“She’s not going to,” he said finally, his voice barely above a growl. “She’s a performer. She’s always been a performer.”
I bit my lip. I stared at my lap.
“You’re mad at me,” I said softly.
He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he slowly exhaled through his nose.
“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m calculating what I’m going to do to you when we get home. I’m deciding whether to f**k the apology out of you slowly… or tear it from your throat while you’re choking on my cock.”
My breath hitched. My legs squeezed shut so fast I could feel the mess between them spread further. It was like every nerve in my body stood at attention, panting, desperate, waiting for more. And of course, because I’m me—eighteen, stupidly brave, and recklessly in love with my possessive, vengeful, Daddy Alpha ma
