Page 29 of Lost Petal

This is sick.

Was there something in the food? Did he drug me without me knowing?

A gasp flees my lips when he turns me around to face him, and again I expect him to push me down on the bench, to spread my legs and take from me without asking for consent.

And again, he doesn’t act according to my expectations. Instead, he locks me in a tight embrace, grabbing a fist of hair at the back of my head to force my gaze to meet his. His cock is pressing against my mound, reaching up to my belly button with a promise for pain. He must be big, massive even.

His dark hazel eyes are hazy with lust, lacking the tear-filled terror of mine. Greedy desire is written all across his handsome features, yearning for me, wanting so much more, while he’s tormented by restraint.

Why this restraint, though? Why doesn’t he just get it over with?

“Listen,” he hisses, the expression on his face tensing as if he were in pain. “I’m going to touch you now. And, my dear Petal, if you’re wet...”

He pauses, a dangerous flicker scurrying across his face before he adds, “May God help you.”

I feel inclined to tell him there’s no way in hell I could get wet from this. From being treated like a caged animal, a possession that can be kept and trained to its master’s desire. He must be insane if he thinks I—or anyone—would ever enjoy this.

But my convictions are being refuted when his hand finds its way between my legs. He pinches the inside of my thighs, beckoning me to widen my stance and grant him more leeway in my most intimate place. I close my eyes in shame, only to evoke a harsh response from him.

“No. Look at me!” he hisses. “You keep looking at me, Petal. Don’t you dare hide away from me.”

My lashes flutter nervously when I give in to his command, meeting his dark gaze while I feel his fingers at my core. I jerk when his fingertips meet the soft skin on my bare lips, gently spreading them apart. He draws in a deep breath before moving further, sliding between my lips with ease.

Because I’m wet. My body’s betrayal makes me blush, robbing me of any excuses when a sinister smile spreads across his face and he asks, “What’s this, my little Petal?”

I’m trembling, trying to find an explanation for this, anything. How is this possible? How can my body refute my mind in such a demeaning way?

“You’re dripping,” he adds, stating the obvious as he lets one finger glide between my folds. The motion is accompanied by a treacherous slick sound, emphasizing my body’s betrayal.

He tightens his embrace, pulling my chest against his while his fingers find my sensitive center, drawing circles around my clit. I can’t suppress a moan, unsure whether it’s out of pleasure or repulsion. It could be both. My mind is so foggy, so weakened and lost, I don’t even know what to feel anymore.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers into my ear as I melt into him, giving up the fight I was so determined to lead against him and his perverted actions.

I close my eyes, and this time he lets it go without warning, just like I let him push me down on the bench. The leather is cold against my back, but so much softer than the concrete I’ve spent too much time on. It cushions my strained body, aligning with the shape of my back as I lie down.

His fingers never leave my core, not for one second, continuing their soothing massage while still sparing my clit. A scare jumps through my chest when he spreads my legs apart, but the intrusion I fear doesn’t come. Instead, he moves next to the bench, staying close while his massage now includes my sensitive nub. The sensation is so unexpected, so fierce and sudden, it causes me to arch my back and my eyes open in shock.

He’s at my side, still caressing my wet center, while his eyes rest on me. I meet his gaze, trying to read the expression on his face to understand what’s happening. He’s not smiling, but displaying an expression of tense focus, and when he lets a finger slide inside me while still caressing my clit with his thumb, we both groan in unison.

“Come for me, Petal,” he hisses. He’s breathless, and his face is just as flushed as mine.

I’m so confused. At all of this.

Why is he doing this? Why does he stop here?

Why am I moving my hips in rhythm with his strokes?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I try to fight it, to hold on to that last piece of sanity that I hold so dear. But when I lift my head, about to rip myself apart from this unwelcome bliss, he tenderly pushes me back down, placing his hand on my right boob and squeezing it gently.

“No,” I breathe in protest.

In response, he intensifies his pressure on my clit while adding another finger to spread my channel. I can’t ignore the wave of pleasure that comes with his motion. I just can’t.

His touch on my boob tightens, adding another spark of ecstasy through my trembling body when he takes my nipple between two fingers and pinches it. Hard.

I repeat my former exclamation of objection, but it’s too late—and he knows it. He can feel the spasms before I’m ready to admit they’re there.

I’m coming. I’m climaxing on this man’s fingers, robbed of any chance to betray him. I wanted to trick him, to lie to him and stand my ground while I only pretended to follow his demand.

He took that away from me. He made me climax against my will, relishing each and every single wave of pleasure as they steal control away from me, making me squirm and groan with relief beneath his intimidating gaze.

It feels so wrong.

So twisted.

So breathtakingly perfect.

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