“You think I’m stupid.”
“I think Rufus is a horrible man.”
“But I allowed him to fuck me.”
“Yes, you did,” I agreed. “But he broke your boundaries.”
She wiggled where I held her. “You know I like pain. . . when we’re doing stuff.”
By this point, Baz had helped me understand how pain and pleasure walked a fine line.
“Did you like it when he whipped your skin to bits?”
She shuddered, and I regretted my harsh tone. But I wanted her to know it wasn’t her fault.
“Clinemell is the one in the wrong. There is no sex haze that dismisses the idea that he didn’t know he was hurting you,” I said.
She hadn’t been able to walk for days after.
“But you judge me for fucking Clinemell. I see it on your face.”
My dour expressions never had helped me. “That’s not true.”
She stirred, peeking up at me.
I told her the truth. “I wanted you to fuck me,” I admitted.
She blinked. And then a coy smirk stretched along her face.
I hid behind my book, and the fire crackled.
But then a few moments later, I felt Gretel’s hand on my knee as she turned to face me.
“Wystle,” she whispered. “What are you reading?”
I continued to hide my face.
“Is it a good book?” she asked.
“Yes.”
I heard the smile in her voice. “Is it making you wet?”
I almost flung the book down. “Why would you ask me that?”
She laughed as she got onto her hands and knees. “I can tell. Now let me take a look at what’s under your dress.”
I tried to swat her hand, but she laughed again. And then took me by the shoulder and pushed me until my back completely hit the floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wiggling.
She pushed my knees further apart. “I want to lick your pussy.”
I shot her a stern look. “I tell you when to do that.”
But something danced in her green eyes. “Not tonight.”
I groaned. Baz had said she could do whatever she wanted. I’d assumed that meant she’d want me to be doing the things to her and not the other way around. But Gretel so rarely took control, I could see where her temptation came from.