Even as I spit vile words at him, I can’t help but pant, my legs clenching together as he watches me, his focus fully on my body. Like he can’t wait to eat me, fuck me, have me. Instead of forcing me like they could have, he won fair and square.

Won me.

And my body.

But…can I pay up?

Their reach is like a venom taking root inside me. At first, you don’t even realise it’s there. Slowly spreading through you, changing you, moulding you, infecting you, until it’s too late to be free. That’s how I feel, because I hated them, still do, but now it’s clouded with need.

One they forced into me, built inside me, and they know it.

I hate that.

I hate them.

Who says I can’t have some fun with it? Hate sex is like nothing else, and this desire clearly isn’t going away and I’m not getting free any time soon, so I might as well make the most of it…right?

That’s what I tell myself anyway.

“Fine,” I snarl. “Nine.” I point at the dice and he rolls again.

It comes up twelve, and he smirks. “Shirt,” he demands.

Ripping it over my head with a growl, I toss it at him. Why the hell did I agree to this game? I’m just in my panties and bra now, and he takes his time looking me over. I shiver under his possessive gaze, my nipples pebbling against the lace fabric, and my panties are no doubt soaking. Brilliant.

“Next guess, darling?” he murmurs, his eyes locked on my flushed chest as I clench my legs further together. With a groan, he reaches down and rearranges himself. “Fuck, you are way too beautiful.”

I ignore that, because honestly, what would I say? “Thirteen,” I snarl, but he’s too busy staring at me still. I can almost feel the caress from his gaze. “Kenzo.”

His eyes jerk up, locking with mine, and the dice go flying as he pounces. I yelp as he pins me to the sofa, ripping open my thighs and settling between them as he grinds against me. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“What? Kenzo?” I query in confusion, and he groans.

“Yes, like that, darling.”

“It’s literally your name, would you prefer I just call you asshole?” I snap, even as I arch up into him.

“Call me whatever you want, darling, as long as you don’t stop me and scream it for everyone to hear.” He laughs as he drops his lips to mine. I couldn’t stop him, even if I wanted to, my words are caught in my throat as I grab his hair and yank him closer. He smirks against my mouth, so I bite down on his lip.

With a grunt, he wrenches away, panting hard as he glares at me. “Act like a brat, and you will get treated like one.”

“Whatever, get the fuck off me,” I demand. It’s hard to act tough in your undies, but I think I pull it off.

He smirks again, those dark eyes locked on mine, making me weak. “Why? You like me where I am.”

“No, I don’t,” I protest half-heartedly, my voice wavering.

He laughs, actually laughs, his whole body shaking. “Sure, so then why are your nipples hard and begging for my mouth?” he murmurs, as he rips down my bra and bares me to the room. Eyes on me, he seals his lips around one and sucks, making me moan as my eyes close and I arch up into his mouth.

Anger at my reaction flares through me, and I try to pull his head away using his hair. Laughing again, he ignores my desperate tugs and kisses down my belly, stopping at my navel piercing and circling it with his tongue before he carries on to my panties, his eyes meeting mine. “I can smell how wet you are.” With his teeth, he yanks down my panties and tosses them away.

I try to close my thighs, but he shoves them open and slams them down to the sofa, exposing me to him. He groans lowly, the sound doing bad things to me as he stares at me. “You’re fucking soaked. Thought you didn’t want me?”

“I don’t,” I snarl, even as I tilt my hips, needing to be touched.

He smirks and reaches between my thighs, stroking down my lips before parting them. “What’s this? A piercing?” he murmurs in shock, his finger circling my pierced hood. It was a drunken dare and hurt like hell. “That’s fucking hot.” He groans. “I’m so fucking close to coming in my pants, it’s not even funny,” he mutters, making me snigger.

He narrows his eyes and tugs on my piercing, forcing a gasp from my lips as pain flares through me, followed by pleasure. “Either get on with it or fuck off,” I snarl, but it’s hard to be intimidating when you’re pinned beneath a man naked and wet.

Without warning, he drops to his elbows, his face right in my pussy, and licks me from clit to ass. I nearly come away from the sofa, but he bands an arm across my belly, catching on the piercing there, and holds me down.

My mind is still whirling, trying to tell me all the reasons why I should stop this, why I should push him away, why I should hate him, but when he presses two fingers inside me, that all melts away to pleasure.

My eyes slide shut as I moan, unable to look at that dark head between my legs anymore. His hands dig into the fleshy part of my thighs, holding me open for him as he lashes my clit, tugging and licking my piercing as he expertly curls his fingers inside me. He plays me like one of his games. Knowing exactly where to lick, where to touch, rub, and fuck.

I’m panting in no time with sweat coating my body, my face and chest flushed. I try to stop myself, but I can’t help it, I rock against his face, needing more. He plays me like a fiddle, his fingers rubbing inside me as he keeps up that maddening pace with my clit. I reach down and flick my nipples, too turned on to care.

“You taste fucking delicious.” He groans. “Too fucking good.”

I shake my head, trying to stop the powerful orgasm I can feel building within me. No. No, this can’t be happening. I try to push him away, but he ignores me, speeds up, and throws me crashing into that release.

It tears through me, ripping a scream from my throat as my thighs clamp his head, my pussy tightening on his fingers. It rolls through me, again and again, my chest arching up into the air as my eyes squeeze closed, until it finally stops.

Dropping onto the sofa, I let my thighs fall open, and I look down to see a grinning, messy-haired Kenzo still lying between them, his tongue lapping casually at my cunt.

He rears up, and self-hatred pours through me at the satisfied smirk curling his glistening lips. He licks his fingers clean as I watch, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t believe I just let that happen or that I screamed my pleasure for everyone to hear.

He’s my fucking kidnapper.

Rolling off the sofa, I storm away, and when I hear him coming after me, I move faster. My heart is racing, and my legs are still weak from him. I can’t—fuck, I can’t believe that happened. Or that it felt so good. I try to escape him, but he catches me in the hallway and slams me into the wall, holding me there as he leans down, his eyes angry now.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Get the fuck off me!” I scream, kicking and struggling in his grip. He grunts and pushes me back again, trying to hold me still.

“Why?”

“I hate you,” I snap desperately, and he laughs, but the sound is mean. All hints of teasing disappear in the face of my anger. But this is not all directed at him. Hell, some of it is for making me feel that way, for making me weak, but some is aimed at me.