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“You should probably go to bed before I fuck you until sunrise on every inch of this counter.”
He grasps me by my throat. Not in a threatening way, just a dominating, desperate way, like he’s aching for control but only if I’ll give it. “Keep making those sweet sounds and I really will fuck you on every inch of this counter.”
“Do you know how badly I want to spin you around right now and fuck you against the wall? Do you know what a fucking vision you would be with your hair wrapped around my fist while I force you to take every. Fucking. Inch?”
“Then you better start begging like a grateful whore.” I was expecting something like this, but his words still whip me in the face, demeaning and degrading.
“God, you take me so well. So fucking good, baby.”
“But I also don’t need permission to look at what’s already mine.”
“You’re gonna let me use you like a cheap whore. When I tell you to scream, you scream. When I tell you to shut the fuck up, you shut the fuck up.” He holds something black in front of me. I recognize it immediately as the same type of vibrator wand I own. “And when I tell you to come, you fucking come.”
“You point a gun at someone, you better be prepared to kill them. Hesitation, second-guessing, debating the fucking morals of it, is when they put a bullet in your head because I guarantee they won’t be aiming for your goddamn pinky toe. What do you think this is, Harlow? Boy scouts? There’s no honor out there.”
I sputter a curse, and he bites my lip until I yelp with pain and taste blood. He laps up my essence, tracing my bleeding lip with his tongue. “I need to taste you,” he groans before ripping down my leggings and hoisting me back on the ledge. “Spread ’em, a chuisle. Daddy’s fucking ravenous for you, baby.”
