Page 13 of Fire Island
Metal bites my wrists, burning the skin.
My legs tremble.
He rises, his palms against the soles of my feet as he shoves my legs open even further.
My chest tightens, sending my head spinning. I pant out strangled sobs before schooling my composure.
“You want to see what you do to me, looking like this?” Timothy hisses.
Frozen in the position he put me in, I stare as his hand dives into his sweats, and he pulls out his cock.
It’s red and veiny. Bent to one side, the tip smaller than the base.
It’s revolting.
He studies my reaction, as if looking for some sort of affirmation. He starts to stroke it with one hand, and I look away.
“Hey! Eyes on me.”
Closing my eyes, I force my head to turn back before letting them open again.
“Good. Now, say my name.”
I turn my head.
I. Will. Not.
“Say my name, or it goes in that pretty mouth of yours.”
My mouth gapes in horror.
“Fi—fine. Timothy,” I choke out.
He hums, closing his eyes, his hand tightening around his cock. “Keep saying it,” he rasps.
“Timothy,” I breathe.
I hate myself. Over three fucking syllables.
But I need him to think I’m coming around to his delusional fantasy, so I keep going.
“Tim-o-thy,” I mewl this time, and his eyes fall shut.
“Fuck, Butterfly.”
“Open your eyes and look at me,” I whisper.
His eyelids snap open, his pale, insidious eyes burning into mine.
“Lower,” I say, moving on the bed, setting my breasts bouncing. Cal would tell me to take what I wanted, to ask—no, demand—what I want. So, I’ll use the skill he taught me.
But no memories of Callum McCreary will puncture this sordid space. This scene will be one I lock away in the deepest depths of my mind, never to be seen again.
For now, I need to seduce the man.
The oldest trick in the book. The oldest because it’s too easy. And that’s powerful. In this moment,Iam in control.
I have what he wants, and I’ll be using that fact to my advantage.
