18. The Sadist Asshole

18

The Sadist Asshole

Cooper was in a mood.

Before boarding the plane to Vermont, he had threatened to pull the plug on the whole tour unless Oscar returned, saying that it was all of them or none of them.

Braun had borne down on him, matching fury for fury. “You think I wanted this? I’m the one funding this shitshow, not you, not Orion, not Ironside. Sato hasn’t gone AWOL. He’s in his home settlement where you all wanted him to stay, anyway. That’s why I’m funding the tour, remember? West had to beg the OGGB to let him out, remember? Let’s just give him a few weeks, and then we’ll swing back around and pick him up again before the end of the tour.”

It was an uncomfortable plane ride … made even worse because Mikel, Kalen, and Elijah were still mad at her. She was used to playing games with them where she danced around them, experimenting with their attraction to her and her to them, where they tested her in small ways, wondering if she could handle them, and she responded to their tests, wondering the same thing.

This felt like another game.

They were biding their time—probably because they had enough drama to deal with—and she was cautiously trying to take cues from them.

They landed in Vermont, and Cooper stepped off the plane first, his phone at his ear, his tone still pissed. Her father had rented another lodge with limited bedrooms, effectively separating the humans and the Gifted again. They went through their obligatory meeting with the police and then divided up the bedrooms. Braun and Teak were both staying with them this time. Teak marched straight into the kitchen and began hunting through the cupboards, slamming them in irritation. Isobel didn’t need to ask what she was looking for. If Teak wasn’t high, she was chasing down a bottle of alcohol.

Isobel hovered on the other side of the polished wooden kitchen island, shifting nervously from foot to foot. She wanted to take away Teak’s pain, but she had already tried it one morning in Vermont, and Teak had snapped at her to “mind her own business,” somehow sensing her—probably because Isobel assumed she was too drunk to notice and hadn’t been as careful as she usually was.

“I could make some tea?” Isobel offered weakly, watching Teak ransack the cupboards in search of alcohol.

Teak plastered an empty smile across her lips. “No need. I think I’ll put in an order for supplies. You want anything?”

“No …”

Teak was already walking out of the room.

Isobel sighed, picking up her luggage again and hauling it into her assigned room.

“Ten minutes to recharge and settle in,” Mikel called from the hallway. “Then meet up in the lounge. We need to move the furniture and set up the cameras.”

Isobel finished up a round of squat jumps, shaking out her legs to ease the burn as she eyed Mikel. He had let everyone go an hour earlier, but he was still working on her. Or torturing her. She wasn’t sure which.

They were outside on the huge balcony that wrapped the front of the lodge. The mountainscape was swallowed by darkness because they were still doing their workouts at night to save the daytime for their filmed activities.

There was light spilling onto the balcony from the inside of the lodge, but they were still half in shadow. Music played softly over the outdoor speakers, turned down so low that she could still hear her own laboured breath and the brush of Mikel’s shoes pacing over the wooden deck.

“Split jumps,” he demanded. “Until I say stop.”

She stretched her neck to the side, narrowing her eyes on him. “I think I’ve jumped enough,” she ventured, testing his anger. It had been simmering for days, pushed far down and slowly rising. It seemed it had finally reached the surface.

“You’ve had enough when I say so.” He stopped before her. “Split jumps. Now.”

She started the exercise, her calves and glutes on fire from the way he was stacking exercises of the same muscle groups together.

“Higher,” he snapped.

She let out a grunt. It was all she could muster.

Just before she began to cramp, he told her to stop.

“Plank,” he demanded, pointing to the floor.

She got into position and felt his foot against her ass, pushing her out of it so that she tumbled onto her side.

“Plank,” he said again.

“Seriously?” she growled.

He ducked down, his hand loosely circling her neck, his mouth a breath from hers, his eyes drilling into her. “Plank,” he whispered before releasing her and standing again.

She planked again.

He planted his shoe against her hip and toppled her over again.

This time, she swore and regained her position before he could demand it of her.

“Good girl,” he crooned, his tone cruel. “We’re going to keep going until you learn how to do as you’re told, even if you don’t like it.”

She growled as he kicked her over again. “This is fucked up.”

She got back into position.

He laughed, the sound hollow, and crouched beside her, one hand landing over her ass, pressing down. “Hold your position,” he demanded, his free hand gripping her face and turning her eyes to his. “You want to know what’s fucked up? My mate ignored me and stepped in front of someone who could have buried razor-sharp talons into her chest before she could fucking open her pretty little lips and squeak for help. Hold it .”

Her arms trembled, and his grip on her ass shifted, filling his palm with her flesh as he squeezed painfully hard, still trying to press her down. She was wearing booty shorts and a loose cutoff shirt over her sports bra, so his fingers dug into the lower curve of her butt cheek. She tried to stop it, but the rough, domineering grip sent a flood of heat to pool low in her belly, and she could feel herself getting wet.

Furious, but wet.

“And then she ran away and put herself in danger again when she was under strict orders not to go anywhere without an escort,” Mikel finished, his demanding fingers releasing her.

She waited for him to push her again, but instead, he stepped away from her. “Meet me in my room in ten minutes. I was going to let you off with a rough training session, but if you’re going to enjoy it, then it’s time we levelled up your punishment, pet. Say yes, Sir.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” She flopped onto her butt, staring up at him in shock, trying to hide the shiver that passed through her as the words left her lips.

It didn’t feel the same as when she called the officials “sir” or “ma’am,” and by the way Mikel froze, it wasn’t a line he had intended on crossing just yet. His breath seemed sharp, his eyes dropping down her sprawled legs. His big chest swelled as he sucked in air, and then he turned on his heel and left her there.

Ten minutes seemed unnecessary. Likely intended to punish her even more because it definitely wasn’t enough time for her to distract herself with anything else. She stepped into the lounge room, finding Moses and Niko reclined in chairs with a view directly out to the deck. They were already showered and dressed in comfortable clothes, ready for bed, lazily flipping through channels. It was a farce. They didn’t have time to laze around and watch TV. They should have been in bed, stealing every minute of sleep that they could.

“You’re both evil if you enjoyed watching that,” she accused, folding her arms over her chest.

“He let you off easy,” Moses remarked, giving her a very similar look to the one Mikel had just given her, his eyes trailing the line of her legs.

“He’s not done,” Niko noted, seeing the despairing look on her face. He chuckled, shaking his head. The sound was dark. “This is why we don’t piss off Mikel, mat?—”

He cut himself off. Mate , he had been about to say. But he swallowed it instead.

“Will it work if I run crying to Kalen?” she asked, pretending not to notice. She and Niko were still sorting out what they were to each other. They were slowly getting back to where they were, just as he was slowly getting back to who he was.

She didn’t want to push him, and she knew he was terrified that he would lose control the way Oscar had. She felt it from him in waves whenever she tried to get physically close to him.

“Kalen will tell him to double the punishment if you do that.” Moses tsked , shaking his head.

“What should I expect?” She pouted, slipping to the couch beside Niko.

His hand landed over her thigh immediately, like he couldn’t help himself, and he pulled her closer. It was instinct, but he never let it go too far.

“We’re not his sub,” Niko murmured close to her ear. “Something tells me he isn’t going to put you on a suicidal diet or make you run for three hours with weights strapped to your ankles.”

“I’m n-not his sub,” she stuttered.

Moses regarded her cooly. “She says, all subby-like,” he drawled.

She glared at him. “I’ll give you subby.”

He smirked. “I’m waiting.”

“Ugh!” She pounced up, pointing at him. “I can’t believe I’m being sub-shamed by a virgin.”

He gripped her finger, hauling her across his lap, his hand landing heavily over her ass—the cheek that was already sore from Mikel’s squeezing. She yelped, and he flipped her over, arching a brow as she sprawled there, struck with shock.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he snarled as he surveyed her ungainly, shocked posture. “Just because I didn’t want my brother’s sloppy man-whore seconds back in Hudson, or any of the slobbering fangirls at Ironside doesn’t mean I’m going to be your easy target in this relationship.”

This relationship . It was the first time anyone had acknowledged the possibility of them all being in a relationship of some kind, and he hadn’t just mentioned it; he had said it like it was a given. Something that already existed.

“It’s not my fault you’re such an easy target,” she rasped, because Moses always seemed to draw out this side of her.

Argumentative, immature, bratty.

He grinned, his nostrils flaring.

“Keep pushing,” he warned. “I’ll make your first time with Oscar look like a walk in the park.”

Niko scoffed from the other couch.

“And your first time with Niko,” Moses added.

“Hey,” Niko snapped. “Why the fuck am I catching strays?”

Moses shrugged, standing and setting Isobel on her feet. “Because you’re there? Off you go, trouble. Daddy Easton is waiting.”

She screwed up her face, but both he and Niko were laughing, so she only rolled her eyes and made her way to Mikel’s room, knocking gently on the door. He opened it, the heat in his eyes burning as intensely as it had been on the deck as he grabbed a handful of her slouchy shirt, pulling her into the room and stepping into her body, pushing her up against it and using their momentum to snap the door closed behind her.

He flicked the lock and then backed off, giving her whiplash.

He walked over to where he had set up his luggage, silently searching through his suitcase. She realised he had changed. He was wearing a pair of low-slung, charcoal grey sweatpants and no shirt. There were scars all over his arms and chest, some of which were pinkish-white.

“Did you have the world’s fastest shower?” she questioned, noticing the water droplets still clinging to his dark hair.

His lips twitched. “I thought a cold shower would help me settle down.” He finally extracted what he had been searching for. A bottle of red wine.

Isobel blinked at it. “What’s that for?”

“I found it before Teak could and hid it in here.” He gripped the cork in his fist and yanked it out, and then he walked back to her and touched her shoulder, steering her to his bed. He pressed down, and she sat. He handed the bottle to her.

“You’re going to need this,” he said, dragging a chair over to face her.

“Why?” she asked nervously.

He sank into the chair, planting one leg against the side of the mattress beside her knee, his abs flexing as he reached forward, stealing the bottle from her hands and tipping it to his mouth. She was staring at him, but she couldn’t help it. Mikel was hot . He exuded so much raw masculinity, and she wanted to squirm at the way he had almost boxed her in against the bed.

He handed the bottle back to her, wiping the back of his mouth. “Drink. We’re going to discuss your limits.”

“What limits?” She raised the bottle to her lips by reflex, and he waited until she had obediently taken a sip before he answered.

“That’s the question, pet. You’re in need of punishment but we can’t act until we know where to draw the line.”

“Um …” She tried to keep her eyes on his face. “My limit is being punished.”

His lips switched. “That so?”

“Y-Yes, definitely.”

“Nice try.” He reached to the bed beside her, snatching up his phone and tapping into a note-taking app. “How about blood play?”

She took a much larger sip of wine. “No, thank you.”

He made a note. “Knife play?”

“Wouldn’t …” She swallowed nervously, trying again. “Wouldn’t that be blood play?”

“No.”

“Do you put it inside?” she whispered, leaning forward, totally horrified.

He chuckled. “The blade?” He laughed harder, his hand rubbing over his abs and drawing her eyes down that way again. She yanked them forcefully back up.

He shook his head, still laughing at her. “Cutting up your pretty pussy isn’t something any of us would be into, Isobel.”

The breath whooshed out of her. “Are you going to share these notes with the others?”

“Absolutely. So, knife play?”

“Define play.” She was getting drunk on the way he was staring at her and the tableau of muscles stretched out in front of her.

“Teasing, no cutting.” His voice turned into a rasp and her stomach clenched, seeing the glitter in his eyes.

Holy shit, yes . Anything that brought that look to his face.

“Okay,” she whispered, taking a gulp of wine this time.

“Good girl,” he purred, quickly noting something down before he leaned back, shifting his hips up. He was getting comfortable.

This was not the punishment she had been expecting.

“Ropes are a yes,” he mused, running his finger along his lower lip. “How about other restraints? Handc?—”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” His eyes simmered.

“I love restraints.”

“Noted.” His voice was deep and contemplative. “What about consent-non-consent?”

“Meaning?”

“One example is I sneak into your room at night, and you pretend not to know it’s me, and we agree that I won’t stop no matter how much you struggle and scream unless you say your safe words. Another example is you finish that bottle of wine and we agree that I can do whatever I want to you after you pass out.”

She could feel herself getting wetter.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

Picturing what he described made her nervous and tingly with excitement, but it also terrified her because that was wrong—what he was describing was, objectively, wrong .

“No,” she bluffed, avoiding his eyes.

“No lying,” he demanded.

“Maybe,” she amended, her breath stuttering out. “With … parameters.”

“Consent-non-consent is all about parameters,” he assured her, tone gentling again, making her blood heat. “It should always be discussed beforehand. Somnophilia?”

“Somnowhat?”

“One of us fucking you while you’re asleep. I’m also interested in how you feel about being fucked while you’re drunk or on drugs.”

“No,” she burst out before quickly backtracking, her eyes wide. “I mean … to being drugged.”

“And the others?” he asked calmly.

She bit down on her tongue, considering her answer. “The others are a maybe. Do you like that?” she quickly asked before he could move on.

He tilted his head calmly but shifted his hips again. He was hard . The long, thick length of him pushing up against his sweatpants.

“Yes,” he said plainly. “If agreed on beforehand. But actually, it was Kalen who suggested I ask that.”

For a moment, her brain short-circuited, remembering what Kalen had done to her, and she knew a flush was creeping across her chest. “Did he … does he … is he also into temperature play?”

Mikel looked surprised that she knew what temperature play was. She didn’t, really—unless it was exactly what it sounded like.

“Because he loves playing it hot and cold,” she grumbled, drinking deeply.

Mikel’s deep laugh was a drug, but he quickly moved on.

“Spanking?” he questioned.

She nodded, pressing her thighs together.

“Flogging? Caning? Paddling? Whipping?”

Her eyes widened. “What in the corporal punishment?”

He huffed out a brief sound of amusement. “Hits and welts but no blood?” he guessed, trying to make it easier on her.

“Maybe,” she agreed before realisation slammed into her. “Wait, no. Absolutely not.” He had distracted her with his muscles and his disarming laugh and had somehow swindled her into agreeing to be caned and whipped . “And no to everything else!” she exploded, shaking her head in disbelief.

His grin was sly. “The intent isn’t to spank you like an errant child and send you to your room without dessert, Isobel. The intent would be to break you into pretty pieces until you’re crying and whimpering and quivering in desperation for my cock.”

“Sounds messy.” Her eyes were wide, and her body was screaming yes, that’s my kind of mess . “It’s a maybe.”

He made a note. “Humiliation?”

“Like what Elijah and Gabriel used to do to people?” She felt her eyebrows jumping up.

“Not dissimilar,” he responded vaguely. And then he shot forward, gripping her by the hips and hauling her into his lap, right over his swelling erection. His hand cupped the back of her neck while the other caught the wine bottle before she could drop it. His lips lowered to her ear, his words a breathy growl.

“Do you want to be put on your knees like a filthy little slut? Do you want your other mates to stand around and watch while I fuck your whore lips until you’re a dirty, sobbing mess? I’ll pull back right before I explode so that you have to chase my come with your desperate little tongue.”

Filthy. Slut. Whore. Dirty. Desperate.

It sounded so wrong, so why did it feel so good ?

A whimper caught in her throat, and she squirmed against him. He groaned softly at her reaction and then gripped her hips again, setting her back on the edge of the bed. He snatched the wine from her, drinking quickly before handing it back.

“That’s a yes to light humiliation,” he rasped, picking up the phone he had dropped on the ground.

“Shouldn’t you have checked before you did that?” she asked, eyeing him cautiously.

He laughed quietly. “Just keeping you on your toes, Illy.”

She blushed, liking that he used her nickname.

“Exhibitionism?” he shot off.

“I think so.”

“Choking? Breath play?”

She already knew the answer, but Mikel had worked her into a state, and she was desperate for him to do something about it. “What’s breath play?” she asked, hoping for another demonstration.

“You want a reward, pet? Finish the questions.”

She pouted at him, and he noted down her answer because he knew what it was. “Caging? Confinement?”

“No.”

“Edging?”

“You mean like this?”

He grinned. “Funny girl. Toys?”

“Yes. Unless they talk.”

“Why would they talk?” he asked, amusement sparkling in his eyes, swimming with the desire that never quite receded.

“I don’t know,” she defended. “As long as the vibrator isn’t saying it wants to f-fuck my s-slutty …” She trailed off, because Mikel was laughing loudly .

“You’re so cute.” He sighed, and the unguarded look on his face made her heart constrict painfully. “I think that’ll cover the basics for now.” He put his phone aside. “Now stop breathing, Isobel.”

Her breath halted out of shock, but the slight grunt of pleased sound that he made when she accidentally obeyed had her continuing to hold it.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, voice a low, gravelled whisper.

She waited for him to say that she could breathe again. He didn’t. With wide eyes and shaking hands, she set the wine bottle on the floor and then slipped off her top and shorts, standing there in her panties and sports bra.

He tutted softly. “The longer it takes you, the longer you have to hold it.”

Alarmed, she quickly pulled off the bra and stepped out of her panties. He swept her panties off the floor, slipping them into the pocket of his sweats.

“Breathe,” he said, and her breath rushed out of her in relief.

His burning eyes slowly trailed over her body. “So pretty,” he said. “Those freckles.”

She glanced down at the rogue freckles scattered in random places across her torso and breasts.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He smiled—amused by her gratitude. “Sit on my lap.”

She put a hand on his shoulder, nervously eyeing him as she straddled his lap. His smile, she realised, had an edge to it. It was a little too sharp. Sadistic, almost. He reached into his sweatpants and fisted his dick, arranging it the way he wanted before both of his hands landed on her hips. He slammed her down, right over his length.

His head lowered, his rough words whispered over her ear, “Stop breathing.”

This time, he used Alpha voice, and the breath was sucked from her throat. They never used Alpha voice on her, so the sudden shock of it frightened her, but then he dragged her along his hard erection and licked the shell of her ear, rasping out, “Still green, baby?” and she found herself nodding.

She was so insane.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, a growl catching in his throat. “Don’t stop moving.” He released her hips, and she couldn’t have stopped even if he had ordered her to. She was desperate for the friction, the softness of fabric teasing her clit, and the throb of him on the other side was driving her wild. He palmed her breasts, squeezing roughly. “Breathe.”

She moaned, the sound loud, desperate, and probably embarrassing, though he distracted her from any shame by pinching both of her nipples.

“Does it feel good, baby?” he rasped, one of his hands brushing up, over her piercing, briefly tracing the hearts tattooed into her skin before settling in a loose hold around her neck. The other dropped to her hip, forcing her to move faster, to grind down more heavily against him.

She whispered, “Yes.”

He dragged her forward by the neck, bending his head to catch her lips. It was a soft brush at first, their ragged breath filling the space between their lips as he pulled back. He groaned, tightening his hands and slamming his lips against hers, his tongue demanding entry. His dick was escaping the top of his sweatpants, and he tugged her hips up until she could feel the hot hardness of him pressing directly over her entrance.

His sounds of pleasure were snarled, and hers were whimpered as he savagely claimed her lips and pulled her onto him, her back forced into an arch.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he said, making it sound like praise. “I could force myself into you to the hilt right now and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.”

She felt a rush of wetness pool between her thighs.

“Stop breathing,” he ordered silkily, still in Alpha voice. He shifted her hips back and forth only a few inches so that she drenched that exposed part of him. It was causing his sweatpants to slip down further. He was grinding her clit against him again, and she was desperate to moan or scream or cry as her orgasm crept up on her, but then he suddenly stopped, yanking her hips up, severing the contact.

She wanted to demand why, or plead that he push her back down again, but he had both hands gripping her tightly, preventing her from moving, and she couldn’t even breathe . She struggled, hitting his chest. In response, he ducked forward, drawing her up higher, and sank his teeth into the flesh of her breast. She flinched in shock, leaking in desire, and tried to hit him again, but he suddenly stood and dropped her to her knees before sinking back down, staring at her sprawled in shock between his parted thighs.

“Breathe,” he allowed, before darting forward to capture her neck again so that even though she was no longer under the command of Alpha voice, she still struggled slightly. “Did you think I was going to let you come?” he demanded cruelly. “Absolutely fucking not, pet.” He pulled himself fully out of his sweatpants, and she eyed him in a daze. He had a very pretty dick. Like Kilian’s, but slightly thicker. Unlike the rest of his body, it was smooth and unmarked, velvety and blushing a ruby rose colour, two thick veins running down the sides.

“Your penis is stunning,” she said, without thinking.

It twitched, enjoying her compliment.

“I’m glad you like it.” His voice was husky and amused again. “Because you’re about to get very closely acquainted. Open your mouth, Isobel.”

She did, looking up at him, completely subdued, waiting for his next words. She wasn’t sure what had come over her. It was almost like when Kalen tied her up. She felt a little floaty, a little frustrated, and entirely focused on the man before her like he was about to whisper something very important to her, and she didn’t want to miss it.

She couldn’t explain it.

It was like a haze. He had somehow spelled her under his power.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said.

She did, and he set the head of his cock against it, tapping a few times and making a wet, slapping sound.

“Now I’m going to fuck your throat,” he warned her, eyes swimming with dark malevolence. “I’m going to use your mouth like a little fuck doll until I’m done, and then I’m going to send you to bed without an orgasm, because you were a bad girl, weren’t you, Isobel?”

With her tongue still out and his dick a direct threat to her throat, she had no choice but to nod and lie to herself about the obscene amount of wetness between her thighs.

She was ill.

She needed help.

Right after she did this, though, because there was no way she was leaving this room without getting exactly what he promised.

“That’s my good girl,” he said, showing her a flash of tenderness as he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb … before he grabbed her neck again and forced his cock down her throat. “That’s … my girl. Shit.” He used her throat roughly, and when she let a moan slip out, he slapped her cheek, holding himself so deep in her that she began to choke.

“This isn’t a reward,” he reminded her as tears streamed down her face. “This is what you get when you put my mate in danger.”

He pulled out, stabbing down her throat with a vicious rhythm until she was a sobbing, quivering mess, and then he pulled out, his hand pumping along his glistening length.

“Will you disobey me again?” he asked, glaring at her like he already knew the answer.

“Probably,” she rasped, her voice rough.

“Then you better get used to this,” he said, picking her up and tossing her onto the bed. He bent up one of her legs, pressing it to her chest as his head lowered threateningly between her thighs. He attacked her pussy without warning, hungrily lapping at her desire, circling her clit in demanding licks before thrusting his tongue into her. There was no hiding how much she had enjoyed his rough treatment of her, and the evidence of it seemed to drive Mikel wild. He shoved her to the edge of release and then stopped before she could grasp it. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark.

“Fuck,” he groaned, an actual wince seizing his features as he stared down at her.

He was about to snap.

He was about to lose control of himself and the entire situation and she loved that. She licked her lips, waiting for it to happen, her belly clenching.

“Stop that,” he demanded, eyes on hers.

“Stop what?” she whispered.

“Like you think I’m about to fuck you, and you’ve never wanted anything so badly.”

She reached for him, trying to pull him on top of her, but he slapped her thigh sharply. “Lay still,” he ordered. “Hands above your head. Display that perfect, pretty pussy for me.” He gripped her knees, pushing them out and spreading them wide on the bed. “Good girl.” He was stroking himself over her, devouring the way her position arched her body and pushed her breasts out in display for him.

“I’m going to come,” he growled out like a warning. “And then you’re going to get out of here before I fuck you—and you’re not to touch yourself or ask anyone else to touch you. Understood, pet?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her entire body clenching with the need to touch and rub .

“Yes what?” He delivered the order in a rough bark.

“Yes, Sir,” she demurred, arching deeper like it might somehow bring him closer.

“Fuck,” he groaned, squeezing himself as he exploded, shooting ropes of white across her bent thighs and stomach. It was still spilling out when he pressed the head of his pulsing cock to her entrance, shoving in just an inch and holding there with a long, drawn-out moan.

It was so similar to what Kalen had done, and she felt a flash of frustration that they wouldn’t just cross that line when they seemed willing to cross every other line.

“Do it,” she tried to goad him, even though her voice was still rough from his treatment of her throat, and a little breathy and desperate.

He smirked, stepping back off the bed and pulling up the waistband of his sweatpants again. He was still hard.

“I already told you: no orgasms.”

He gently pulled her up to a sitting position and tugged her to the edge of the bed, kneeling before her, his hands on her knees as her feet fell to the floor.

“How are you doing?” he asked, gently soothing away her tangled, tear-soaked hair.

Wow , she didn’t realise she was that much of a mess.

“Could be better,” she grumbled, twisting her hands in her lap. He covered them with his, separating them and pushing his fingers through hers.

He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “You’re not getting what you want, Illy. But,” he tacked on, kissing her softly again, “you’re also not going back to your room. You’re sleeping here tonight.”

She perked up, her core fluttering as she glanced up in hope.

He laughed at her because he was a sadistic asshole.

“It’s still not happening,” he said, delicately pulling her to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then you can go to sleep .”