This one strange thought flashes through my mind:His Alcatraz walls are breaking.
I tell myself it’s an illusion. A girlhood fantasy. Hugo’s walls don’t break, and he’s never undone. He’s rigid and exacting with an operating system coded for logic and decorum.
But god, the way he’s looking at me—it’s a very serious look that’s scary and exciting all at once.
So done with Hugos, I remind myself.Teardrops on the hand. Creepy doll in the basement.
Incorrigible.
Unruly! Unruly! Unruly!
I shake myself out of it. “What I don’t get is, why don’t you fire me if you think so poorly of me?”
His Adam’s apple bounces in his throat. Like he’s swallowing down his agitation. “I’m not gonna fire you.”
“Why not?” I go near him, feeling shaky. It’s anger and a lot of other things that I’ll file under heat.
And this need to kiss him again.
I hate him.
I want him. This all should stop, but a wicked part of me doesn’t want it to stop. My pussy throbs with need. My pussy doesn’t want it to stop.
“Fire me,” I whisper-hiss.
He’s fixated on my soda moustache.
Time stills. We’re panting in unison.
“Fire me, Hugo.”
The words come out sexy.
I could’ve said anything—Style me. Clip me. Winterize me. Osterize me—and it would’ve been sexy.
His nostrils flare. Something in him changes, like a rip in the fabric of his control.
Suddenly his fist is clamped onto my ponytail, and his lips are a hair’s breadth from mine.
“Fire me—I want you to,” I say.
His breath is a feather on my lips. His gray eyes pierce my soul. I think he’s going to kiss me, but he’s got something better—wicked fingers that settle between my legs. He presses his fingers to my sex, right through my skirt, pressing between my legs.
“Ungh,” I say.
He’s doing dark magiks upon my pussy while his hawk glare mesmerizes me. I nearly implode from the pleasure of it.
“Is that how you fire me?”
“That’s not what I’m doing right now,” he rumbles.
“Fire me harder, Roboto.”
He changes his pussy-stroking style and a new burst of pleasure shoots through me.
Thump. I’m against the wall, shoulder blades pressed to the cool, hard plaster. The soda can is on the floor.
I’m sliding my hands over his shoulders, his chest, around to his back. I’m pulling him to me, urging him onward to further pussy rubbing.