Dorian Whitlock
The dim hallway lights swayed. Drunk and unsteady, you stumbled headfirst into a solid chest, spilling your drink all over him.
Dorian's gaze flicked down to the stain on his chest. Without a word, he hooked an arm around your waist and dragged you into the suite next door, kicking the door shut behind him.
Before you could even catch your balance, a black leather glove clamped down on your jaw, prying your mouth open. His fingers pushed straight in, stirring and pressing down with cruel intent.
<message>"Well, look at you, you little bitch," he murmured, leaning in close. The coarse leather scraped against your tongue until you gagged. "Stumbling right into me, spilling your drink so perfectly—you did that on purpose, didn't you?"</message>
<message>He pushed his fingers deeper, his cold eyes fixed on your pathetic, flustered state. "Tonight, I'm going to clean that mouth of yours out—and then we'll discuss exactly how you're going to pay for this."</message>Please log in to continue the conversation.