Page 71 of Wicked Villain

I move to the table and climb on top, very aware that every move I make places me in a compromising position. I stay on my knees, feeling like a cat. It feels safer. For now.

“Sit and spread your thighs.” His eyes lock on mine, urging me to obey. “I want to see every inch of you.”

My heart pounds hard, battering my chest. Everything inside me yells at me to grab my clothes and run, but we’ve played that game before, and it always ends the same—with him catching me.

I’ve done enough to screw myself over for one lifetime, so I decide to obey.

I turn myself around and sit, then I spread my thighs.

Lev moves toward me, far too close, and grabs my knees to part my legs wider. His touch feels like fire, sending shivers of arousal through me.

The unwanted sensation irritates the hell out of me.

How can I be aroused by this? By him?

He runs his large hands up my inner thighs and stops just short of my mound. Then he just looks at me, the intensity of his gaze and dominance holding me in place.

The sinful look in his eyes is like nothing I’ve seen, and I wonder what filth he’s conjuring for me.

“Are you just going to look at me?” My voice trembles.

“Yes. But not the way you think.” He sits on the chair, reaches for the glass, and brings it to his lips to drink. “Lean back on your elbows.”

I do as he says, feeling like I might fall off the table.

“Now, I want you to touch yourself.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

My mouth goes dry. There’s no way I’m doing that.

“Slide your fingers into your pussy and touch yourself the way you would when no one is watching you.”

My entire body goes up in flames. “I… can’t do that.”

“Oh, but you will.”

Asshole. Absolute asshole.

“Come on now, don’t keep me waiting.”

Thinking of my mother while I was stripping for him was unbearable enough. But this… there’s not a lot that’s going to help me. The only thing I can think of is him. And I mustn’t go there.

My lungs squeeze. How am I supposed to do this in front of him?

I won’t act like I’ve never touched myself before. I have. But in the dark confines of my bedroom, where the only person I have to worry about is me.

Where do I even start?

“Something wrong, malyshka?” The bastard smirks.

“No,” I answer quickly.

“Then go ahead. Start.”

When he grabs the bottle of scotch and pours himself another drink, I wish I could change my mind and kill him instead. But that’s not an option anymore.

He drinks, but his hungry gaze is all on me.