His other hand went to my bra, yanking the cups down roughly. My breasts spilled out, n*****s already hard, and I watched in the mirror as his hand covered one, squeezing, his fingers pinching my n****e until I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.
"That's it," he murmured. "Watch me touch you. Watch how your n*****s get harder. Watch your face when I do this—"
He pinched harder, twisting slightly, and pleasure-pain shot straight between my legs. My hips jerked involuntarily.
"You like that," he said, his voice dark with satisfaction. "You like it rough."
I did. God help me, I did. Nathan had always been careful with me, gentle, asking permission for everything. This version of him—commanding, possessive, taking what he wanted—made me wetter than I'd been in months.
His hand left m
