Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,39

heard above the awful noise that is coming from their corner, but the screams die down to a whimper moments later.

Baron releases the hold he has on my hip to tuck the gun away behind him and then rests his arms on the side of the chair. I know I have seconds—if that—before the screaming starts again. But my heart is beating too quickly. I hate dancing. I hate him. I especially hate dancing for him.

I wish I was Ruby.

She would know what to do.

This wouldn’t be a problem for her.

But I’ve never done anything like this before. I can’t help feeling like he knows this already, and he feeds off the way my fingers are trembling. The way he makes me squirm.

Trying to settle my nerves, I rest my shaking hands on his shoulders.

Baron leans back in the chair, everything about the movement dripping with arrogance. My hips roll against him and he sucks a breath in, his abdomen becoming more taut.

Maybe I can do this. It’s not so difficult if I close my eyes and imagine I’m anywhere other than right here. Perhaps I can do this all night, if that’s what he wants.

I realize I’m holding my breath only when he sits forward and his chest connects with mine. His hand comes up, brushing against my flushed cheek lazily, and my eyes fly open. I’m frozen for a minute, gasping for the air I didn’t know I needed while he breathes it in.

This needs to stop.

I arch back all the way until my hands reach the floor, trying to put some space between us. His hands on my hips pull me in closer to his stomach, and when he leans down the coldness of metal brushes against my nipple.

I squirm against the sensation, but that only makes the one between my legs more intense. I want to get back up, but his body doesn’t allow it. The muscles in my stomach strain from the tension of holding myself up, and a gasp escapes my lips.

One hand cups my bare breast, kneading firmly, while the other snakes behind my head, taking a fistful of hair.

He pulls me up from the floor just enough to let me see what he’s doing, and I stare at him with wide eyes as two fingers close around my nipple. He pinches, causing me to squirm, and the more I squirm the more it hurts. The more my scalp burns as I try to wriggle away from him. The more my center aches with need as I inadvertently rub myself all over his stomach.

A low chuckle sounds from his chest as my panting increases.

This is torture.

Pure torture.

He finally lets up and rubs away the ache he created, and my eyes close as I let out a sigh of relief.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “I knew you would be.”

I don’t open my eyes.

If I keep them closed, then it’s easier to imagine this isn’t really happening.

But they fly open anyway when his hand slaps across my breast with a harsh crack.

My whole body jerks from the sting of it, but before I have time to process how much it hurts, he’s already rubbing it away and shushing me. “Eyes on me,” he says. “Always on me, unless you want another one.”

He pulls me up with him by the hair and my stomach feels as solid as a rock from holding the position so long. I’m panting and completely out of breath. This shouldn’t be happening—I’m fitter than this. I’ve danced all night before. But clearly, never with him.

“I fear we have worked each other into quite the frenzy,” he says, his hands gripping my ass cheeks while his fingers dig in deep. “Tell me, sweet girl, would you leave me wanting?”

Again, I sense a question to which there is no right answer.

I say nothing.

I focus on trying to catch my breath, but it escapes me as he grinds my parted legs against the hardness growing between his legs. It feels like scratching an itch, and I can’t lie to myself and pretend that my body isn’t curious to see exactly how more of that would feel.

But my mind isn’t.

The man is cruel. Sadistic. Insane, by his own admittance. He may not have ever really hurt me, but he takes some twisted pleasure in seeing just how much he can get away with.

His fingers tread lower, much lower. They’re curving around my ass and massaging my inner thighs. A warning, no doubt.

He wants an answer.

What was