Page 27 of Dark Restraint
He glares at me as if I said something wrong when all I’ve done is confirm exactly what he came here to claim. He opens his mouth but seems to change his mind about what he’s about to say at the last moment. Instead, his dark gaze flicks over my head to the mirror behind me. “What are you wearing?”
What kind of question is that? It’s pretty obvious what I’m wearing. “It’s a skirt.”
“It’s a tease.” His grip on my jaw tightens again, and he moves away, pulling my torso forward while keeping the bottom half of my body in place with a hand on my hip. His glare intensifies. “Barely bend over and you’re flashing your panties. Did you pick this out for your husband?”
I’m not the one who picked it at all, but suddenly I am a thousand percent done with his shit. He was sent to kill me. Yes, he hasn’t done a single thing to intentionally hurt me to date, but that doesn’t change the fact that he owes my father everything. No matter what I feel for Asterion, I am intensely aware of where I stand in the hierarchy of his allegiance.
I’ve done what it takes to survive, and I’m sorry if it hurt him, but he doesn’t get to play the jealous lover when he is the most dangerous person to me right now. I glare right back up at him. “I already told you that Dionysus doesn’t want that from me. But you know what? He kindly informed me that I am more than welcome to take a lover as long as we discuss it first. I’m wearing it for them, Asterion. And when I do, there won’t be panties underneath it.”
His grip on me becomes almost painful. “Show me.”
I shove at his chest, but all it does is guide him to sink on the bench across from the mirror. Even as I tell myself that this won’t be the time I melt for him, my hands find their way under my skirt and hook the edges of my panties. One good jerk and they reach my knees so I can shimmy out of them.
Then my traitorous hands find his thick thighs. He’s big enough that I can brace my elbows just above his knees and my fingers barely touch his hips. The new position folds me in half, and no matter how reserved this motherfucker is, I hear his shocked inhale right down to my soul. I can feel the air of the changing room on my exposed pussy. This is dangerous and one more mistake to add to my list, but that doesn’t stop me from shifting my legs farther apart.
I turn my head until I can see his face, but he’s not looking down at me. He’s looking at the obscene display I’ve created for him in the mirror. Because it is for him, regardless of what imaginary lover he’s decided I’m taking.
My breath feels harsh in my throat. “Do you think they’ll like it?”
“Yeah.” He shifts his grip, one hand finding my elbow and the other sinking into my hair. “You look wet, Ariadne. You like imagining them?”
Them. The thought is laughable. There’s only ever been him, and I’m not at a place in my life where I can picture being with anyone but him. It’s too big of an ask. But I have my pride, and I’ll die before I admit that I’m wet because I’m putting myself on display for him, because of the way his eyes go dark and hot when he looks at me. As if he’s barely controlling himself. As if he wants to devour me whole.
“Of course I do.” I clear my throat. “They’re gentle and selfless and give me exactly what I need.”
He huffs out a ragged chuckle. “Liar.” His hand in my hair goes tight enough to hurt, surprising a moan out of me. “You want every experience too desperately for soft to ever satisfy you.”
“How would you know?” I snap. “All you’re capable of is violence.”
“Maybe.” The amusement is gone from his voice. “Want to prove me wrong? Show me what that pretty pussy needs, Ariadne.”
“W-What?”
“If soft is what you’re craving, then show me how you come so much harder when you touch yourself softly. How much better your orgasm is without my violent hands on you.”
Now is the time to tell him to fuck right off. He keeps pushing me. It’s not enough that I’m not telling him no. It’s not enough that I’m a willing participant with him guiding me. No, I have to play out my poor decisions without any prompting from him. My pride demands I stand and walk away. But my panties are on the floor and my clit is pulsing in time with my racing heart.
And there’s a fact that Asterion’s cock is a hard imprint against the front of his jeans, mere inches from my face. It looks painful, and I’m surprised by the vindictiveness that rises in me in response. It feels almost like power.
In his apartment, I orgasmed more times than I can count, but he never took pleasure for himself. Not like he did in the maze. And now, again, he’s denying himself. All to focus on leaving me unbalanced and at his mercy.
It makes me want to punish him.
If I’m to be a victim to my own foolishness, then he damn well will be, too.
I straighten abruptly, and he barely has time to get his hand out of my hair to keep from hurting me for real. He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to say a single word. I turn around and sink onto his lap, right on top of his hard, trapped cock. Again, he makes that intoxicating sound, a hissed exhale that would be too soft to notice if he wasn’t doing it against my ear.
I widen my stance, spreading his legs in the process, and lean back against his broad chest. He’s tall enough that he has a perfect line of sight to where I delve my hand between my thighs and stroke my clit. Softly. Slowly. As if I can’t feel his coiled violence at my back.
The shock on his rough face is almost enough to make me orgasm right then and there. It’s not often I surprise this man. It’s not often I get the upper hand in any situation. I have it now, though.
He grips the edge of the bench, his knuckles white. It only drives my desire higher. I keep circling my clit with my middle finger, and though I’ve touched myself to countless orgasms, I’ve never watched it happen in a mirror. Never seen the way my pussy blooms with need. Never watched my fingers grow slick with desire.
It’s still not enough.
My orgasm hovers at the edge of my awareness, but no matter how I touch myself, it skitters away. I don’t want him to be right. I desperately want to put him in his place. But… “Asterion.”
“Tell me what you need.” His voice is barely a whisper in my ear.