“Why do you always fuck me with your clothes on?” “Because you want me to take them off,” he says simply, his touch light as he fingers the chain on my waist. “I like the way you act like a spoiled bitch when you don’t get what you want.” “I’m not a bitch.” “Those hickeys on your neck say bitch,” he taunts me, repeating the exact same words Easton said to me yesterday. “My bitch.”
