Page 55 of I'm sorry, Princess

But instead of anger, there was something darker in his eyes.

He’s staring at me, his eyes burning with fury, but there’s something else there, too. Amusement.

“I bet your pussy is begging for my cock,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, each word cutting through me like a blade. “Screaming and begging to be fucked.”

My breath catches, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

“I know you want me, princess,” he continues, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I see how you’re looking at me. I see your beautiful eyes searching mine, trying to hide what you’re feeling.”

He takes a step closer, and I feel trapped under his gaze.

“I see your nipples getting harder and harder every time I touch you, or claim you as mine, just with my words. I see your dilated pupils, and I know, as sure as fuck, that you’re dripping. That your panties are soaking. That your pussy is pulsing for my cock.”

His words hit me like a tidal wave, overwhelming me, drowning me in a mix of desire and anger.

Because he’s right.

I hate that he’s right.

Weeks of this, of his filthy, teasing words, of the slow, unbearable foreplay that never went further than his voice, have left me teetering on the edge.

He’s been breaking me down little by little, and now my body betrays me completely.

I do want him.

I want him so much it hurts.

I want him to touch me. To be inside me. To claim me as his.

And I hate myself for it.

“I don’t want you,” I lie, my voice shaking as I force the words out.

It’s all I can manage to say, but it’s enough, for now.

I turn, moving toward the door, determined to escape this room and the twisted hold he has over me.

But as I reach for the handle, his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrists with a grip that’s firm but not painful.

My heart skips a beat.

I freeze, unable to move, his touch burning through me like a brand.

I don’t dare turn around, but I can feel him behind me, so close, his presence suffocating, his breath hot against the back of my neck.

“You’re lying,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, a dark promise hidden beneath his words.

My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic rhythm I can’t control.

“But,” he continues, stepping closer, his piercing gaze locking onto mine, “I’ll give you a chance.”

He tilts his head, studying me like he can see right through me, like he knows the truth my body is betraying.

“If your underwear is dry, you can leave. No questions asked. But if you’re wet... if you lied to me, Serena...”

His voice deepens, a warning laced with raw hunger.

“I’ll be mad,” he says, his tone sending a shiver down my spine, “and I’ll rip you apart until you’re wishing you never lied to me.”