"I was not!" she says it shrilly, her whole face pulsing red. "Ugh, God, you are-" she shakes her head, looking pissed. "You're a pig."
"Never claimed I wasn't."
"Well, I never claimed I wanted you to touch me again."
I grin. "Didn't have to, sweetheart. It's all over your face."
"Get over yourself, asshole. You think cause you've got this cocky attitude and the whole macho bad boy thing, and the sexy loft, and the big-"
She stumbles, her face going red.
"Oh, please continue."
Her face burns, and she hastily looks away. "You think all that makes you this irresistible gift to-"
"My big what?"
Her eyes dart back, flickering.
"Say it."
She swallows. "You're disgusting."
"I never said I was Prince Charming, sweetheart."
"Good, because you're not."
"And what am I."
I move closer, and she shivers before she suddenly gets up and steps away. "I need to- we're done having this conversation."
"You started it, sweetheart."
"Well I wish I hadn't," she snaps. She steps across the room angrily before she stops and whirls back in a huff.
"Where's the shower?"
"Upstairs. Hang on, I'll-"
"I can shower myself."
"And I wasn't offering. I was going to go see if there was anything of Nora's you could wear here."
Shit, I could use a change of clothes too.
"Oh," her mouth goes small, her hands clasping and twisting in front of her chest. "Thanks."
"You are so welcome, princess," I mutter sarcastically.
She gives me a look before she whirls and stalks up the stairs, leaving me watching that ass walk away and trying to will my cock to deflate even a little bit.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sierra
What an asshole.
I shut the water off in the ancient upstairs bathroom and grab the towel from the edge of the sink.
An asshole, but he was right, about what I was suggesting. Even if I wasn't even trying to suggest it, I kind of was, at least in the back of my mind.
Apparently that's exactly how it came out, too.
Because it's like I'm addicted to him, as bad as I know he is, like he's a smoking habit or something. There's something about his roughness, and his crudeness, and the easy way he handles a gun or tosses me around.
The way he dominates me so fiercely.
And the fact that he's more than those things, even if I hate that I'm looking deep enough to see that.
I finish drying my hair and patting dry my skin, and I wrap the towel around myself before I step out of the bathroom. I immediately glance down to my feet to see clothes folded on the floor - a girl's pink t-shirt with a Care Bear on it and some sleep shorts. Nora's apparently.
I retreat back into the bathroom and slip them on. I frown, and actually almost laugh as I glance in the mirror.
Apparently, Nora hasn't been here in a while. Or maybe Nora is still twelve, but I doubt it. In any case, the clothes are way too small, which would be funny if their, uh, smallness didn't make them, well...
My face burns as I eye my getup in the mirror.
I look like a stripper trying to pull off some sort of naughty babysitter or schoolgirl costume.
I start to peel them off before I think about the alternatives: my clothes from days ago, or the towel.
After that, it's a pretty easy pill to swallow.
I'm still trying to stretch the shirt out a little as I pad back down the stairs into the living room. Immediately, I can feel his eyes on me, burning right into me and devouring me.
I swallow. I know that look.
It's hungry.
"What," I mutter, frowning.
"Apparently you're a size bigger."
My jaw drops. "Wow, you know exactly what to say to a girl to make her-"
"No, I meant you're a size bigger than Nora from when she was twelve. Relax."
I cross my arms over my chest and head the rest of the way down the stairs, grabbing a blanket from the back of the lazy-boy chair in the corner and draping it around myself. Connor hands me a glass of whiskey, and I snatch it from him before dropping down into the easy chair.
He smirks. "Pouting about the shirt?"
"No, I just don't need to stoop to your level."
"My level?"
"Being gross and filthy."
"I think you like it when I'm gross and filthy."
"Well, you're wrong."
Immediately, I hate the thoughts I had about his sexy roughness and his masculine dominance back in the shower.
"Says the girl that was drooling for my cock earlier."
My mouth flies open. "You've got some nerve!"
"Why fight it?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why pretend I'm not right?"
My face burns hot as I glare at him.
The truth is, I don't know. I don't know why I fight it, maybe because I feel like I should. Maybe because I feel like giving in and saying yes to the wicked desire he brings out in me is letting go of myself completely and fulfilling this Stockholm syndrome prophesy.
"Princess, we both know that uptight, prudish, good-girl pussy is dripping for me right now."
Something sizzles inside of me. Something burns hot like fire, something I want to squash down but know I can't.
"It is not," I say quietly.
"Prove it."
I swallow. "You'd love that wouldn't you."
"I would."
He says it evenly, his voice edged in steel. I rake my teeth over my lip, eyeing him right back.
"Show me."
His eyes burn into mine from across the room, and I quickly take a sip of my drink.
"No."
His eyes flash fire.
"I said show me," he growls.
Something pulses inside of me, like this fire sparking to life and quickly consuming everything it touches.
Because I love the crudeness. I melt at the way he commands. And I start to get very hot in places I shouldn't at how freaking unbelievably cocky and self-assured he is to even say this stuff to me.
"Why should I?"
"Because I know you want to. Because I know you're dying to see how far you can go with that bad girl facade you like to put up."
I purse my lips, feeling the fire raging inside of me - feeling the telltale wetness bloom hot between my legs.
"Facade, huh?"
"Then prove me wrong." His face smirks at me – supremely confident and infuriatingly self-assured.
I take another big gulp of whiskey, letting it burn.
I can't believe I'm going to do this. I can't believe how much I want to do this. Something about him commands me and makes me want to say yes to this.
No matter how wrong it is.
Slowly, I reach under the blanket, hook my thumbs into the waist of the shorts, and pull them down. I bite my lip as I slip them over my ankles, all under the blanket, before I slowly pull them out.
Connor cocks a brow, and when I fling them across the room at him, he grins.
"Now show me."
"You first."
I don't know how it comes to my mouth, but there it is, tumbling out.
Connor grins. "Well, well, well."
I bite my lip, not trusting myself to say another thing.
His hands go to his belt, and I swallow thickly, my eyes glued to his lap. He undoes the buckle, looking right at me, and pops the button on his dark jeans. I swallow as he tugs on the zipper, my breath coming heavier and more labored with every tug.
He reaches in, and I actually gasp as he slowly pulls it out.
Jesus Christ, he's big.
His hand wraps around his cock, making it jump and pulse as he slowly strokes it from base to tip. I take a shaky breath, and I look up to meet his eyes, seeing them spark as they glare right into me.
"Now show me."
There's no resistance this time. I'm just panting and nodding.
And so fucking wet for him.
Slowly, I move the blanket off of my lap, shivering as his eyes drink me in. His gaze dips over me, over the too-tight t-shirt hugging my breasts, my nipples poking through obscenely. Over my bare mid-drift, down lower.
"Spread your legs."
And I do.
"Spread them wide," he growls.
And I know he can see how damn wet I am. I know he can see my arousal glistening in the firelight.
"Touch your pussy," he growls.
And I do.
My hands slide up my bare thighs, my breathing coming faster as I feel the heat and the whiskey and the rawness of this pulse through me. I take a shaky breath as my fingers find my wetness, and when I brush a finger over my clit, I gasp, my eyes locked on him across the small living room.
My breath catches, and a moan tumbles from my lips.
"Good girl," Connor groans, stroking his cock in time to my fingers on my clit.
The room swirls as the blood roars through my ears. I feel so dirty and so bad, and I love it.
Connor stands, and I whimper as he moves towards me. I start to move to cover myself, but he shakes his head, his eyes locked on mine.
"No, keep touching yourself."
I moan as I bring my hand back, watching with hooded eyes as he drops to his knees in front of the chair. His hands move to my legs, his touch electrifying on my thighs as he spreads them even wider. I moan as he pushes them back, hooking my knees over the arms of the easy chair so I'm so open and wide for him.
He leans in, and I can feel his breath on my pussy.
"Just like that, gorgeous," he groans, his breath like silk over my skin. "Play with that pussy for me."
I cry out as his tongue finds my center, teasing and pushing inside. I moan, bucking against his face as he tongues my slit, my fingers still playing with my clit. His tongue pushes deep, his hands spreading my thighs wide for him as he groans into me.