I can still feel his fingers inside me.
I’m gripping the counter hard, the only thing keeping me upright, my chest rising and falling like I just ran a marathon. My skin feels too hot, my legs weak, my pulse pounding in my ears.
What the hell just happened?
I should run upstairs to tell Marie about her psycho guard dog and pack my bags. But instead… I bring my fingers to my mouth and trace my lips, tasting myself again the way he made me.
I shiver. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he manhandled me like he had the right to… or the fact that I liked it. No, I fucking loved it. Every rough touch, every filthy word. All of it dragged something dark and needy out of me. Something I didn’t even know was there.
I lean back against the counter, forcing my breathing to slow.
Next time, you’ll be on your knees. Aslan’s deep, gravelly voice echoes in my head.
I should’ve slapped him. Should’ve screamed. Should’ve… something, anything! Instead, I stayed there shaking and moaning while he fingered me in the middle of the goddamn kitchen like he fucking owns me.
I squeeze my thighs together. God… what’s wrong with me?
I can’t shake the image of his hand collaring my throat, his fingers deep inside me, his striking eyes locked on mine like I’m his.
And the worst part is I want more.
I want to push him again, get too close, talk too much, piss him off just to see what happens.
I want to know what it feels like when he loses control completely.
I close my eyes, my head falling between my stretched arms on the cold marble countertop.
This is bad. Real bad. Because Aslan isn’t some boy I can flirt with and forget about. He’s a man. A scary, dangerous man. And I can tell if I keep playing with fire, I’m gonna get burned.
