Fueling His Hunger (Masters of Adrenaline 2)

She tapped a fingernail against her teeth and the click reminded him of the pleasant sting he’d felt when she’d clawed his arm while she came. The scratches were a badge of honor.

For a few moments she deliberated. “I always fantasize about getting bossed around, but in real life guys want me to know what to do—to act like an exotic dancer or a porn star. I don’t have that kind of self-confidence or experience. So I try to do what they want and probably just end up looking stupid.” She shook her head and sighed in what sounded like remembered embarrassment. “Most of the time I think they date me for the connections. My mom and dad know a lot of people, so anyone who’s trying to get into important circles is willing to put up with my awkwardness to take advantage of that.”

“Idiots. They don’t deserve you.”

She smiled shyly but didn’t meet his gaze.

“So, when you say you fantasize about being bossed around, what do you mean?”

“You don’t even care that I’m rich.” She snorted. “You just want me to tell you my deep, dark secrets.”

Busted. Was she offended that he didn’t care about that sort of thing? It was irrelevant to his life.

“Quit stalling.”

She covered her eyes. “You know . . . like the guy telling me what to do,” she blurted. “Teaching me what he likes and showing me how.”

Crap. This whole conversation was a bad idea. He wanted to readjust his cock, but didn’t want to draw attention to how much this was turning him on.

“You want someone to talk you through it?”

“Yes, and to boss me into doing it. Maybe even . . . make me a little,” she said, shifting again. “Like pull my hair and . . . hold me down. Make me feel like I can’t escape.”

“Right,” he said neutrally, hoping she’d keep talking. His mind hyper-focused on the idea of holding her wrists and thrusting into her as she wriggled, gasping and mewling, beneath him.

“I’d never want anything like that to happen for real, but it’s okay if I know I can make the guy stop, isn’t it? Or does that go against what feminist women are supposed to want? I don’t know. I feel kind of weird about it, but it’s what I daydream about. I can’t help it, you know?”

“Feminists are allowed to like whatever they like,” he replied, glad he’d had this conversation with a number of his friends in the kink community. “The whole point is you get to choose.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “I thought maybe I was supposed to want to be the dominant one.” She sighed. “They don’t cover this stuff in sex ed.”

“No.” He tried to reclaim his brain from his cock. “You’re not under any obligation to find domming hot because you’re a feminist.”

She was smiling to herself, lost in thought. He gave her a few minutes to process that before his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, do you daydream about kink a lot?”

Her mouth twisted. “I didn’t used to, but a few months ago my friends talked about safewords and stuff because Priya was dating a guy who was a little freaky.” She groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve been thinking about it almost nonstop since then. I always had thoughts about it, but I tried to put it out of my mind. It seemed too twisted for someone like me.”

Damn. This girl was making him crazy. He shifted in the driver’s seat, trying not to think past what she was saying. Just drive, asshat. Don’t think about how she sounds when she whimpers and begs.

She was still talking, and he had to struggle to follow what she was saying.

“People have their names splashed all over the tabloids for that sort of thing. Sex-tapes scandals or exes blabbing to shady reporters for attention.”

Tabloids? What on earth was she talking about?

“Why would a tabloid care about your sex life?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe I thought you wanted to kidnap me. You don’t even know who I am!” A graceful hand swept her pretty hair back from her face. “Ego, that’s what it is. I’ve always been treated like I was a big deal, and yet here you are completely oblivious to all that. It’s . . . kind of scary that you’re only judging me on my own merits. I have no idea what to do with that.”

Her family was that famous? “There’s a lot about you to like, from what I’ve seen so far, no matter who your family is.”

After opening the window a crack, she stuck her fingers out into the rushing air. “My parents are a big deal in their lines of work. Well, my father was before he died, anyway. I didn’t do anything to deserve celebrity status, but it just kinda comes with the territory. People are obsessed with the offspring of rich people. I don’t get it. The whole heiress thing . . .” At the edge of his vision he saw her shrug. “It means you never know who’s watching. And when your parents are powerful, you never know whether the people around you actually like you or they’re just using you. Sometimes I get tired of being judged on things that don’t matter, like how I look or what I’m wearing. Who I’m dating. There are other things that matter, you know? I’ve never done anything important in my life. I’ve never done anything to make myself happy either. Amused? Yes. But happy?”

The end of her statement had become more of a rant, and the last word rang in his ears.

Happy was such a nebulous feeling. It was fleeting and had so many shades and nuances it was hard to know he’d felt that way about a moment until it had passed. There was no time to think about whether he was happy when he was in the middle of feeling it.