“I do,” she insisted, the words sharp with fear. She shoved against the solid wall of his chest, panic rising when he didn’t budge by so much as an inch.

“Yeah?” He lifted his head, the taunting gleam in his eye matching the smirk on his lips. “You gonna tell me your nipples are hard because it’s cold?”

The realization that he could feel them through their clothes had shame curling through her. She hunched her shoulders forward, trying to push back far enough to keep her breasts from touching his chest, but his hand only tightened on her throat, holding her still.

“And I guess your pussy is only wet because you’re sweating.”

“It’s not wet,” she protested automatically.

“Oh, no?” He grinned, feral and sharp. “Let’s see.”

She twisted against him, struggling for real now, putting all her weight into it. But he controlled her with ease, grabbing her hands in one of his and using his weight to pin her to the counter, shoved his other hand up her dress.

His laugh was darkly triumphant, and had her cringing in shame again. “You’re fucking soaked,” he crowed, his fingers sliding through the wetness on her thigh. She clamped her legs together, trying to keep him from going any higher, but he jammed a knee between hers, prying her thighs apart, then his hand was on her bare pussy.

“No fucking panties?” he growled as fear and shame and lust swirled inside her. He cupped her pussy hard, grinding his palm against her, and even with her labia shielding her clit, the burst of sensation made her jerk.

“No panties,” he repeated, releasing her hands and yanking at the neckline of her dress. A seam ripped, the sound mingling with her ragged breathing. Her bodice slithered to her waist as his fingers found her bare breast. “And no bra. Tell me again you’re not a slut?”

“I’m not,” she protested weakly.

“My hand is dripping wet,” he pointed out, grinding it against her pussy. “And your nipples are so hard I bet they could cut glass.”

She pushed against him, one tear slipping down her cheek. “Please. Don’t.”

“You don’t mean that.” His lips skimmed her cheek, almost gentle as he rubbed the tear away. “This wet fucking pussy doesn’t mean that.”

He squeezed her breast, his fingers tugging and rolling her nipple. “These hard nipples don’t mean that.”

“I want you to go,” she managed, a second tear following the first, a sob in her throat. She looked up into his eyes, filled with determination and lust and smug triumph. The combination filled her with fear and despair and a dark, shameful lust.

“Aw, baby,” he crooned softly, mockingly. “I just want to make you feel good. Don’t you want to feel good?”

She twisted against him, choking back a cry when his fingers tightened warningly on her nipple. “Please, just go.”