a hole’s a hole.”

Of course, this fucker is unreal. Screwing my mouth into a bitchy smile, I say, “You’ll never see any of my holes again.”

“Great. We’re agreed. You’re not my type anyway,” he says, rolling his eyes over me with a curl to his lip.

“This is insanity,” I mumble.

“What? You need another go? Fine, get on your knees, and I’ll let you suck my dick.”

All I can do is stare dumbly, caught between kneeing him in the junk and crying like a little bitch. He smirks, grabbing his package and squeezing, “One taste of this dick, and you’re drunk on it.”

“More like full-on sick,” I say, turning away.

“Consider it a favor for the old man. Maybe you’ll be easier to handle without that stick up your ass,” he calls out.

I don’t stop, but I do say over my shoulder in my most frigid tone, “I’ll let him know.”

When he doesn’t answer, I glance back to find his smirk gone, replaced by a frown as he rubs his mouth. “Look, Alice, if you’re planning something, don’t. I don’t want to go any further.”

Stopping in my tracks, I swing around, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Are you threatening me?” I bite my lip to hide the tremble, and he zeros in on it before looking away.

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