Page 67 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I wanna punish her for yanking me by that invisible leash. For making me beg, mentally, like a fucking dog. For making me question myself. For me having the slightest doubt that I’m that nigga. She enjoyed that shit, and I lowkey hated her for it, even though the pleasure it gave me blew my fucking mind.

Can hate and desire occupy the same space?

I bring my hand to her throat, wondering if the hate still lingers. If it does, it’s latent, but maybe it’s time to call it forth and unleash it. She’s mine, now.

Her throat moves against my fingers as she swallows. Is that fear, or desire? Wouldn’t it be interesting if those two mingled…

Her nipples pebble again, and I feel like she’d be down for anything.

That’s a relief.

I tighten my grip around her throat. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who’s in control now. Her pulse thrums against my fingers, steady, but quick, like she’s bracing for something. Maybe she thinks I’ll stop, that I’ll pull back before I go too far.

But why should I?

She didn’t show me any mercy. She toyed with me. Fucked with my head. Got inside me, under my skin, embedding herself in my fucking bones. I was just entertainment for her.

Well. Now it’s my turn.

I’m not gonna pretend I don’t still want her. My dick wouldn’t be aching the way it is if I didn’t. I’m so hard, I’m damn near lightheaded, straining against my trunks, surging with blood and heat and anger.

I wanna wipe that fucking tiny ass hint of a smirk off her face. Of course her ass is loving this shit. The tension. The unspoken threat beneath my touch. Pussy probably crying for me.

She’s sick.

But maybe so am I.

My lips tighten. My fingers flex, pressing deeper into her throat. Something dark bubbles up inside of me, and I wonder how far I’ll go. I’ve never been the type of loser ass nigga who does whatever a woman is weak enough or dumb enough to allow me to do, because I have pride. Integrity. And the women I date tend to have standards.

But right now?

I can see myself pushing it. Raya’s not weak. That’s as clear as that blue sky out there. As she watches me, and those dark eyes glitter, I know shewantsme to push it. She’s…compliant.

Because there’s something in it for her.

I relax my grip, sliding my thumb over her jaw, tilting her head back. “You like when I’m mad, don’t you?”

Her lashes flutter a little. Not because she’s shy—Raya’s never shy—but because she doesn’t wanna admit it.

“I like your attention,” she says finally. “However you wanna give it to me.”

It’s a talent, I swear to God, the way she always manages to say something that lands.

I drag my lips along the shell of her ear before I mutter, “Go close the curtains.”

She smirks. “Oh, we’re bossy now?”

“Getcho ass up and do what I said,” I grit, my hand already in my trunks, trying to relieve the pressure. Goddamn, she drives me crazy.

My eyes follow her as she takes the short walk to the edge of the cabana, hips swaying dangerously. She might as well be naked in that little ass bikini, her fat ass swallowing her bottoms whole. I grip my dick tighter, squeezing as I watch it jiggle.

I’m about to fuck her up.

She’s barely a foot away when I stand and grab her hand, yanking her to the back of the chair. I position myself behind her. Hand on her back. Push.

She goes down easy.

I snatch her bottoms down, and the second my knee nudges her thighs apart, I see it. What I came here for. What’s been hiding beneath that smug attitude and teasing bullshit.

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