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“What’d you see?” he whispers, his eyes falling down my body.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I turn onto my side, ignoring him.
My bed dips, and I have to fight the urge to see what he’s doing.
“Dove.”
“Go away, King.”
“I’m not fuckin’ going anywhere!” His tone is like acid, threatening to spill over the edges and burn everyone in its path. He’s angry, obviously, only I’m not sure why.
I spin around, annoyed with him being back in my space after what he did last night. And what I imagined tonight. I refuse to believe Killian about him not having anything to do with what I saw. It was too vivid. Too familiar. Too—King. “Why are you so confusing? Why didn’t you just kill me in that fucking cell instead of dragging me through all of this?”
His eyes narrow. “Oh, you don’t think I wanted to?”
That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, and my flinch was a dead giveaway for that. “What do you mean?”
His eyes search mine, and for a second, nothing else exists outside of us. Everything melts away into a smudged painting, a swirl of irrelevant colors surrounding us. “You don’t think I wanted to kill you?”
“You’re not making sense.” I exhale, tired. Drained from the push and pull that’s been going on between us both. Tired from him drawing the life directly from my soul.
I turn to face the wall, when his voice interrupts me. “Dove.”
“What, King?” I ask, flipping to face him. “I’m trying to understand why people keep telling me that you’re a certain way around me, but when you’re around me, you’re confusing, moody, and a pain in my ass.”
His eyebrows lift slightly, and then slowly, I watch as the corner of his mouth slips into a smirk.
“Did you just smile?”
His face falls. “No.”
I sigh—loudly—and turn onto my back. “I’m tired of fighting.”
“Then tell me your name isn’t Dove Hendry.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So I can stop fighting the feeling of wanting to bury my cock so deep inside your pussy, you’ll be screaming my name into the night. Tell me your name isn’t Dove Hendry.”
I lick my lips, my eyes searching his. “Why does it matter if I am Dove? We don’t know each other.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. There’s something disconcertingly dark about two people who have volatile chemistry, sitting in a dark room.
“God, King!” My tone levels louder. “What the fuck is going on?”
In a flash, I’m being pressed into the mattress, and his body is on top of mine. Everything south is pulsing with need. I slowly spread my legs wide, allowing him to slip between.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” His voice is rough, but his lips are soft, plush against mine. I hold my breath, overwhelmed with his proximity, but addicted to his touch. I like him like this. I need him like this. His danger has always drawn me in. There’s power that comes with being touched and caressed by a dangerous man.
“Try me,” I finally whisper, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his mouth.
He groans, before dropping down, his lips crashing on mine. I hook my arm around his neck, opening my mouth wider. Needing to be closer to him, wanting his kiss.
He tears off my shirt and stands back, kicking off his shoes. “If you don’t want this, you have three seconds to tell me because I’m about to give even less of a fuck.”
Slowly, I bring my hand to my jeans button and flick it off.
His chuckle vibrates through the silent bedroom, hitting all the corners of my soul on its way out. Before he can answer, or I can say anything, his hands are latched around my ankles, and he’s dragging me down the bed. He tears off my shorts while I remove my bra, tossing them to the side.
I hold my breath, waiting for whatever he’s going to do, but well aware that he could quite possibly walk away from me like he did last time and end up screwing Val.
His finger glides down my clit. “How many men have you fucked?”
“What?” I ask, panting. “Why would you ask that right now?”
“I need to know how many you’ve fucked.” His fingertip meets my entrance. He turns it softly, hitting every nerve.
“I don’t know.”
“That many?” he scolds.
“Five?”
“Five, huh.” He slaps my pussy—the motherfucker spanked my pussy—before he shoves his finger inside of me. I cry out, my back lifting off the bed. “Five men?” He’s almost whispering it to himself. “Hope they fucked you rough.” His finger massages me inside while his thumb presses against my clit. My stomach clenches, and my insides spin around and around, constantly trying to catch the high my orgasm threatens to give me. His mouth covers my clit, and his slick tongue slides over me, circling and pressing. I cry out as my orgasm rolls through me, wave after wave, slowly getting smaller and smaller.
