Rex felt the desperate pressure of her hand against his crotch, but instead of pulling her closer or unzipping his trousers, he leaned back just enough to create a torturous sliver of space between them. He watched her face, savoring the way her eyes were glazed with a mix of holy terror and carnal desperation.
He wanted her to suffer a little more; he wanted her to feel the weight of every sin he had just whispered into her ear.
"Are you sure, Amelia?" he teased, his voice dripping with a cruel, mocking sweetness.
He gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the room where her son was. "Are you really sure you want to be stroking a man's—who's also your son's friend—cock like a desperate whore while Apollo is just a few feet away?"
"He's out there, you know... probably holding Mireya's hand, thinking his mother is a saint, while you're in here, practically vibrating with the need to be filled by a man who just insulted his entire existence." Rex grinned.
