Page 97 of The Villain

He hangs up and starts cursing under his breath. After he takes a few sharp breaths he starts pacing around to get ready for the day.

“Are you going to be in a bad mood all day?” I ask as he tosses his clothes for the day onto the bed. His movements are borderline abusive they’re so aggressive.

“No,” he says flatly. He’s not bothering to make it sound like the truth. His acting has gone out the window now that he’s more comfortable with me.

“What’s the problem?” I sit up to move the laptop and figurine to his nightstand, out of the path of restrained violence.

He turns to me with a scowl and gestures to his crotch. The obvious erection hidden by his pants doesn’t look like it’s going away any time soon.

“This is what’s wrong. This. Every single time we get close, someone interrupts. Every time we start to understand each other, there’s a fucking phone call. I’m getting to the point that killing them all is going to become my number one solution to it.”

I nod placidly, which seems to make him madder. He turns his back to me and begins slamming drawers in his dresser.

“You don’t seem pissed about it at all,” he snaps over his shoulder.

He’s very wrong about that.

I glance at the phone on the pillow. A game will fix this for both of us easily.

While he goes into his closet I put the phone on the nightstand, set to silent, and plug it back in. I turn to face him on my knees with my thighs spread open.

He comes out with a shirt in his hand and sees me. He stops and stares at the apex of my thighs.

I tap the space between my knees with a finger. “Sit down.”

“I can see how wet you are. You’re soaked,” the cold tone turns into a moan halfway through. His tongue slicks his lower lip. “I can’t sit there if you want to get shit done today. Tera is on her way.”

I snap my fingers, cutting off his excuses. The sound brings his attention to my face sharply.

“Sit down. Let’s play a game.”

A muscle works in his jaw. He’s debating on arguing further. If he does, it’s his loss, but he’ll never know it.

Instead of the verbal berating and the stomp away I’m anticipating, he tosses the shirt beside me and sits down between my thighs.

“You think massaging my shoulders will help, baby?” He taunts me.

I press against him from behind and settle my lips by his ear. Then I reach up to wrap a hand around his throat and press my palm into it. Not enough to hurt, but enough that he knows I’m willing to go there.

“You have ten minutes to cum. No interruptions allowed. Get to work.”

He sucks in a surprised breath. His muscles start shaking as my words sink in. I rise on my knees to get a good view.

He hasn’t moved, but his breathing has gone rough.

“You like putting on shows for me, don’t you? I’m dying to watch this.”

I nip his ear and then soothe the mark with my tongue. I start pressing my palm a little harder into his windpipe, careful not to damage. A subtle threat.

His hands go to his pants, sliding them over his erection until it’s revealed. It hasn’t gone down at all. If anything, precum is starting to bead at the tip.

“That’s better. You’re always so hard it seems painful. Is it?” I ask in a voice gone raspy and soft.

“Around you? Yes. Ten minutes isn’t enough,” he protests. His fingers are curling in his pants, wrinkling the fabric in a tight grip.

“Less than that now,” I kiss his neck with a flick of my tongue. “If you don’t manage, then you get to suffer for the rest of the day. Get to work.”

“Let me use your hand,” he bargains.

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