Page 70 of Bad Attitude
It’s Saturday, and he’s out again.
Where are you going to, Declan?
Part of me wants to know. Hell,allof me wants to know.
Kurt would tell me to do it, but I’m not the kind of girl that follows a man,spyingon him.
Am I?
Can I?
The shower cuts off and a moment later he walks back in, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His hair is damp, droplets of water cling to his chest. He’s mesmerizing. Beguiling.
That was the word I used the first day I saw him, and it’s more true now than it was then.
“You’re a sight,” he says, pausing at the side of the bed to look down at me.
“I am?” And here I was, just thinking the same.
“Hair in a mess, skin flushed, naked and still wet, I wager.” He playfully lifts the side of the duvet, and I shove it down, blushing. “Now I want to know more than ever,” he says. He takes his hand back, and his chin jerks in command. “Show me.”
“What?”
He subtly leans in. “Move the duvet, spread your legs.” His voice goes low. “Show. Me.”
Fuck.
“Declan,” I begin, a note of protest. I get no further before his hand flashes out, gripping my throat. Like he anticipated my refusal.
“I’ve already told you what I want.” Three fingers of his other hand slap into my cheek. Heavy enoughto feel it, to redden the skin, perhaps. It stings, not enough to hurt. A chastisement, a humiliation. More startling than pain. “Are you going to show me?” Another slap, same cheek, a little harder.
“Declan…” It comes out as a gasp this time.
He pulls the duvet down, still gripping my throat, and I’m not fast enough to stop him. The next slap lands on my breast, over my nipple, harder still. I cry out, then hate that it didn’t hurt the way it should have. “This is a fun game,” he murmurs. “How far do you want to push?”
How far will he go?
The worse question is why my body is answering that with heat instead of alarm.
I should be angry, but I’m not. I’m wet, ashamed of it, and his eyes say he can tell.
“I’ll… do it,” I cry. “I’ll… show you.”
“I know you will.”
He releases me and straightens, waiting expectantly. Letting me peel back the duvet. Revealing myself to him, his gaze on my body, not my face. I spread my legs, biting my lip, my cheeks flaming.
“Wider.”
They’re already wide, but I lift my knees, parting my thighs even more. My sex isn’t just revealed, it’s pouting up at him, slick with my arousal. Almost begging for his touch.
Sohumiliating.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, and I shiver at his words, but don’t dare close my legs.
Fuck. What is wrong with me?
“I’m going to get dressed,” he says. “Stay like that.”
