Page 44 of Can You Take It?

“Ask me to stop,” he tells me.

I know how this game goes. Asking to stop doesn’t make it stop, and the thought of Richard disappointing me is the last thing I want, considering how much I sort of like the guy—or did before I found out about his stalking abilities. So, I don’t say a word, and I don’t want it to stop.

“Ask me to stop,” he repeats his command by brushing the tip of the gun against my clit, and I arch my back in a silent invitation for him to continue. I grab his hair and pull him closer.

“Enjoy your pretty privilege,” I whisper in his ear.

Chapter 14

RICHARD

The way Izel is arching her back, the hunger in her eyes, it’s the non-verbal consent I need to keep going. I can tell she’s enjoying it, and I’m not about to disappoint her. Her body is responding to me.

I press the cold metal of the gun against her clit, making slow, deliberate circles. Her eyes flutter shut, and a low moan escapes her lips. Her hips push forward, seeking more contact, more friction. The need in her movements is undeniable.

“You have no idea how much control I’m using not to destroy you right now, Izel. I could break you, ruin you if I wanted to.”

She breathes out, “Get in line.”

Her response ignites a flare of jealousy within me. How many men has she allowed to dominate her like this? Was it even consensual, or did she revel in the danger and power play? The thought of other men touching her, controlling her, makes my blood boil. But I don’t get to voice these thoughts because she starts gyrating her hips against the gun, lost in her own desperate need for release.

With my free hand, I grip her hip, holding her steady. I lean in close, brushing my lips against the shell of her ear. “When I’m done with you, there won’t be a line left to join,” I whisper.

I press the gun deeper against her clit, then slide it lower, parting her slick folds.

“Oh god,” she whispers, though whether it’s a plea for mercy or for more, I can’t tell.

“Begging already?” I taunt softly. “I thought you were stronger than that.”

“I am strong,” she says. “But you’re making it hard to remember that.”

“Good,” I murmur, pushing the gun slowly, deliberately deeper inside her. The cold metal parting her warm, wet flesh elicits a sharp gasp from her lips, followed by a scream of pleasure that rips through the room.

I hold her hips firmly, controlling her movements as I work the gun inside her, watching her every reaction. Her body quivers, her back arching as she tries to accommodate the intrusion. Her breaths come in ragged, uneven gasps, and I can feel her muscles tightening around the gun.

“Look at you,” I whisper. “You’re acting like you’re enjoying this.”

Her eyes flutter open. “No,” she whispers, but her body betrays her, pushing back against the gun, seeking more. “I hate you.”

“Hate is just a fancy way of saying you’re obsessed with me.”

I push the gun deeper, and her gasp turns into a choked sob. Her body trembles and her hips move instinctively, finding a rhythm, a way to turn the invasive cold into burning pleasure.

She curses me under her breath and starts riding the gun herself. My hand leaves her hips and closes around her throat, squeezing it tightly. Her eyes widen in shock and fear, and the caramel hue of one iris and the glacial blue of the other seem toburn into me. The blood drains from her cheeks, taking away the flush I was so very much enjoying.

“Stop moving your hips,” I warn, but like the brat she is, she starts rolling her hips harder against the gun. I choke her tighter, watching the life drain from her eyes.

“Do you really want to test me?” I whisper. “How do you think you’ll die faster? A bullet tearing through you, or the slow, agonizing burn of your lungs begging for air?”

Her movements still in the face of my threat. I feel her fear, see it in her eyes, and it fuels my desires even more. I control her rhythm now, guiding her with the gun, dictating every thrust, every movement.

“That’s better,” I say with a dark satisfaction. “Now you’re learning.”

I can feel the slickness of her arousal coating the gun, running down its cold metal and into my palm. When I sense she’s about to come I slow down, pulling back a bit, savoring the way she shudders under my touch.

She manages to squeeze out a desperate, “Let me come,” from the chokehold.

“You’ll have to beg for it, baby. Tell me how much you want it,” I order.

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