Page 42 of Twisted Control

Drew doesn’t stop. He keeps stroking me through every shuddering wave, eyes dark and wicked as he watches me fall apart silently on his fingers while my father stands just feet away.

“Grace?” Dad’s voice echoes, followed by two firm knocks.

I break free from Drew’s hand with a sharp gasp. “Okay⁠—”

My heart is hammering so loudly I’m convinced Dad can hear it through the door. We stay frozen for what feels like forever. Finally, the footsteps continue down the hallway and fade away.

I shove Drew’s chest hard.

“Why the hell didn’t you stop?” I hiss.

“Because I’m not suicidal,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself. “Ruining that orgasm would’ve been the last thing I ever did.”

For a second I actually consider smothering him with a pillow.

“What if he walked in on us?” I whisper furiously.

Drew shrugs. “Door’s locked. All you had to do was moan out something like ‘I’m rubbing one out.’ He would’ve left faster.”

I stare at him, utterly speechless.

Then, like he owns the room, Drew leans back on my bed and sprawls out and gestures lazily at the very obvious, very large bulge in his trousers.

“Since you were such a good girl for me,” he says, voice thick with smug entitlement, “I’ll let you take care of this.”

I stare at him, stunned. “You’ll let me?”

Drew’s smirk deepens, pure evil delight. He’s enjoying this way too much.

“Out of my room,” I snap. “Now.”

“You know what?” he says, completely unbothered. “You just blew your chance.” He slides his hand over the thick bulge in his trousers, stroking it once, eyes locked on mine.

“I’ll handle it myself.”

He rolls off the bed and walks to the door, then pauses, hand on the knob. Looking back over his shoulder with a wicked grin, he adds, “Don’t worry. I’ll be thinking of you the whole time. I know how jealous you⁠—”

“Out,” I hiss.

He leaves, chuckling under his breath.

The second the door clicks shut, I flop back onto my bed and press my hands to my burning cheeks.

I hate how much I love his touch.

And I hate how completely his moans wreck me. Most guys stay quiet, like enjoying it too much is embarrassing. Not Drew. He gives you everything—every low, filthy groan, every rough curse, that gravelly, desperate edge in his voice when he starts losing control.

It’s shameless. And some messed up part of me is totally addicted to it.

I sink deeper into the bed.

Well done, Grace.

You tried to tease him…and lost. Again.

13

DREW