Page 41 of Dance of Madness

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you loved it. Say you’ve touched this pussy and made it come all over your fingers, wishing they were mine or my cock, fucking you, taking you hard, ripping you apart while you scream for more.”

I’m sinking. Drowning. Losing myself in his ferocity and mad, mad darkness.

“No…”

I gasp when he rubs his thumb over my clit.

“Say it, princess.”

I clench my jaw defiantly.

The pressure builds anyway. My thighs tremble anyway. My whole body is hurtling toward the edge?—

And then he stops.

He pulls his hand away, like he’s suddenly bored of this game. Meanwhile I’m still trembling and aching,righton the fucking edge of release.

“What the fuck—” I gasp. It comes out breathless and cracked.

Desperate and needy.

Notindignant.

I cringe as shame floods my face.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” he murmurs in that same smug tone, lording it over me.

He drops his grip on my wrists and steps back away from me.

I whip around, shivering, heart pounding as I yank my dress back down and glare red-faced at him. “You?—”

Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m accusing him of. Humiliating me? Turning me into someone I don’t recognize?

Am I mad that he touched me, or mad that he didn’tfinish?

Maybe it’s that I know he’s seen inside me, discovered the dark, fucked-up thing I keep locked in the shadows of my psyche. The sick little truth I can never outrun.

He adjusts his shirt cuffs like nothing happened. Like I didn’t just fall apart for him. Like I’m not standing here, a mere breath from sobbing or coming.

He lifts his eyes to mine.

“Do you come like that for yourboyfriend, princess?” he asks, his voice as sharp as glass and steeped in sarcasm.

I gulp.

He watches me like I’m still writhing beneath his touch.

Like this was justround one.

I shift, awkwardly trying to slip my panties back into place, pulse still hammering. My skin’s flushed, damp with sweat—worse, withwant. I feel raw, used, unmade.

I should slap him.

Scream.

Instead, I just look at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I whisper.

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