Page 39 of Butterfly

“It was interesting,” I squeaked, trying to shove his hand away. Instead, he just gripped my pussy tight in punishment, like he was claiming ownership.

“Mmhmm,” the professor said. “Interesting, how?”

I turned beet red, fumbling for something,anything,to say. “Well, the fact that so many women who embraced their sexuality and finding something for themselves, end up committing suicide in literature. I get that it’s supposed to be commentary, but what about them living happily ever after? Why do women always get punished for having good sex?”

People around me tittered.Oh god,I’d just humiliated myself.

“Hmm,” said the professor. “Interesting, indeed.”

She turned away to call on another student, and I released a relieved breath—or started to—but Mason had caught my clit between his fingers.

“Punished for having good sex,” he murmured, turning to look at me. As I stared into his deep blue eyes, entranced by the need I saw in them, he pinched.Hard. All the blood rushed to that tiny but powerful spot, and something about the combination of pain and pleasure, and the intensity in his eyes, made me almost tip over the edge?—

—just as everyone started gathering up their things.

Class had ended and I hadn’t even realized.

He released my clit and withdrew his hand, wiping my wetness on my bare thigh. I wanted to scream out of need and frustration. To beg.

But I wouldn’t beg. Not him. Not ever.

“I’d lick my fingers, but that might be a little obvious,” he told me, winking. “No coming.”

He gathered his things, dropping them in his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. I stared after him in a state of confusion and desire.

I needed to come so badly, but for some reason, I listened to him. He’d broken something in me, and was slowly rebuilding it to his specifications.

I didn’t know how to stop him.

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.

15

MASON

Igot back to the suite and headed straight for the shower. It only took three pumps of my hand until I was coming all over the tiles. At this rate, we were going to have to call a plumber soon; jizz was terrible for pipes.

I leaned against the wall, heart racing, letting the water wash it away. I hated wasting it, yet here we were again. All of my come should go in and on Leslie, and I promised myself that next time, it would be inside her—cunt, mouth, or ass, or maybe all three, I wasn’t choosy.

Just the thought of filling her three holes made me hard all over again, and

I had to beat off until my cock felt rubbed raw. Still, I didn’t feel satisfied, but it would have to be enough for now.

My plan was working. She was so turned on, she hadn’t stopped me, which was the important thing. I had a hunch that she wouldn’t go against my order, at least as long as she could. But I didn’t believe in hunches. Fortunately, I’d prepared for this. Before move-in day, I’d bribed an assistant in thehousing department to give me Leslie’s dorm room information so I could hide cameras in her room. I’d also put a powdered aphrodisiac called Vixen in her latte. Even though Emory had disapproved, Matt had gotten me in touch with his contact at Reina U—Jack Feldman, left wing for the Reina University Kings. The Kings were our team’s main rival, but if Jack knew a dealer with easy access to Vixen and Vice, engaging with him was a necessary evil.

The gossip was that Jack had ties to the mafia, and that one of his older brothers was a Navy SEAL-turned-hitman, and the other was a billionaire. Rumors aside, Jack was a sociopath. He mademyactions look downright saintly. I didn’t give a shit who he was related to. He’d gotten me the name of a dealer who had the drugs I needed, and for that, I was grateful.

Not that I’d take it easy on him when we played his team.

One dose of Vixen had cost me a fortune, but it was worth it. It took about 3 to 4 hours to go into effect. But by tonight, my butterfly would be desperate. Probably so desperate that she wouldn’t be able to follow my order not to come for long.

I couldn’t fucking wait.

Emory could go suck a dick. I knew he was looking out for me, and wanted me to try to take a slower, more rational approach. And I’d been willing to, until she’d told me goodbye. That wouldn’t do. I knew I was being an asshole about this, but I didn’t care. The best thing for Leslie was to be with me, to let me take care of her. I’d heard about the confrontation with Emily in her dance class on Monday, and the fact that Leslie hadn’t come to me to help—or at least called me out on Emily’s accusations—was unacceptable. We belonged together, and getting her to lower her inhibitions and be with me, full out, no restrictions, no doubts, was the only way to get us there. The first step, but a necessary one.

Who cared if it was illegal?

Who gave a shit if it was fucking unethical?

---