Ten numbers, followed by a perfect heart stamp.
I roll my eyes.Of coursehe’d get her number.Now he can add her pussy to the all-you-can-eat buffet: open for breakfastanddinner.
Rage flexes hard enough that I can see a thick vein pulsing up his forearm. He clips each word between clenched teeth. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Celia.”
I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. With a huff, I push harder. “Then stop being a fuckingmanand get off of me. I told you to leave.”
Snatching my wrists, he pins them together over my head. “Youalsosaid that I was your brother, you fucking liar.” He exhales hotly, dipping his face into the curve of my neck. His lipsbrush the shell of my ear. “You think pretending to be my sister will keep me from touching you? Keep me fromfuckingyou?” Shifting his weight, he keeps one hand on my wrists while the other reaches down and fists the bottom of my dress. “Nothing will keep me from you,krosotka, especially not something as weak as alie.” He abandons the fabric to shove his hand between my thighs, mirroring how he touched me earlier. The gentleness is gone, replaced with something harsher. Anger? Annoyance? Is he actually upset about this?
I’m the one who has every right to being upset!
My body is still slick from his tongue, making the swirl of his fingers over my clit a smooth glide. He presses down hard, and I cry out as pleasure-painzingsup my spine.
My eyes fly open as he works my body and touches me exactly how I like, rimming my clit instead of pushing against it head-on. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. Panic mixes with pleasure as people continue walking by the front windows, some glancing inside, most walking right on by.
Keep walking, I pray,don’t see me like this.
If anyone catches me getting fingered behind the counter, I’m screwed. This isn’t a franchise I’m running—it’s high-end, personalized, with the prices to match. My clientele can make or break anyone in the city with the right word to the right people. No one can know that I’m fucking around with a man like Rage.
No one.
Nothing about my livelihood or its fragility breaks through Rage’s determination. “Your body sings for me, Beauty, and I’ll play its song any fucking time I please.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to my neck, lacking finesse as he skims me with his teeth. “Now, say thank you.”
My clit pulses with desire as he pinches it between his fingers. “F-for what?”
“For making you come.”
I dig my fingernails into my palms and shake my head. “I’m not coming.” Butdear God, do I want to. I can feel it building deep inside, threatening to pull me over the edge.
He pulls back to glare into my eyes, finally letting up on the assault on my clit. We stare at each other for a heartbeat while I try to take back control over my body. Steady my breathing. Stop sweating. Ignore the ache.
When he suddenly arches his fingers and plunges three inside, I keen like a wild animal.
“Yes, you are.”
I’m so wet that he glides inside without any resistance. With a hard press of his palm, he grinds into my clit and knocks the air from my lungs. Pain lances through me.It hurts,yet it feelsreallygood. No part of this should make me even hotter,but somehow Rage lights my body on fire every time we’re near each other. Anger. Desire. Fear. Heart racing, blood pumping, body shaking—all of it, because of Rage.
I think I hate him for it.
His mouth descends over mine, claiming my lips in a kiss that’shungry.He sinks deeper, all the way down to the knuckle, not shy about fondling me in public. With a groan, he forces his tongue past my lips on his conquest to victory—the finish line in sight. My body trembles as I near my breaking point, and he knows it.
Rage breaks the kiss to growl harshly in my ear, sounding as ragged and raw as I feel. “You want my cock, don’t you, Beauty? Say it. Say that you want me to fuck you right here, right now, for all your fucking customers to see.”
That’s the thing he doesn’t understand. Here in the waking world, I’m not the mystery woman from the club. I don’t have on a mask, and I don’t go by the name Beauty. He’s mixing the two women up and claiming both in the process.
But Celia Monrovia isn’t his. She’smine.
I sharpen my resolve to a fine point, wielding it like a spear that I can plunge straight into his heart. “Fuck you,” I hiss, finally mustering the strength to break free from his grasp. I dig my nails into his neck and shove, but he still doesn’t move, groaning like he likes it—like I’m fisting his cock instead of scoring the fine tips of my manicure into his throat. “I don’t want youoryour cock.”
The problem is that he hasn’t stopped—his fingers are buried deep inside of me, determined to wring an orgasm from my body. He touches me however he pleases, thinking that I enjoy it.
The sick part is, I kind of do.
My knees buckle as he keeps going, curling his fingers in my heat, feeling how fuckingdrenchedI am, both of us hearing it loud and clear as his movements build into a rhythm—plunge, curl, retreat.
A whimper catches in my throat, burning as much as the liquid heat inside me, both of them threatening to break free. I’m close—so fucking close—and I fight to keep it locked up tight. I don’t want to give him another piece of me, no matter how small.
He doesn’t deserve it.