“Yes, you do,” I grate, spinning her around to face me. And…my God. I suddenly want to jump off a cliff at the sight of tears clinging to her full, black eyelashes. “You…do. Stop lying to me,” I demand through my closing throat. “Women are all the same. You love the attention. You love watching men make fools of themselves and punishing them for it.”
I don’t like the way she searches my eyes, like she can see inside my head. Or maybe I like it too much. I don’t know. This female is very confusing. I want to shake her. But at the same time, I would rip out another man’s throat for looking at her funny. Suddenly I’m restraining myself from running after my brother and snapping his neck for holding her arm too tightly. My own brother. The only one who gives a crap about me. “What made you believe women are this way?” whispers Posy, her green eyes luminous.
Posy.
That’s the first time I say her name inside my head. So delicate. It fits her perfectly.
She’ll fit me perfectly. Why am I not inside her yet? Why am I hesitating?
She’s getting to me. With her lies. She’s blinding me. This is what women do.
I know this very well.
Picking her up by the waist, I throw her down on the king-sized mattress that is positioned in the corner of the room and come down hard on top of her. She slaps at my hands while I peel down the top of her leotard tank top, two little tits popping out. Dear God. I almost jizz down the leg of my pants. They remind me of cupcakes with a cherry on top. Tiny and lush and bouncy. It takes me a moment to realize I’m groaning. So loud that she’s blinking up at me, her hands swiftly covering her breasts, her whole face going pink.
“I know. They’re so small. I…” She squeezes her eyes closed and tries to roll over onto her side. To bury her face in my pillow. But I catch her chin in my hand and don’t allow her to turn from me. I want to see everything she does. Hear every word out of her mouth. “Baker says the other girls call me Tic Tac Tits. Behind my back. I was just…trying to be less conspicuous about being flat-chested. I wasn’t trying to tempt anyone.”
“I’m looking right at your tits, ballerina. You are not flat-chested.”
“I…yeah. But they’re—”
“As incredible as the rest of you,” I rasp, wincing inwardly at the reverence in my tone.
She blinks several times. “For someone about to assault me, you’re very complimentary.”
My breath gets trapped mid-inhale. Assault this angel? That can’t be what is happening here. I wouldn’t harm her. I would die first. “I am not assaulting you. You want this.”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”
“Women love sex. You want to watch me lose my mind, humping away at your little cunt like a monster. It’s what gives you power.”
More head shaking, her breath racing in and out in a way that distresses me. “No.”
She’s lying. They all lie.
Why am I having such a hard time remembering that hard-earned lesson with this female looking at me with her big green eyes? “Open your legs and I’ll prove you wrong.”
“Tell me why you believe these things about women. I…I think you’ve been lied to—”
“Enough!” I shout this word in her face and immediately regret it when she gasps, trying to scramble away from me on the bed. No. Not happening. Swallowing down an apology, I drop my hips and pin her to the mattress, moaning over the softness I find there. Between her thighs. Moaning even louder when she wiggles around, looking for an exit, her tights rasping on denim material of my jeans. But she’s not going to find a way out. “I understand now. Why my brother thinks I can cure you of being a harlot. Men probably lay themselves down at your feet, don’t they, little girl? Not me. I’m going to chew your tight body up and spit it out. You’re not going to rule me. Or make me a fool. Tonight I’m going to take your power. Maybe then you’ll stop driving other men insane.”
“I don’t—”
“Enough!” Looking her in the eye, I rip out the crotch of her built-in underwear, digging my fingers into the nylon of her tights until they tear, too, finally exposing her juicy little pussy. Holding her down, I stare at it, dumbfounded by the perfection, my balls drawing up tight to my undercarriage and nearly choking me.
“Jesus, that’s a fucking work of art.” I lean down until I’m an inch away from her flesh, panting, my hips restless on the mattress. “Open your thighs wider or I’ll tie them open.”
Like before, she slaps me in the face. “No.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want to show it off.”
“I don’t!”
“Liar. You want me to know it’s tight. You want me ready to sell my soul for one pump. You want to wrap me around your finger so tight, I don’t know right from left.” Her flesh parts slightly and I see a glorious strip of pink, all wet and shiny. “Son of a bitch, you just might accomplish it, Posy. If anyone can, it’s you.”
As I speak, I trail my hand down the front of her delectable body, my palm scraping over the coarse material of the tutu to delve between her thighs. I bring my mouth flush to hers and capture it in a hard kiss—and I sink my middle finger deep between her legs, just wanting to prove she’s wet. And ready. How could she not be when she’s made me hard as nails? Women love proof that their wiles are paying off. This one’s wiles are like a drug.
Potent.