Aelin, pissed, defied him every chance she got. But the damn bastard caught her every time. He'd stopped even looking at her in corridors, didn't even throw her a glance when they were two fucking feet away in the same room. But somehow, he still knew when she got desperate. In the shower, in bed, in a closet. It didn't matter where she was, shoving her fingers into herself as she grew hungry for release, he would find her somehow, pinning her hands to the wall just till the sweet crescendo she built shattered. Then he would smile, dip his finger between her thighs, aching as they were held open with nothing between them, and bring the finger to his mouth. All with that fucking feline smirk. After three weeks of the same bullshit over and over, she caved. She'd get on her knees and beg him if it meant he would touch her. Look at her. It was pathetic that all it took was three weeks for her to break down completely, any resolve she may have harbored having burned through.
