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The stinging sensation is welcome. I’m proud of her for keeping her guard up.

Let’s see if she’s truly ready.

“Cereal?” My question is meant to throw her off.

Sadly, it does the trick. Her smile widens. “Why not? I mean, I tried to cook an actual meal. But I ruined the last filet so?—”

I steal the broken plate from her, ignoring the pain when it cuts into my palm. I have exactly one second left of Ophelia’s confusion, and I use it well. Turn her. Slam the front of her body to the window wall. Pin her there by my hips.

Her chain clinks along the wood floor. I get off on the sound, on owning her so thoroughly.

My hand winds its way through her long, soft hair. For a second, I let myself lean in to inhale the scent of her shampoo.

Ophelia’s struggles only serve to make my cock harder. Her growl is both aroused and upset. “Argh! You’re infuriating.”

“I laughed because you’re adorable.” I sound soft. Yanking her by her hair and slicing off a lock of it is anything but.

Once I have the lock of hair in my palm, I throw the broken plate to the floor. It shatters into smaller pieces. I assume. I’m too engrossed in Ophelia to look anywhere else. To care about anything else.

That maddens me further. I tug harder on her hair. Rock my hips into her even harder.

The glass wall rattles.

“I’m not adorable,” she growls, twisting her head as much as my hold on her allows. Her dark eyes are accusatory. She fights me while I pocket the lock of her hair. “I was going to get dinner ready. What’s adorable about that? You know what”—moan—“let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that I am.”

“You are.”

“Ugh.” She stomps on my shoe. I let her. “If I’m so goddamn adorable, why are you hurting me?”

When violence doesn’t work, she pushes her ass to my cock.

“I’m training you; there’s a difference. Besides, I enjoy hurting you. I’ve been fantasizing about it all day. About you.” I pull back to lower her leggings and panties. I’m an aggressive bastard. Impatient as I take myself out. “You made me fall for you. I love you, Ophelia. It’s an inconvenience. Spit.”

“I—What?”

“Spit.” My hand is right under her mouth. “I won’t ask you twice.”

“What for?” Her breaths are hot on my palm. Her fear and excitement are intoxicating. “I’m wet.”

“Your ass isn’t.”

There’s a bottle of lube in my bedside table drawer. Another one is in my office. Both were put there for her.

No way am I am leaving her long enough to get either of them.

“Oh,” she whispers, then spits while grinding her naked ass into my cock.

“Jesus, you’re a filthy one.” I’m turned on. An animal. I yank her head back up, and she gasps so pretty for me. I take advantage of that too, spitting into her open mouth. “Spit that in my hand too.”

Her eyes are furious. That doesn’t stop her from doing as I said. From pushing her hips back, begging for my cock.

“You love me,” she accuses. “You love me.”

“I love my steak too.”

She blushes, the pink color spreading across her nape. I’m a bastard for getting turned on by that. For stretching her ass with two wet fingers. Precum wets the tip of my cock when she groans in pain.

“But there’s none here.” I rub the spit on my cock. Watch her face turning into a picture of resolution. “No staff, either.”