“You don’t even know me.” Jericho snorted. “I’d wager I know you better than almost anyone.” He gripped his chin. “Does anybody else know how easily you submit?” He captured Atticus’s bottom lip with his teeth, tugging gently, before letting it go. “Does anybody else know how you sound when you moan my name, when you beg me to fuck you, how your eyes get all cloudy when I tell you to open up for me?” Atticus could feel himself falling under Jericho’s spell. Whatever magic his words carried pulled him under to that place where nothing mattered but him.
