Derision (The Broken Bonds 7)

She rouses beneath my touch. Breathing in her scent, I insert a finger, my eyes closing at the feel of how tight she is, how hot and wet, first thing in the morning. I suddenly regret not slipping inside her while I was still under the covers—taking her slowly and feeling her squeeze me as she came in her sleep.

Her eyes snap open, and I realize I’m pumping her pussy with my fingers, my breathing becoming ragged as my cock strains against my jeans.

I pull out of her and climb on top, shoving her hands above her head and pressing them into the pillow. “Spread your legs.”

There’s a slight tremble to her body, a desperate gleam breaking through her sleepy gaze as she takes in my bare chest, but she hurriedly obeys my command. Her willingness to instantly submit rather than to question excites me further, and I grind my cock against her as her body arches beneath me.

I loathe that I’m this desperate to be inside her—that I could easily give in to this need and spend the day fucking her brains out. That resentment is an irritating seed in the pit of my stomach that forces me to pull back.

Instead, I roam a hand down her body, memorizing her, reading her signals, as if she’s braille under my touch. Soon, I’ll know every spot that drives her crazy, every place that causes her pain. I’ll know how to evoke any emotion and action I desire from her with simply one touch.

I push inside her, expanding her tight walls with three fingers and making her moan as her pelvis bucks off the bed. Just as quickly, I remove my fingers, denying her any pleasure.

“Shower first, then we’ll discuss what happens next.” I release her and forcefully remove myself from atop her. When she doesn’t move right away, I lift her leg and give her ass a light swat. “Your reply should be ‘yes, sir’ before you do as told.”

Her humiliation is tangible; my nose flares as she scoots off the bed before she even knows in which direction to go. I sink my teeth into my lip, physically stifling my need to grab her ankles, yank her beneath me, and revel in her embarrassment. She flaunts it like a taunting child with a new toy, wriggling her little ass as she hurries toward the bathroom.

She’s trainable, but inexperienced. Honestly, had she not fallen victim to my chide, I’d have loved to go down on her with a firm tongue lashing to bring her to the brink, leaving her aching for the rest of the morning.

As it is, I take deep breaths, my chest heaving as I wrap my hand around the ridge of my cock and squeeze, quaking from the violent throb.

The sound of the shower cutting on gives me incentive to move, uncomfortably, toward the box I had Jefferson bring up. I lay it on the bed with a note and then head toward the kitchen. It was short notice, as I didn’t plan to bring Alexis back to my place when I left for the party, but Jefferson was able to get a few things here early this morning.

That alleviates some of the stress, offering a smidge more control, and I go through the motions of preparing breakfast and coffee with less tension gripping my shoulders. The task keeps my mind busy so I’m not as tempted to storm the bathroom and pin her against the shower wall.

I hear the timid pad of her feet before she enters the sitting area. From my peripheral, I take in her drenched hair and wet skin. She’s clad only in a white towel. I grit my teeth and beat the eggs harder.

“The room down the hall on the left is yours when you’re here. There’s a closet with clothes I’ve selected for you, so any choice will please me.”

“I think I made a mistake,” she says, her trembling evident in the quiver of her voice.

I drop the fork and turn to face her, wondering if she’s shivering from the chill of her wet skin or fear. Both are equally arousing, and I have to grip the counter to keep from marching over and tearing her towel away. “And why do you suddenly feel you’ve made a mistake?”

My gaze is drawn to the forced swallow along her slender throat. “This…” she says, bringing out the gift and instructions I left on the bed. “And all this—” she fans a hand through the air “—it’s too much. Too fast. It’s not me…not what I thought… I should leave.”

I move then, my quick and heavy steps loud in the steel kitchen. She shies away once I’m standing before her. “Then your choice is to leave the law firm, I assume.”

Her brows draw together, a glimmer of anger rising to the surface to color her cheeks. “Right now, the only threat I feel is from you,” she says, raising her chin.

My own eyebrows raise out of surprise. I cock my head and study her, trying to decide if her sudden show of bravado is due to fear or embarrassment. Maybe the anal plug should’ve been given to her later, after we discussed things. Damn. This process would’ve gone much smoother had I had the time to approach her on my own terms.

Tugging the towel higher, she takes a backward step. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to scare me for your own pleasure, or…I don’t know why.”

Knowing she’s deducing her own ideas of me brings a smile to my face. She’s curious. And her curiosity reveals that she has no desire to leave.

I return to the bowl and flip the stove burner on, then begin beating the yolks. “How do you take your eggs?”

Her exasperated huff makes my cock twitch. “Don’t you know?”

The glare I send her makes her head lower a fraction. “Careful, temptress.”

“Well,” she says, “you seem to know everything else about me.”

I let a smile slip as I add salt to the eggs.

“So you’re just twisted, then. You were only saying that last night to get into my pants,” she says, forcing the issue.

This, however, isn’t as entertaining. I pour the mix into the pan with gritted teeth. “Omelet it is. And no, Alexis, I may be many things—things that frighten, intimidate, and even intrigue you—but a liar isn’t one of them.” I look at her, my gaze dragging over her sultry form. “Do you regret last night?”