Page 22 of House of Cards

Feels.

Too.

Fucking.

Good.

But it’s wrong. Like criminally wrong. I have to make it stop. Him. I have to stop him.

Terror and arousal feed each other in some twisted feedback loop, ratcheting up every nerve in my body.

I whimper out a panicked, “You can’t do this! It’s not fair!” and instantly hate myself for sounding like a spoiled child.

My mind and body are at war—one screaming danger, the other bucking under his touch. I should claw his eyes out, not spread my legs wider.

He leans in so he can fuck me harder, our mouths less than an inch apart. When he talks, I can feel his warm breath on my lips.

“You belong to me now.Idecide what’s fair.” He leans back, letting me see his smirk before he slams his finger knuckle-deep inside me. I gasp, my back arching from the chair.

Another hard thrust has my eyes squeezing shut as a shudder rips through me.

“I decide what you wear.”

He pinches one of my nipples, then tugs it hard enough to make me yelp.

“I decide what you eat.”

His hand clamps around my throat,

“I decide who fucks you. AndIdecide when you come.”

He decides whofucksme?

I don’t know if it’s his touch or his words that rocket me to the edge of sanity, but I’m there in seconds.

My handful of mediocre hookups never prepared me for this. The last guy I slept with couldn’t find my clit with Google Maps and a flashlight, yet a complete stranger finds it in seconds?

I desperately fend off the urge to give him what he wants, scowling as I ignore the pleasure damming up inside me. He returns my scowl with a hooded gaze that’s so fucking sexy, so fucking dark, my entire body clenches like a fist.

“That’s it. Now come for me, kitten. Come for menow.”

I whimper as he fucks me with his hand, one finger pounding into my dripping pussy while his thumb works my clit. The hand around my throat tightens until I’m seeing stars, the trapped blood in my face turning my flesh hot and puffy.

A climax swells, sends me soaring, and then brings me crashing down.

My body shudders like I’m having a fit as I arch back my head and let out a loud, wordless gasp. My pussy grind against his hand, eking out every last drop of pleasure from his fingers.

I’m still panting when he lowers his head to my shoulder and lets out a sadistic chuckle against the side of my neck.

“There’s my good girl.”

I veer away from him, staring up at him with shell-shocked eyes. My thighs slam closed, but I can barely keep them together. Everything is trembling, weak, spent.

His heat goes with him when he straightens.

This is so beyond the realm of normal that my brain blue-screens. All I can do is just stare up at him wordlessly as my clit pulses like it’s angry at me for something.

He studies me with narrowed eyes as he slowly peels the gloves off his hands. I can’t help but notice how glossy they are, how disgustingly wet I made them as I came. He tugs loose the suspenders he used to tie me up, and calmly reattaches them to his pants.

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