I couldn't help but smirk at her reaction, her rage a perfect mirror to her frustration. "Now, let's make this interesting," I taunted, my voice dripping with anticipation. My hand pressed firmly against her flat, sculpted stomach, the heat of her body scorching my palm. She squirmed beneath my grip, her every movement desperate, wild.
"It will hurt more if you struggle, Penthesilea," I warned, my tone dark, teasing. Her gaze locked onto mine, her cheeks flushed crimson—whether from anger or something deeper, she'd never admit.
"Let go of me!" she snarled, her voice a symphony of shame and wrath. "I won't accept this humiliation!" Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms, as if sheer will alone would free her.
