Page 5

He holds me there, wrists pinned above my head, body hovering over mine.

I’m trapped beneath him, every nerve exposed. My oversized T-shirt has ridden up my thighs. His gaze drops, zeroing in on my chest. My nipples strain against the thin cotton shirt as his eyes narrow.

He stole a kiss before. He watched me touch myself earlier. But this goes further. This is a line we cannot cross.

But my body ignores all of it. It arches. It aches. It gives him permission my mind won’t.

"Beautiful," he says. "I've been imagining for years, you underneath me, just like this."

A surge of fury cuts through the haze of heat. I twist beneath him, jerking at my wrists, but his grip only tightens, locking me in place.

“You don’t get to do this,” I snap, trying to yank free again. “Get off me.”

His eyes flare. Not with surprise. With satisfaction. He’s wanted a fight, and now he has one.

“Not until you’re honest with yourself, kitten.”

He shifts, pressing his hips into mine, and I feel every inch of him. I bite back a gasp, furious at my body’s reaction. He rocks his hips again, slow and unforgiving.

I turn my face away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another sound, but my body arches against him anyway.

He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “Keep fighting me, kitten. I like it when you make me work for it.”

And the worst part? So do I.

He grinds into me again, rougher this time. “Now open your mouth.”

My eyes snap to his. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He releases one of my wrists, hooking his thumb in the waistband of his sweatpants. “Open that pretty mouth for me, kitten.”

The command hits like a slap, and suddenly I understand exactly what he wants. I’m not some obedient little toy.

“If you think I’m going to suck your dick just because you said so, you’re dumber than you look.”

He stills, like he’s deciding whether to be pissed or turned on. Probably both.

“You want to play games? Fine. But you’re already soaked for me.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m yours for the taking,” I snap, wrenching my other hand free and shoving at his chest. “You don’t get to control me.”

"You want to win that client, don't you?" he continues, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Then be a good little kitten and do what I say. Because I can make you look really good out there. Or I could make you look really, really bad."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. The fog of lust evaporates in an instant. My body’s still humming from his touch, but now my blood runs hotter for an entirely different reason.

I shove at his chest, barely moving him. “Don’t you dare threaten me, you manipulative asshole.”

His eyes glint as if he expected the fight. Maybe even wanted it.

But then he frees his cock from his sweatpants, and every coherent argument dies on my lips.

He's huge. Thick and long and absolutely perfect, with veins mapping the length of him that make my mouth water. But what steals my breath completely is the silver ring pierced through the head, a piece of jewelry that's so unexpected, so deliciously dirty, that I gasp.

"Like what you see?" he taunts, wrapping his hand around himself and stroking once, slowly. The piercing catches the moonlight, winking at me like a challenge.

He grabs my hips and yanks me down the bed, forcing me flat against the mattress. My arms scramble for balance, but he’s already moving, climbing over me.

Then he straddles my chest.

And suddenly his cock is right there. Inches from my mouth. My brain short-circuits, overloaded by the sheer size of him, the obscene beauty of what he’s offering.

Up close, it's so much worse.

Or maybe it's better.

I can’t tell anymore.

My breath goes shallow. Any protest I might’ve had falters the second he cages me in, one hand braced on the headboard, the other gripping the base of his cock as he angles it toward my face.

“Hands on the mattress,” he growls. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

The command sends another spike of heat through me, but I fight it down. I'm not his toy. Not his plaything to order around whenever the mood strikes him.

"Good girl," he groans when I don't immediately move. "Now rub your lips against it. Show me how much you want my cock."

For a moment, I consider it. Consider giving him what he wants. The thought of submitting completely, of letting him use my mouth however he wants, sends a dark thrill through me that I don't want to examine too closely.

But then I remember his threat. The casual way he implied he could sabotage my career if I don't play along. The assumption that I'm so desperate for his approval that I'll debase myself for it.

Jagger Maddox. My best friend’s brother. Doing this to me.

Fuck that.

I lean forward slowly, letting my lips brush against the piercing with butterfly softness. He exhales sharply, his whole body going taut.

I open my mouth like I'm about to take him in, like I'm finally ready to give him what he wants.

Then I bite.

Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to get his attention. Just enough pressure to remind him that I have teeth.

He jerks back with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes going wide with shock. For a moment we just stare at each other, the power dynamic shifting so fast it makes my head spin.

"What the fuck…"

I don't let him finish. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, I push up, plant my hands on his chest, and shove hard, knocking him off balance. He rocks backward, giving me the space I need to scramble out from under him.

"You want a kitten, Jagger?" I shift upright on the bed, settling on my knees. "Careful. Even kittens have claws."

Before he can recover, I reach down and wrap my fingers around his still-hard cock, not gentle but not cruel either. Just tight enough to show him that I'm not afraid of him. That I'm not going to be intimidated by threats or manipulated by desire.

"This little power trip? It’s over. If this is about revenge for walking away after that kiss, get over it. You don’t get to control me, Jagger."

His mouth falls open slightly, like he can't quite process what's happening. The great Jagger Maddox, reduced to speechless by his little sister's best friend.

I climb off the bed, tugging my t-shirt back down. "I'm going for a walk," I announce, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the drawer and pulling them on. "And when I get back, you're going to be gone."

I shrug into my jacket, taking my time with the zipper just to prove I'm not running. Not this time.

I don't wait for his response. I step out into the cool night air and close the door firmly behind me, my pulse finally starting to slow.

The forest is quiet around me, peaceful in a way that helps settle my frayed nerves. I start walking, not caring about direction, just needing to move. To process what just happened.

He thought he could control me. Thought he could use my ambitions to manipulate me into submission. The arrogance of it still makes my blood boil.

But underneath the anger is something else. Something that feels like triumph.

Because for the first time since I arrived here, I was the one in control. I was the one who set the terms.

And judging by the look on his face, Jagger Maddox has no idea what to do with that.

Good. Let him figure it out.