Page 83 of Silenced

“That’s not fair,” I snap.

He smirks.

The sight of his lips actually moving has mine forming a circle.

“I can do it myself,” I croak.

His fingers trail toward my asshole where he rubs the puckered flesh. Then, he signs, “Even here?”

I swallow. “Of course.”

He shakes his head. “I want to do it.”

“You’re weird,” I mutter, even as I pump my hips in the air as a prompt for him to get back to work.

Okay, so we can addbossyto outspoken now.

In the last couple days, I’ve had some kind of character transplant and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Especially when I’ve technically never been in more danger in my life but have never felt safer either.

The dichotomy is starting to wear at my reserves.

When his fingers return to my asshole, I don’t cringe away as I would have with Harvey.

Instead, I swallow.

Call it perception or call it instinct, but I know that no matter what he does to me, it’ll be good.

He’ll makeitfeel good.

I release a shuddery breath at the thought of how much trust I have in him when he hasn’t particularly earned it through normal interpersonal interactions.

He reaches for some soap that I didn’t know was on the floor and he starts to lather it between his palms.

“I can do it myself,” I repeat, my voice sterner now.

“Why would you when I can do it?”

I narrow my eyes at him. The desire to have that wicked tongue of his curling around my clit is fierce but… “I’ll let you do it if—”

He arches a brow.

It’s a strange reminder that I have no power in this relationship, not unless he gives it to me.

Which, by waiting, by listening, by not ignoring me, he technically has.

With that technicality, my needs change. “I want time in the bathroom by myself without you freaking out.”

That arched brow furrows. “There are no windows in here.”

Ignoring him, I continue, “And I have a list of things that I want but I’d like a woman on your staff to buy them for me.”

His frown deepens. “Like what?”

Tweezers.

God, I miss tweezers.

So. Fucking. Much.

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