Page 82 of House of Cards

I grab her jaw, forcing her to look at me. Blood oozes from the split lip the Colombian gave her and something primal stirs in me at the sight.

Black.

Wet.

I’m desperate to rip out my cock, to force it between those puffy, blood-soaked lips, but the angle is wrong.

And I can’t see her tits.

“I’ve been waiting to fuck this bratty mouth of yours since you stole from me,” I tell her, my thumb tracing her blood-stained lower lip.

She scowls at me, but the look fades as I grab the front of her costume and rip it down her chest. I palm her tits, watching her nipples tighten at my rough touch.

I walk around the chair until I’m beside her, and crouch until our eyes are level. She tries to kick me, but with a hand pressed down on either knee, there’s not much she can do.

“Hope your jaw unhooks, kitten, because you’re takingallof me.”

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, true fear eclipses the defiance.

Then she smiles, teeth black with blood, and spits in my face.

I rise, pulling off my glasses to inspect the thick splatter of blood and saliva on the lenses. I fold them, slip them into my shirt pocket. Zoey’s face is blurry now, but I still grab her on the first try.

With one hand, I pinch into her cheeks, forcing her jaws open. She resists, trying to close them, but all she’s doing is slicing open the inside of her own cheeks.

“You’re incorrigible,” I murmur as I zip down my pants.

She growls at me like a feral cat.

Her eyes are hazy green circles, deeply shadowed in the dim light. I’m wishing I took the time to clean my glasses so I can see how truly repentant she is. But from the way she’s still resisting me, desperately trying to close her jaw, I hesitate.

She’s already bitten off an ear today. I don’t want to add my dick to her trophies.

“You know what happens to girls who spit?” I ask, patting her cheek. “I teach them to swallow. Every. Fucking. Drop.”

I rip off my tie.

Zoey’s desperate to keep her head away as I gag her, but strapped down as she is, doesn’t stand a chance. Her cheeks puff out as she pants against the fabric tightened cruelly between her teeth, eyes in malicious slits.

She struggles to buck me off when I slide my knees onto the chair on either side of her legs. Whatever curses she’s yelling are unintelligible through the gag. But when I grab her tits and squeeze them hard enough to have her flesh oozing through my fingers like dough, she hastily stills.

I watch the panic in her eyes turn to confusion, turn to fear as I tweak her nipples between thumb and forefinger. They harden on command, goosebumps on her skin.

Her eyes squeeze closed when I zip down my pants and take out my cock. When she hears me spit on my cock, a quiver goes through her entire body.

“Look at me.” My voice grates in my throat. “You’re going to watch me use you like the little fucktoy that you are.”

My self-control is fraying.

Zoey doesn’t want to know what happens when it snaps.

Her eyelashes tremble before she forces them open to reveal the simmering hate muddied with fear, disgust, and hopelessness swimming in them.

There’s a second where she glances down at my cock, but it seems to terrify her more than anything I’ve done to her yet.

Big, hazel eyes painted black by the overhead lights lock onto mine, and don’t budge. Not when I wrap my hand around my cock and start stroking myself. Not when I squeeze her tits together and push my hard on between them.

“There’s my good girl.”