"Why shouldn't I?" I ask in a seductive whisper. "What if I want to put my hands because I'm all swollen and needy down there? You're not doing it for me. Someone has to ease the ache I feel there."
"You're drunk." He says as he tries to remain calm. I can tell he's failing, however. "You don't know what you want or f*****g need. So stop that. It's time to leave. The ritual is over."
"Oops," I say as I pretend my hand just slipped and landed between my legs. "I didn't mean for that to happen."
His eyes darken a shade, and before I can touch my swollen c**t, he's moving. And he's moving towards me. My eyes are wide when he finally gets to me.
"I told you not to do it." He roars. "You want me to see your f*****g swollen p***y. I'm going to f*****g see it up close."
I gasped as he grab
