Page 33 of The Vixen

He’s gonna kill me.

My heels kick his naked rear in pathetic little jabs that grow weaker by the second.

He doesn’t relent.

He watches me fade with a look that suggests he’s holding something foul behind his lips. And is desperate to spit.

I should’ve known.

The black spots expand until Sawyer’s hatred begins to fade—only to snap back into view when the vice around my neck releases.

I gasp and sputter as his mouth plants to my ear. He lets go of my wrists and forms a cage around my head with his arms, his bodyweight suffocating. My chest barely rises against him as I suck in shallow breath after shallow breath.

“Is this what you wanted, Luna?”

Rhetorical.

Hot breath assaults my ear as he thrusts inside me in a rageful jerk.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Wait.

But he doesn’t impale me a second time. His forearm shifts to my neck and he leans until my breath is cut off again.

My eyes snap open, but before I can struggle, he eases off.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Not rhetorical.

“No,” I rasp.

He cuts my airway off as a muscle jumps in his cheek. His jaw is clenched so hard that two sharp lines slope his neck.

Wrong answer.

Think.

Can’t breathe.

Think.

Why does this feel familiar?

My eyes widen at a memory that bursts through my mind. Another time. Another game.

Sawyer must sense when I have the answer because he eases his forearm off my neck and waits.

I choke on a breath before shredding the word: “Yes.”

Pressure on my throat—not enough to cut, but enough to threaten.

“Yes, I want this,” I cry. “I wantyou.”

He keeps staring. Not good enough.

“Please Sawyer,” I whine, eyes watering as if they’re being squeezed. Emotionless tears roll to my ears that I hope he mistakes as sad. Maybe he’ll pity me. “Please fuck me.”

I watch his mouth, wait for the twitch of a smile. For victory to soften his hatred.