Slowly, still staring straight into my soul, Sasha pushes me onto the massage table, laying me out on my back. His hand is a slow pulse inside my throbbing pussy. “Still hate me?” he growls down from where he towers above me. “Yes.” My nails score the underside of his wrist. “Despise you.” “Good.” He adds a second finger. “Hate me louder.” “I h-ha… h-hate…” “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
