She looked up at him. "So I made a decision." Her eyes went flat and direct. "Don't ruin my decision by making me want to reverse it. Is that clear?"
The look on his face — she catalogued it the way she catalogued everything — was not what she had expected.
He was looking at her with the expression of a man who has done a calculation and arrived at a result he found genuinely interesting.
His cock, unhelpfully, had gotten harder.
He moved.
The hand in her hair pulled.
She made a sound that was not dignified — a short, sharp cry pulled from the base of her throat by the sudden upward drag — and then she was standing, her chair scraping backward, his grip repositioning her with the casual efficiency of a man rearranging furniture.
"What are you—"
He turned her.
Her lower back met the edge of the table.
He pushed.
