Page 67 of Jordan

“Like you want me to fuck you.”

My lips part at his words, warmth flooding my stomach. I almost choke on the cookie but swallow it down. He rests his hand on my bare leg, his warm fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. My heart leaps into my throat.

“If you want my cock, Jordan, all you have to do is ask.” His tone is low, husky. He blinks once, otherwise holding my gaze.

“I-I don’t.” I shake my head as he raises a brow.

“You sure about that?”

No.

“Yes.”

He hums a sound of approval and goes back to watching the movie. I turn my head to watch it but can’t tell you a single thing happening. His hand is scorching the skin on my leg. Why don’t I hate it? Why aren’t I pushing it off? Why do I want him to move it higher? Why am I thinking about the way he felt inside me? I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t think about any of that.

But I’ve done it already. I’m stuck here. Does it matter?

I’m here, I may as well enjoy it, right? That’s what I’ve been telling myself. I’m still a woman. I still enjoyed sex with him and Rafael, even if Enzo is an asshole now.

I blame my period. It’s all my period’s fault. I did always want sex more during it and right after. I should’ve locked myself in the room tonight.

“You know, being here doesn’t have to be terrible,” he says softly, his thumb making circles around my thigh.

“It doesn’t?” I ask softly.

“I don’t want you to hate it here.”

Then don’t make me stay.

It’s what I think, but it’s not what I say. Once again, in the presence of Enzo, my mind and body are not on the same page.

“I don’t want to,” I say instead.

He slides his hand up, fingers brushing over my slit through my shorts. “You responded to me so well at the club. Listened well. You were such a good girl.”

I nod, gripping onto the couch so I don’t thrust against his hand like I want to.

“I think you could do that all the time, Jordan. If you tried.”

I could. He’s right. But I don’t want to try because I’m mad at him. Because he’s pushing me too far. He’s making me do things I don’t want to do.

Saturday was about me. I was there to experience something. I wanted to let go and have a good time. It was temporary. This isn’t that. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want this.

Yet, I still nod.

Something in me reacts to his praise, to his approval of my actions, forcing me to go along with them, but I don’t hate it. My body doesn’t fill with anger the way it does when he tells me I can’t leave.

So I’m fine with him telling me what to do with my body when it comes to sex, but not anything else?

What the hell is wrong with me?

“What do you think? Do you think you could do that for me? Be a good girl for me?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, his fingers adding more pressure against my pussy. Warmth spreads through my stomach, gathering in my chest.

“Yes…”

“Yes, sir.”