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I stared into his eyes and felt him smooth his hands over my inner thighs, pushing up the bottom part of the dress I wore. It was light, summery, and the feel of the material sliding over my skin had goose bumps popping out over my flesh.

When he was a few inches from the most intimate part of me, he exerted pressure and spread my thighs even wider. I swallowed, my throat feeling tight, dry. He moved his hands an inch closer, and I felt myself start to respond, felt my body heat come alive. I should have feared him, maybe even been disgusted, repulsed by what he probably wanted to do to me.

But I was wet.

“How affected are you right now?” he asked, his sweet-smelling breath moving along my lips. He moved his fingers even closer. I knew he had to be touching the edge of my lace panties now. He leaned in until there was only an inch separating our mouths. “Answer me.”

I licked my lips, searching his face, trying to read him. It was no use. This man was unmovable, unreadable. “Affected” was all I said, all I knew how to say in this moment. Actually saying I was wet, that I was ready for him, that this form of control and torture—albeit arousing me to no end—made me so on edge I would give it to him without a fight.

I saw something dark flicker in his eyes, but he didn’t show emotion any other way.

“If I touch your cunt, would you be wet?”

I didn’t make him wait for an answer. I nodded.

“If I stroked your little clit, would you come for me?”

Again I nodded. I knew I would, knew it wouldn’t take me more than a few hard, fast strokes of his finger on my clit to bring me off. He lowered his eyes to my chest, and I knew he was watching the way my breasts rose and fell, fast, almost violently. The white shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the collar, and the tattoos I could see looked angry, harsh…untouchable.

They matched the man in front of me.

I shifted, maybe to move away, to get some air. Maybe I was suffocating from my own desires, the need to be with this man so intense my fear and pleasure slammed together. They fought, my common sense telling me this wasn’t what I should want, that my body reacting this way wasn’t normal.

“Are you frightened of me or of this situation?” He smoothed his finger over the edge of my panties. “Does it scare the fuck out of you, what I plan on doing, that the unknown is right there, teasing you, tormenting you?”

I didn’t know if being honest was the right course, if admitting that yeah, I was afraid but I was also turned on, would actually be the wisest decision.

“You’re terrified right now, but I can also tell you want this.” He leaned in another inch, our mouths so close. “Your cheeks are pink, your pupils dilated.” He lowered his gaze to my mouth. “You’re breathing so hard right now, your breasts pushing against the material of the dress.” He lifted his gaze back to my eyes. “I bet you feel like you’re drowning.”

I felt myself pull my legs apart even more, as if my body had a mind of its own, was controlling this situation…was seeking out more of Cameron’s touch.

He made this deep, dark sound, this noise of approval, this tone that told me he liked what I’d just done.

“You want me to taste you, to lick you until you come?”

I shivered, my flesh tightening, my pulse racing.

“You want me to run my tongue through your cunt, suck at your clit, and show you how good I can make you feel?”

I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he actually wanted me to answer. And then he placed his hand right between my thighs, right over my wet pussy.

“Tell me what you want me to do, beg me for it.”

He got off on me saying these things, on the humiliation I felt succumbing to my desires, submitting to him. I felt a flush steal over me, my entire body on fire, my skin sensitive to the slightest breeze in the air. He added even more pressure, making me gasp, my toes curling.

“Fucking tell me what you want, and if you’re a good girl, I might give it to you.”

“I want you to touch me, to lick me,” I whispered.

He made this low growl, this animalistic sound. I could hear people in the kitchen, the bang of pots, the clatter of china. They could come through that door right now and see me on the table, my legs spread, with Cameron’s hand between my thighs.

“What else do you want?” He added even more pressure, and I closed my eyes, a moan ripping from me.

“I want you to make me yours.” God, I’d just said that out loud, told him exactly what he wanted to hear, played into his hand.

“Good girl,” he all but purred, his mouth by my ear, his hand still between my legs. “Your honesty deserves a reward.” And then he was on his haunches between my legs, his warm breath moving along my panty-covered pussy.

He didn’t make me wait long to wonder what he’d do, how far he’d go. He pulled my panties aside, the dual combination of his warm breath and the chilled air sending shock waves through me. I wanted to scream, beg, plead for him to touch me, to lick me, to ease the raging arousal burning deeply in me. He either read my mind, or maybe I said the words out loud. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand it any longer either.

Before I could even think about what was going on, before I could grasp the reality of my situation, I felt him move his tongue through my folds, parting me, making me shiver. I wanted more, yet I wanted to push him away, tell him I didn’t want this…convince myself of this fact.

He continued to lick at me, dragging his tongue through my lips, circling my clit, sucking the bud into his mouth on every upstroke. I grabbed the tablecloth, held it tightly, my nails digging through it and spearing my palms. A gasp left me when Cameron gently bit my clit, making this high-pitched cry leave me and having me gasp for air. I yanked on the cloth as pleasure and pain consumed me.

The sound of something clattering to the ground and shattering vaguely pierced my mind. I was trying so hard not to enjoy this, to fight myself on what he was doing to me, how he made me feel so free, so alive. His hands on my inner thighs were rough, painful. He held me in place as he opened me up to his tongue and mouth, to his beautiful torment. It was pleasure and pain all wrapped into one conflicting ball, into one war inside of me that wouldn’t surrender.

And then he thrust his tongue into my body, my pussy clamping on the muscle, dragging it farther in, needing it as deep as it would go. I wanted to be stretched, claimed completely, and in this moment nothing else mattered…my body, my situation, my very reasoning for not wanting this man.

None of that mattered right here and now as the pleasure washed through me, dug its nails into my body, hanging on, not letting go.

I felt the tendrils of that delicious, depraved pleasure wash

through me. I should have fought it, rebelled against it, but instead I found myself welcoming it, embracing it. And just as I felt the pleasure crest, Cameron pulled away.

I sagged against the table, my body shaking, the near orgasm leaving me breathless and on the verge of wanting to beg him to make me feel good, to wash away the bleakness in my life.

“Open your eyes.”

I found myself obeying him instantly. He still had his hands on my inner thighs, but he was no longer between my legs. His focus was trained on me, his lips red from what he’d just been doing to me.

“You stopped.” I didn’t know why I thought it was a good idea to say anything, but the words came from me fast, breathless. He didn’t speak, didn’t even show emotion. He’d just been eating me out, yet his expression showed me nothing. He was like a brick wall, a poker face that would crush all others. I shifted on the table, trying to close my legs, but Cameron still had his hands on me, holding me open, making me feel vulnerable.

The door to the kitchen opened, and in walked one of his waitstaff. My heart thundered, embarrassment filling me. But Cameron seemed unaffected, not taking his hands from my legs, not breaking eye contact.

“I’m the one who holds the power, Sofia.” He moved a step away, running his big, tattooed hands on his pants as he stared at me. “You’ll be whole once this is all said and done, and I’ll let you go back to the life you know…if that’s what you want.”

If that’s what I want?

“But you’ll do best to remember that I’m the one you owe, that I’m the one who pulled you from the recesses of hell. For the next two weeks you’re mine.” He looked me right in the eyes. “Finish eating if you want, then get cleaned up and meet me in the solarium.” And then he turned and left, leaving me on the table, my legs spread, and the waitstaff on the floor picking up the shards of broken glass.

I felt like that china on the floor: cracked, vulnerable, at the mercy of another. And I knew this was only the beginning.

CHAPTER TWELVE