Page 41 of Dance of Ruin

“We need to be clear about something,” he says, his voice low and dangerous near my ear. “And we might as well get it out of the way now.”

His hand moves slowly and deliberately, fingers stroking up and down. I shiver, shame flooding my face as somethingelsefloodselsewhereat the tingling, dangerous, exciting feeling his touch on my most intimate place brings out.

“When I say you’re mine, I meanall of you. Every thought you have? Mine. Every inch of this body? Mine. This pussy?”

His fingertip parts my lips, sliding down to roll over mymortifyinglyswollen clit.

“Mine.Do you understand?”

I don’t answer.

Because, again, I can’t.

I’m still trying to make sense of the fact that I’m not recoiling.

I’mresponding.

My hips shift involuntarily. My breath quickens. Thick, hot, danger coils inside me.

And then suddenly, his finger plunges deep inside me, until his knuckles are pressed against my slick lips.

A soft, broken sound escapes my throat.

Oh God.

It’s a moan.

I just. Fucking.Moaned.

Nico lets out a low, quiet, cold laugh.

“I’d ask again,” he chuckles, “but I think we have our answer.”

My face crumples a little when he slides his finger out and then rams it back in; deep, hard, conquering. My eyelids droop and my nipples tighten against the glossy wood as his thick digit begins to stroke in and out of me. He curls it slightly against my front wall, stroking my g-spot as my legs tremble and shake.

“Are you fucking anyone right now, Naomi?” Nico purrs.

My breath hitches. I don’t respond.

The sharpcrackof his palm against my ass sends me jolting forward with a yelp.

“Answer me.”

“N-no,” I whimper.

Not now. Not ever.

“Good.”

His voice is raw now, hungry in a way that scares me. How much my body wants to hear it again scares me even more.

Another finger joins the first, and I brace myself against the desk, biting down on my lip hard. The pressure, the stretch, the sheer wrongness of this situation—it should all horrify me. And maybe it does. But underneath that?

There's heat.

Shameful, desperate heat, building with every motion of his hand.

My thoughts are jumbled. Part of me screams that I should recoil from his touch, especially since I didn't ask for it. After what happened at that photoshoot, I know this should be making me shut down.

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