Page 148 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

Control.

Everything she’s been denied since we took her.

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers tighten experimentally, testing. The pressure sendselectricity down my spine, makes my pulse thunder in my ears. I watch her face as she realizes what this means—that I’m giving her the ability to hurt me, to dominate me, even if it’s just for this moment.

Her eyes are gleaming now, bright with the rush of power I’ve handed her. She squeezes harder and I let her, let the oxygen thin out just enough to make everything sharper, clearer. My vision tunnels to just her face, her parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest.

She stands there with her hand on my throat, and I wait for her to break. Wait for fear or disgust or uncertainty to make her pull away.

She doesn’t.

So I lean down.

And she doesn’t stop me.

When my lips meet hers, it’s like completing a circuit. All the tension, the fear, the want—it all ignites at once. She kisses me back immediately, needy and shaky, her hand still on my throat.

I walk her backward until she hits the kitchen counter, never breaking the kiss. She gasps against my mouth and then suddenly the dynamic shifts—she’s pushing me now, reversing our positions until my back hits the counter and she’s pressing into me, kissing me harder.

Her hands slide up my chest and I help her, grabbing the hem of my t-shirt and pulling it over my head. The cool air hits my skin for only a second before her hands are on me, exploring the tattoos that cover my torso and arms.

“What’s with all the skulls and flames?” she asks, her fingers tracing the design that wraps around my ribcage.

Instead of answering, I grab her hoodie. “Why don’t you have any?”

“I do.” She reaches down and hooks her thumbs into her leggings, pushing them down just enough to reveal her hip. “White ink. It’s a magnolia flower for my mom.”

I drop to my knees without thinking, needing to see it properly. She’s right—the ink is white, barely visible against her pale skin except where it catches the light. It’s delicate, beautiful, the petals detailed and realistic. It looks like a scar, which makes it even hotter.

“Hidden,” I say, then lean forward and press my lips to it.

She flinches, gasping, and her fingers immediately tangle in my hair. I use my tongue, tracing the outline of the flower, tasting soap and skin.

“Because...” Her voice breaks as I kiss higher, my hands gripping her hips. “Because I don’t wear anything on my sleeve. This is private. Just for me.”

I pull back just enough to look up at her, her fingers still in my hair. “And your boyfriend…”

She shakes her head, and the admission does something dark and possessive to me. I’m seeing something he hasn’t. Touching something he doesn’t even know exists.

“What is your accent?” she asks, breathless. “Where are you from?”

I stand, reaching for my back pocket. “London.”

I pull out the condom I’ve been carrying since we left the mansion—hoping, planning—and her eyes track the movement. She doesn’t say no. Doesn’t pull away.

So I tug her pants down the rest of the way.

She holds onto my shoulders, letting me peel it away. I grab the hoodie and remove it for her. I don’t need to even force her thighs open, my captive is fucking me willingly.

I stare at her naked body. “Sexy.”

She pushes me and steals the condom from my fingers. “Your turn.”

I take my clothes off as she removes the condom from its wrapper. We’re both standing naked in this freezing fucking cold cabin, but I’m hard as a rock. So are her nipples.

She slides the condom on, staring at my dick. And I know that look. She won’t be able to get enough. They never do.

I stand, waiting to see what she does next. She starts pumping my dick with her hand as I just watch.