Ugh. The infuriating tyrant.

He presses his thumb against my clit, which I assume is a warning. “Now, are you going to lie on my lap or should I make you? Disclaimer: the second option won’t be pretty.”

I swallow at the bleak promise in his tone. If I’m going to spend six months with him, I really need to pay more attention to picking my battles. “Fine. Let me go.”

He tightens his grip on my sex for good measure. It’s not meant to please, but as a stern non-verbal warning.

Inhaling deeply, I lean forward and lie on his lap. I don’t miss how my arse is now in the air like that of a disobedient, naughty child. My movements are awkward as my breasts and stomach lie flush against his hard thighs.

It doesn’t matter which position he has me in, Jonathan King won’t be able to get to me.

A peaceful aura envelops me at that reminder, even when he slides my dress up to the small of my back. Cool air hits my thighs, and goosebumps break out on my flesh.

It’s only because of the air.

Just the air.

His long, lean fingers glide my underwear down my thighs so I’m completely naked from the waist down.

I try not to think about the view he’s seeing. The vulnerability of the situation grates on my nerves. This is the last position I want to be in with anyone, let alone Jonathan. Which was probably his plan all along.

He won’t get to me. He won’t get to me.

I may not have any confidence in this whole thing, but I have confidence in my dysfunctional body.

“You’re telling me you’re dead. Is that it, Aurora?”

“Yes.”

“You think you can waste my time?”

“You made the deal before making sure of all the facts. That’s your fault, not mine.”

“That mouth will land you in trouble.” Jonathan reaches a hand between my thighs and I open them, not presenting any protest whatsoever.

He drags a finger down my dry folds. The contact is neither pleasurable nor painful. It’s just…nothing.

Numb.

That’s what my therapist told me. Apparently, I’ve numbed myself to sex since I was a teen, which, in his words, could’ve been a knee-jerk reaction to sexual assault or rape.

Neither of those happened to me.

Since I never told my therapist about my past, he probably wrote it off as either of those reasons and categorised me in his neat folders as another statistic.

It’s far from that. People like me need a special category dedicated to them.

Jonathan drags his finger up and down, and when he doesn’t get the reaction he’s looking for, he circles my clit. Nothing. Nada.

It doesn’t matter if I do it or if anyone else does. Being wet is a myth I only read about.

Still stroking my clit, he thrusts a finger into my entrance. The resistance is real and I wince in discomfort.

He pulls his finger out but keeps it at my opening like a looming threat. “You are dead. Fascinating.”

Fascinating, seriously? No idea which reaction I expected, but that’s not it.

In the past, as in literally years ago, whenever any of my previous sexual partners touched me and found out that what I told them is actually true, it scratched their male ego.

Some went on with it and just used my body. Others tried everything to be crowned as the one who finally made me wet or susceptible to sexual pleasure. When it didn’t work, they left and never returned. Not that I was ever looking for a relationship.

The way Jonathan finds this fascinating is throwing me off, like everything else about him. I can’t even tell if ‘fascinating’ is his usual sarcastic reaction or if he’s being genuine.

“What happened, wild one?”

“You might want to consider lube. You’ll be able to get inside and –”

Slap.

My heart lunges in my throat as the sound reverberates in the air and soon after, my arse cheek catches fire.

Did he just…spank me?

“When I ask a question, I expect a direct answer, Aurora.”

“W-why did you do that?” I breathe out, my voice jittery and all wrong.

His palm comes on my arse again and I jolt against his lap. My limp hands clench, needing to grab something. Anything.

My only option is his thigh, but I refuse to hold on to him.

“Do what?” He lands another slap on my heated skin. “This?”

“J-Jonathan…” Oh my God. What the hell is wrong with my voice? Why is it so breathy and almost like a moan?

“Do you have an objection, Aurora?” When I remain silent, he strokes my skin, and my eyes flutter closed at the soothing circles. “According to your terms, I can do, and I quote, ‘whatever I please’. Which was a very reckless thing to say to me, I might add. Are you having second thoughts? Do you want to leave?”

I trap my lower lip against my teeth. “N-no.”

Whatever foreign sensation is building inside me will go away. It’s just a phase. I went to a sex club once, and none of what my partner at the time did turned me on. So Jonathan’s methods won’t affect me either.

It’s just a phase. A mere phase.

He massages my heated arse cheek with slightly calloused, masculine fingers. “Good girl.”

My muscles relax and I feel like I’m about to purr like a kitten or something. His palm comes down on my arse again and the sting jerks my spine upright. A squeal rips through the air as my eyes snap open.

I realise with horror that the sound came from me.

What is happening to me?

“Mmm.” Jonathan slides his finger up my folds and I freeze as he meets slippery skin. “You’re wet for me.”

No. This can’t be true.

“It is, wild one.” His amused, smug tone engulfs me in its savage clutch.

Did I speak aloud?

“You know what I think, Aurora? I think you’re not dead, you just needed something more with your pleasure. Something I’m happy to provide.”

Jonathan thrusts two fingers inside me in one go and slaps my arse cheek at the same time. Slap. Slap. Slap.

He goes on and on until a sob tears from my throat and I’m submerged in a strange sense of arousal mixed with pain. “Ten, for every minute you were late. No one wastes my time.”

Before I can speak, he pounds his fingers inside me over and over, and my cheeks burn at the sound of his skin slapping against my arousal. Heat bubbles in my veins, and my stomach contracts as if it’s about to be smashed into.