Simp No More
Before Madam Mankin could say anything, he grabbed my wrist and started dragging me toward the door.
"I need to talk to her," he said. "Just the two of us. Something private."
The agreement had long since expired. I didn't owe him anything—not my time, not my silence, and definitely not my submission.
I fought him hard—kicking, hitting, twisting to break free—but he was stronger, always had been. He dragged me all the way to the garden, to the edge of the pool.
"You've lost your damn mind!" I shouted, yanking my wrist free and stepping back, putting distance between us.
Bab Populer