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“Easy there.” He cocks a pierced, devilish eyebrow over his shades.
“What movie is this?” I shriek, barely breathing. “Mr. Royales, you’re assaulting a professor at her front door, in case you haven’t noticed.” My mind spins in circles. This isn’t making any sense.
“Come on, Ms. Brannan, you can’t be this surprised. Not when you’re having an affair with my stepdaddy. You surely didn’t think you could keep that a secret for long, did you? You’re too smart for that, especially since big bro and I are Kings, too. We find shit out.”
My breathing quickens, and I’m getting lightheaded.
This is fucking bad.
The Heathen Kings don’t just rule this town, they rule the entire country from the shadows, and they didn’t amass that kind of power by playing nice. Their organization controls everything that matters in the US, from weapons to pharma, and Micah Royales is their blade, the ruthless slitter of throats. He’s got an army of bikers obeying his orders, providing protection for the highest bidder, and that’s just a hobby to Micah. Everyone in town is scared of him, and now I’ve landed on his shit list. Things can’t get any worse than landing on the radar of this hot villain.
Not that I would ever look at a student like that. Or the way he’s looking at me now while removing his shades and slipping them into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
My breath catches at the full sight of his chiseled face, young and brutal, his eyes dark as gunpowder. There’s a maliciousness in them that few people can hold because it’s almost inhuman. It’s a level of devilry that goes beyond the capabilities of ordinary people.
And now all of it is focused on me, all of the lethality he acquired while having to survive training in actual war zones.
“What is it, Professor?” he says when I only manage to open and close my mouth like a fish out of water. “Did the cat eat your tongue?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I breathe, aware of how stupid it sounds as soon as the words come out.
Micah clicks his tongue, his eyes assessing me, looking like nothing of what he sees surprises him. As if he expected I was the kind of bitch who would screw his stepdad all along. Not that I’m actually screwing Romano. Things are more complicated than that.
“Invite me in, and let’s talk about it.”
“No.” The word flies out of my mouth quicker than I can think. But I can’t risk being alone with death incarnate.
“Well, then.” His ironclad body pushes into my chest. I stiffen, his scent of leather and dark chocolate caging me in. “Then I suppose we must have this conversation here.”
Doesn’t chocolate contain phenylethylamine, which is like a drug? His scent must contain it, too, because my mind can’t spawn a single coherent thought.
“There’s no conversation to be had. If you want answers, you’re gonna have to ask your stepdaddy.”
I try to shove him away again, but Micah only traps me harder. His fingers graze their way up my inner thigh over my pantyhose, then past my garters. I’d fall over if I weren’t trapped against the door, my brain desperate to reboot.
“What the hell are you doing?” I blurt out, squirming between him and the door.
“Figuring out the answers for myself,” he says as his hand moves up, his body making it impossible for me to escape. “Since you’re refusing to have a civilized conversation.”
I open my mouth to blurt out that I changed my mind, that I’ll let him in, but he pushes his body so hard into mine that it squeezes the air out of my lungs.
“On second thought, I think I prefer doing it like this.” His voice is a low growl. “I get my answers, and you learn your lesson.”
His fingers reach the apex of my thighs and run over my panties. I gasp, choking on my own saliva when the pads of his fingers skim past the side of the lace, feathering over the lips of my pussy.
He finds me freaking wet because no woman with blood in her veins would resist a situation like this, as fucked up as it is. The blend of danger and outrageousness is unique. Until the outrageousness outweighs everything else.
“Stop this madness immediately,” I squeak, slapping his wrist, but his hand won’t budge. On the contrary, it clamps down on me, cupping my pussy so hard that it knocks me harder against the door.
“Did he leave his cum in you?” His voice is calm, yet filled with danger. “Or did he come in your mouth today?” He lifts his other hand and runs his thumb over my lips. The back of my head hits the door as I try to jerk away from him and find nowhere to go.
I brace myself to utter a bitter retort, but he uses the moment to slip his thumb into my mouth.
“Choose your words carefully, or I’m going to make sure you choke on them,” he threatens, cupping my jaw with the rest of his hand while pushing his thumb deeper until his brass ring reaches my lips. I think about those ringed fingers balling into fists, pummeling down into the faces of the Kings’ enemies when they send him on a mission. Justine, my best friend and the girlfriend of Micah’s brother, Sade, has some chilling stories to tell about that.
Not that I wasn’t prepared for those stories. I was briefed about the Heathen Kings as soon as I started at Norton King’s college almost two years ago, but damn, I wasn’t prepared for this.
Micah rubs the heel of his palm against my clit over the lace, which is now soaked, his thumb pressing down on my tongue with the clear intention of making me gag.
