“What else can you do with those hands?” I ask. “I’m not answering that.” “Chicken.” He goes still. So fucking quiet and still. Then slowly, methodically, he sets the brush down on the mattress in my line of sight. Worry tingles up my spine. I’m in for it now. He wraps my hair around his fist, and with an eye-watering yank, he cranes my neck at an uncomfortable angle. “Stop taunting me.” His mouth touches my ear, the gentle caress at odds with his tone. “You won’t like the consequence.”
