How my heart recoils, aches, and yearns for him all at once.
Pushing off the desk, he stalks close, and I react. My fist connects with his jaw—the only thing I can do to feel in control—and his head snaps to the side.
Slowly, he turns back, chewing on his bottom lip. A thin line parts the center, and a smear of red falls onto his chin.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
His pupils widen, lust flaring in their depths. Tongue lapping at the cut, I watch as he seems to shake, pleasure at the taste—caused by me.
“Why? Only want yourboyfriendto touch you?” His thumb wipes his chin, and he sucks it.
“He should be fucking thanking me.”
I scoff. “For what?”
Glaring at me, he uncoils, a dog ready to strike. “I’m letting him have—touch—the only thing I would set the world on fire to keep. Something so precious, so fuckingmine, that he should be on his knees worshipping me for theprivilege.”
A step toward me, and I tense. “How is he, by the way? Does he hold you down and make you take the pleasure you’re owed like I do?” Another, and I stand taller. “Does he know the soft whimper you make when it gets to be too much?” One more step. His chest brushes mine. “Does he know how, when you come, you milk my cock until I’m fucking spent inside of you?”
He tsks, reading something in my face. “Must not be that good.”
I throw another punch—but he’s waiting for me. Snagging my wrist, he bends my arm behind my back, throwing my middleonto the desk. Ass in the air, he stands behind me, hips cradling me as if he has any right.
My whole body melts, pussy wet, and face hot. Fucking Christ, it feels good having him pressed against me, cock hard and mouth to my ear, panting.
“Answerme.”
“That’s none of your business.”
He chuckles, nails raking up my exposed leg. “It is my fucking business, Princess. You stole my heart—and still have it. I’d like to know if the owner of something so precious is being properlyfucked.”
My mouth stays shut as his words hit me, a slap to my sensitive face. The holder of his heart? How is that fair to say to me?
“Want me to tell you about the last time he had me bent over like this?” It’s a lie, but I want him to hurt—lose a bit of the edge he’s holding over me. “I could tell you how big?—”
He presses his blade to my neck, his tongue darting out to lick my cheek. Still wet with his blood, he moans with glee.
“I’ll erase every fucking thought of him from your mind,” he vows. The blade trails over my pulse, cool, but he doesn’t cut me. Instead, the knife goes to my thigh. “I wonder what he thinks when he sees my mark?”
I don’t speak—I don’t breathe.
Flipping me over, he presses his hips between my thighs and rips my dress high. With nothing but a pair of black lacy panties hidden underneath, his eyes sear me, hunting for what he wants.
There, at the crease of my thigh and pussy, he touches the scar he left on my body. The only one he ever gave me—his initials etched into my skin. A reminder of who I belong to.
Others might see it as counterproductive—my whole body is covered in marks of a man who thought to own me. But with Killian’s name on me, it infused me with power. No one couldtouch me—no one could have me. Except for the Reaper who owns my soul.
Late at night, when the dreams get to me, I still run my fingers over the raised flesh as a reminder. That I’m in control—I gave myself to him, and my body is mine to use. Not Michael’s—never anyone else’s but mine.
Grabbing my face, he squeezes my cheeks. “Answer me, Princess. Does he like knowing you’re mine—even when you say you aren’t?”
Narrowing my eyes, I keep my mouth shut.
Chuckling, he licks my bottom lip, moaning at the taste. I whimper, panting at the push and pull of him—his anger, my fury, and the toxic chemistry that won’t die, no matter what I do to eradicate it.
Slipping the knife under my panties, I still. He smirks.
“Safe word.”
