You’ll Be the One Begging Me

POV: TESSA

The silence in the living room was deafening as everyone waited for my answer. Every pair of eyes locked onto me, turning the casual game of truth or dare into an interrogation.

"I... I think it depends," I finally stammered. My cheeks burned under Rhys's intense, predatory gaze. He sat there watching my every micro-expression. I decided to push through the burning embarrassment and just be honest, if only to deny him the satisfaction of seeing me cower. Internally, I knew I preferred wild sex. I craved the kind of uninhibited passion that left you breathless and aching the next morning. But I also acknowledged a deeper truth: making love with someone you genuinely loved could be a mind-blowing experience.

Rhys wasn't going to let me play it safe. He leaned forward, mercilessly pressing me to choose just one option. He left zero room for nuance. "No, scientist. You have to choose. One or the other."

I lifted my chin, held his dark, unwavering gaze, and boldly made my choice. "Wild sex."

The immediate, dark flash of approval in his eyes was too much to bear. It sparked a dangerous heat in my veins. I used the conclusion of my turn as a cue to escape the suffocating heat of the room. "And that’s my cue. I'm grabbing another drink," I announced, standing up quickly and retreating toward the kitchen to calm my racing heart.

Rhys, never one to miss an opportunity to torment me, volunteered to get a drink too. He ignored his brother Dexter’s stern, warning glare and followed me directly out of the room.

As soon as I heard his heavy, deliberate footsteps padding against the floorboards behind me, I spun around. The cold edge of the marble counters pressed into my lower back, leaving me cornered.

"Is Dexter worried you’ll try to slip your hand under my skirt without my permission?" I asked, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.

Rhys stopped just short of my personal bubble. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, smiling like a sexy, unrepentant devil. "Good to see you're in a cheerful mood," he replied smoothly. "Honestly, I think Dexter is probably far more worried that you’ll inevitably fall for me and get your fragile heart broken."

I let out a harsh scoff. I assured him with venomous certainty, "Let's put his mind at ease. A scenario like that wouldn't happen in a million years."

But his arrogance knew no bounds. He chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated in the small space, and stepped closer. "Keep pretending you aren't physically attracted to me."

"You are so full of yourself."

"I have mirrors at home," he shrugged.

I tried to shut his towering ego down. I chose my words carefully. "Look, you might be objectively attractive. It's a fact I hate admitting, but it's true. However, attraction holds different weight for different people. I have categorized you as a superficial playboy, and I adhere to a strict, unbreakable policy of avoiding assholes like you at all costs."

Rhys just grinned wider, taking another deliberate step into my space. The heat radiating off his broad chest washed over me. His voice dropped low, rough like sandpaper. "You talk about everyday things with this analytical, scientific way of speaking. It only makes you sexier to me."

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "If all this is part of some grand plan to get me into your bed, give up," I warned him. My voice trembled slightly despite my best efforts to sound fierce.

"We'll see," he challenged, his dark eyes dropping deliberately to my mouth.

I tried a different tactic, determined to make it clear that my core issue wasn't with the concept of casual sex itself. My problem was specifically with *him*. "I understand that casual sex can be a great experience between adults," I stated firmly. "But I have zero interest in sleeping with a guy who would use my body for the night and then pretend I didn't exist the next morning."

Indignant at the blunt accusation, his jaw clenched tight. The playful smirk vanished. He accused me of being unreasonable and prudish. "It’s just sex. And you wouldn’t say no if you knew what you were missing," he stated, overflowing with arrogant confidence in his own sexual prowess.

Frustrated to the point of exhaustion by his suffocating arrogance, I groaned. I turned away to grab my beer from the fridge, muttering under my breath, "I desperately need something stronger than alcohol to put up with your sheer existence."

Rhys smoothly twisted my words. I could hear the wicked, devastating smile in his tone. "If you want something hard from me, all you have to do is ask."

I whipped around, my jaw dropping in shock. "You are a degenerate pervert!"

His expression shifted from playful to deadly serious. He moved closer, trapping me against the counter with his sheer physical presence. His tall frame boxed me in. "This game just started," he promised, his voice a dark, gravelly threat that sent a wicked shiver straight to my core. "And soon, you’ll be the one begging me to touch you."

"In your dreams," I spit back, my chest heaving with unsteady breaths.

Rhys leaned in until his face hovered mere inches from mine. "In my dreams, you do more than beg."

The explicit, heavy words hit me much harder than I ever wanted to admit. My alcohol-laced brain betrayed me. Instantly, I struggled and failed to fight off an explicit mental image of myself at his mercy. My mind conjured a vivid picture of me on my knees, looking up at him, shamelessly begging for his touch.

Noticing that I was momentarily left breathless and speechless, a triumphant glint flashed in his dark eyes. He pulled back, giving me a slow, parting wink before turning to head back to the living room. Pausing at the doorway, he looked over his massive shoulder one last time. "Don’t worry... when it happens, I’ll remember that you like it rough."

Left alone in the kitchen, I gripped the edge of the counter, taking a deep, shuddering breath. I desperately tried to push away my body's intense, irritating physical reaction to his dark torment. I felt a heavy pooling of desire throbbing between my legs, undeniably triggered by his filthy words.

Moments later, Mila walked into the kitchen. She noted my flushed cheeks.

"I can practically see the smoke billowing out of your ears," she teased, crossing her arms. "What did he say to you?"

"He's an insufferable bastard," I dismissed quickly, grabbing my drink. "He only wants to provoke me for sport."

Mila laughed. She leaned against the island, teasing me about the dangerously thin line between passionate love and fiery hate. "It's weird, you know. Rhys shows a different, far less serious and much more intense side of himself whenever he is around you. Maybe a little mind-blowing sex wouldn't actually hurt you."

I stared at her, horrified by her daring suggestion. "I’m not sleeping with him. End of discussion," I told her firmly, pouring myself another drink to drown out the maddening thoughts.

Later that night, when I finally got back to the quiet solitude of my own home, I found it incredibly hard to sleep. I tossed and turned in my empty bed, my skin flushed and overly sensitive against the cool sheets. And when exhaustion finally pulled me under, my subconscious betrayed me.

I succumbed to a vivid, particularly hot, explicit wet dream about a certain giant blonde man pinning me to a mattress. His heavy hands gripped my hips, his hot breath grazing my neck as his raw, dominant energy consumed me. The fantasy was relentless.

He was violently getting into my head, bypassing all my logical defenses, and I could not stop thinking about the dark promise he had made.

*When it happens, I’ll remember that you like it rough.*