Page 38 of Dance of Madness

“You're lying.”

“I’m not.”

His head tilts to the side, a lock of his dark hair falling across one eye like a scar.

“Did you have this boyfriend the other night at Greymoor?”

I hesitate.

“Yes,” I finally mumble.

His eyes narrow. “So, you’re a cheater.”

My brows furrow deeply. “What? No?—”

“No?” His hand tugs a little at my ponytail, the other one dropping my dress to slide over my hip and yank my ass back possessively against his body.

“You came to that house looking for…” He chuckles. “Well, I think webothknow.”

My eyes narrow. “I wastricked,” I snap. “I already told?—”

I yelp when he spanks my ass again.

He really needs to stop doing that.

Not because it hurts…although it does…but because with every fucking slap, my defenses break down a little more, like a dam crumbling.

Pretty soon, I won’t have any left.

“I didn’t know?—”

“Didn’t knowwhat?” he growls. “That you'd soak through your panties like a greedy little slut from being chased through the dark by a man in a wolf mask?”

Heat rushes up my neck. “I didn’t?—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice dips lower. Turns rougher. “They were a fuckingmess, Milena. I could still feel the slippery heat fromyour hungry little pussy when I stroked my hard, fat cock with them later.”

Jesus.

Pure fire rushes into my face as I stare incredulously at him in the mirror.

“You’resick.”

“Ms. Pot, meet Mr. Kettle. And I don’t like cheaters.”

“I’mnota cheater!”

“Really?” He brushes my hair back from my shoulder like we’re lovers having a lazy morning in bed. “I thought you had a boyfriend, princess. Or was ithimyou were thinking of as you ran from me with a soaked cunt, just waiting to be used?”

“You’re twisting this…” I breathe, my voice shaking.

“No, sweetheart.” His lips skim my ear. “I’m just pointing out how fuckingshita liar you are. I have an even better way to illustrate that point, actually.”

He moves before I can think.

One hand grabs my wrists, twisting them behind my back with cruel ease. The other lifts the hem of my dress, dragging it high over my ass.

“Don’t,” I croak, even as my core clenches with sick, desperate need. “Stop.”

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