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Like hell my father would be getting my body. They might as well ship me to a fucking Applebee’s.
It sounded like another opportunity for Dylan to get his dick wet and for me to spend another two and a half minutes pretending that submitting to an overgrown Mr. Potato Head was remotely stimulating.
“Proof that my body—my life—is yours. It always has been and forever will be. Use me how you see fit. Whether that’s to win the game or throw to me away. Just say the words.”
“Seems like you really want to be used by me. Isn’t that right, Killer Kohl?”
“Show me how wet I make you,” I ordered. “Show me how twisted and fucked up that head of yours really is… How bad you want me even as I tell you how worthless you are.”
“Beg,” I demanded. “Beg for me, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you for the time being.”
“Please forgive me, goddess,” they begged, their voice husky. “Please. I’ll do anything. Make me your fuck toy. Destroy me in front of the entire world. I don’t care who sees, as long as you forgive me.”
“Kohl chokes me harder than that when we fuck,” I taunted, my voice hoarse. “You’re losing your touch, Wolff.”
