Page 27 of Pitiful Lies

He rubs my palm along his impressive boner, and of course, my pussy reacts. I feel my panties grow damp and I squirm.

Fuck this.

I try to remove my hand, but his grip is relentless. He doesn’t let me pull away, just smirks and his cock jumps beneath my grip.

“See? You don’t have to worry about me satisfying you, Little Doll. I am more than up for it.”

“Fuck you,” I snap and this time I succeed in pulling away.

“Not yet, Koukla. But when I do decide to fuck you, you'll be begging me. I got everything you need right here.”

“Arrogant much?” I mutter.

“It ain't arrogance if it's the truth, Little Doll.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you and your pencil dick can go fuck yourself. I have my own boyfriend who can take care of my needs whenever I want!” I tell him angrily.

“The fuck did you say?”

It’s like the air gets sucked out of the car and I glance at Angel. He looks and sounds pissed.

Like really pissed.

But so am I.

“What’s the matter? Can't understand me? I'll say it slow then. I. Don't. Need. You.”

He grunts and jerks the wheel. I slap my hands against the dashboard as he cuts off an eighteen wheeler and pulls over on the shoulder of I95.

“Not that part,” he says, turning to pin me with his icy stare.

“What fucking boyfriend?” Angel demands.

The temperature in the car seems to have jumped ten degrees and I am panting. But I don’t know if it’s because of the heat or the fact he looks so goddamn sexy with the vein in his neck jumping and his chiseled jaw set in a tight line.

“What?”

I lick my lips.

“Gimme a name, Koukla.”

“There’s n-no name,” I say, moving back against the door as he leans forward.

Angel is so close. And he smells so good. Like spicy cologne and man.

“Don't you fucking try to protect him from me. I told you once, you're mine. And if some fucker thinks he can have what's mine, then I need to set him straight. Now give me a name.”

“Oh my God. Um, I wasn't talking about a man,” I whisper, embarrassment making my cheeks burn.

“Is it a woman? Doesn’t matter. I'll let her know she needs to go, too. Now who is it?”

Angel is holding my face with one hand, and the other is resting on the console. It should make me uncomfortable. But it just makes me hot for him.

The fucker.

“Oh my God,” I say, and I grip his wrist. But he is immovable.

“Angel, it's not a man or a woman,” I hiss. “It's BOB!”

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