Page 10 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
Slapped him, laughed in his face, said he was no better.
But I didn't.
Because I wanted it too.
The realization hit sharp and clear, lightning through the bullshit.
I wanted him.
From that first look under the stage lights, from his hesitant fingers, from deciding to come here—I wanted him.
Pure, raw attraction. Every cell craved his rough handling, his brutal claiming.
His fingers hooked my panties' edge, ripped them off with a snap.
"You proved," he stared, eyes full of lust, "you're here to fucking seduce me."
His fingers plunged in without warning; I arched up.
"Ah... how dare you..." First time feeling this, I couldn't hold back the cry.
"Soaking wet already," he murmured, fingers sliding slowly in and out. "Mouth says revenge, body tells the truth."
"No..." I bit my lip, face flushing hot.
"No what?" He added a finger, sped up. "No, you don't want me to fuck you?"
His thumb circled that sensitive nub.
"Then why so wet here?"
Words failed. I bit my lip harder, fighting embarrassing sounds.
"Don't hold back." He ordered, other hand gripping my chin, forcing eye contact. "I want to hear you scream."
His fingers curved, hit that melting spot.
"Ah—!"
"That's it," he said, satisfied, then dipped, sucking my nipple.
Tongue and fingers worked together; I shook all over.
"Beg me." He lifted his head, eyes cruelly playful. "Beg me to fuck you."
"No..."
"Not begging?" Fingers pulled out; emptiness hit.
"You—"
"Beg." He teased the entrance, circling but not entering. "Say you want me to fuck you."
I bit my lip, refusing.
But his fingers lingered, tormenting without relief.
"Say it," he commanded.
