Page 28 of Cruel Lust

She takes a tentative step beyond the bedroom, chewing her lip. All I do is watch in silence, tracing the curves of her body with my hungry gaze, noting the way she limps. She’ll be feeling that now, lying still for so long.

Good.

Let her suffer a little, the way she’s made me suffer

The way I have let myself suffer over her.

“Leave the door open,” I growl out before she can close it. She hesitates, staring at the floor, but she’s smart enough to release the doorknob and turn away, limping to the toilet. I have no desire to watch her. That’s never been my thing, but I loom in the doorway just the same and smile when her face goes beet red.

“You’re going to watch me?” she questions quietly, staring at the floor.

“What a smart little detective you are.”

“Is this what gets you off?” There’s a tremor in her voice, but her gaze is unflinching when she lifts her eyes to meet mine.

“What gets me off is my business. Now do what you need and be grateful you’ve got more than a bucket to piss in.” Her chin quivers, but she offers no reply, quickly dropping her yoga pants to her knees, along with the tiny thong she wears underneath. She stares at the wall opposite the toilet, shaking with what I imagine is either rage or shame. Maybe both.

Watching her shouldn’t stir such deep satisfaction in my soul, but I find myself lighting up, craving more. “Look at the brave little detective now,” I muse, folding my arms and leaning against the door. The way she flinches makes me laugh. “Have you learned your lesson yet?”

“What’s the lesson?” She wipes quickly but tries to stand faster than her body is capable of balancing her. She stumbles, barely managing to grab the tub’s edge to catch herself.

“You aren’t invincible. You aren’t all that strong. You thought you were. You thought you could do what people have tried for generations to accomplish, and you were going to do it all on your own.”

“You hate me for that, don’t you?”

I hate her for so many things, I wouldn’t know where to begin listing them all. “For starters,” I mutter, watching as she washes her hands. She meets the gaze reflected at her in the mirror and runs her wet fingers through her tangled hair. Then she splashes her face before staring at herself again.

“What are you thinking?” I taunt, enjoying the way she tenses at my question. “Are you wondering how long it would take to find shelter when you don’t have the first idea of our location? Maybe you’re asking yourself how to get hold of my car keys. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re wondering if I’ll stop myself the next time I have you pinned to a bed.”

“Stop,” she growls out, almost baring her teeth at her own reflection.

“Who are you talking to? Me, or yourself? Because some things can’t be excused away so easily. Such as how desperate you are for me.”

“Stop saying that,” she whispers, her usual bite absent.

Unlikely. This is what gets through to Emilia—more than pain and the threat of dying. That she can handle. Being accused of wanting my cock, on the other hand? She wants to spit nails, and I might be insulted if I didn’t know she was lying to herself. “Do you mean to tell me you would fight me off if I bent you over that sink right now?”

“You won’t.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because you would’ve done it by now if that was what you planned to do.” She stands up straight, tucking her hair behind both ears before lifting her chin.

Dear God, why does that slight gesture stiffen my dick the way it does? The last thing I want from her is some misguided, childish sense of strength to rear its head. Like I don’t have enough complications to deal with already.

All it takes is a glimpse of the fire in her blue eyes to awaken every predatory instinct I’ve spent my life trying to manage. Now I’m a cat toying with a mouse it has cornered, and my pulse picks up speed in anticipation of what could be fun. There is so much I need to consider, so much I should be planning. But this is a diversion, and one I desperately need.

I lunge toward her, pressing the small of her back against the sink. She leans away until the back of her head touches the mirror, breathing fast, her body stiff. I know from experience it won’t be that way for long, and she confirms this by trembling when I run my hand down her side.

“What about now?” I whisper, leaning in close, inhaling the sweetness of her hair and skin and tuning in to her rapid, shallow breaths. “Here we are. Me against you, you against the sink. What are you going to do about it? Because from where I’m standing…”

She grinds her teeth together when I cup her tit, molding it against my palm, closing my eyes to absorb the feel of it—the firmness, the weight, and that tight nipple brushing against my palm. “From where I’m standing, you are a heartbeat away from begging for me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she grunts out.

“I have to give it to you. You’re damn determined to keep up the act.”

“You haven’t figured out yet that it’s not an act?”

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