Page 64 of Suck It Up

“You do have a healthy ego, I’ll give you that.” He nods approvingly. “I don’t need you to fuck me, Morgan. I’m quite content fuckingwithyou. Your reactions are so fucking entertaining, I can’t get enough. I can keep pissing off you, and watch you flush with anger, just like you are now. Seeing you get all worked up for me makes me hard as fuck. I don’t mind emptying my load in another receptacle if your cunt is unavailable.” His filthy words shouldn’t do anything for me, except anger me, but my frustrated, desperate, slutty body doesn’t care. I feel heat reignite in my core, my pussy pulsing.

God, I hate him.

“Whatever you decide, princess, I’ll get what I want out of you. If you take my cock like a good girl, I won’tjusttorture you. I’ll also beverynice to you, in every possible way.”

It’s only after he reaches the open door and waves that I reach for the closest object—a pillow—and launch it at him.

I miss, and he chuckles.

“Good night, Morgan. I’m next door if you want to finish what we started. Text the boy before you come to me.”

He shuts my door behind him. I hear his faint laugh in the hallway.

Oh, the manipulative, selfishdick.

ChapterTwenty-Nine

I spend the entire night fighting myself. By some miracle, I prevail. I remain in the guest bedroom, rather than making my way next door to murder the jerk who’s no doubt sleeping like a baby.

Or jump on his cock, I really don’t know.

At first, I attempt to take the edge off myself, in vain. My fingers can’t even give me a tenth of pleasure he brought me, and my body remains unimpressed, refusing to grant me the release I desperately crave after his game.

I should have seen it coming. I know Camden Hunt doesn’t play by normal rules, but orgasm denial? That’s downright torture.

By the time some noise wakes me up from downstairs in the morning, I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours, and I make my way down,grumpy.

I showered after Camden left, but I still feel disgusting, in a shirt I worked and sweated in, and dirty underwear. I need to get home right now.

I follow the sound of music to a kitchen tucked behind the lounge, through an open archway.

“Good morning,” Camden greets me cheerfully.

He’s half naked, wearing only blue shorts, his ridiculously toned bare chest on display.

Camden whisks a huge, clumpy mixture in a bowl with the skills of a two-year-old. Seriously, he’s chucking batter everywhere. I pity his cleaner.

I aim a steely glare at him from the other side of the counter. “I want to go home.”

“And I’ll take you. As I said, I’m a man of my word.”

I shoot him the bird, too tired to fight, and he laughs. “Breakfast first.”

I grimace at his mixing bowl. “I’d like to go now, please. Especially if that’s for breakfast. You can thank me later for saving your life by preventing you from ingesting whatever this is.”

He sighs, putting the unholy concoction down. “You’d think I could handle ready-made pancake mix. They just said add milk, water, vinegar, butter and stir.”

“How much milk did you put in there?” I take it following someone else’s instructions isn’t his forte.

“It said three cups.” He sounds somewhat defensive.

Spotting the trash can, I open it and check the recycling compartment. Sure enough, the fancy, organic, brown wheat, low sugar pancake mix is right on top. “It says three cups of milk or water, not both. And you should have melted the butter first. Did you put three cups of vinegar is there as well?”

He doesn’t answer my last question, just pours the disgusting batter down his sink. “There should be another box in the cupboard to your right.”

Camden moves to the fridge to grab the milk carton.

I make a face. “I don’t think so. That batter was going to be disgusting anyway.”

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