Page 118 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“Because we don’t have to,” Kit said.

“I know. You’ve told me that approximately one billion times.”

“Oi,” Kit said, slapping my thigh. “Where’s all this sass suddenly coming from?”

“Must be the single glass of wine,” I said, fighting back a smirk. “Or maybe I’m finally comfortable enough to show you what a nightmare I can actually be.”

Kit’s eyes blazed molten. “Good,” he growled, and suddenly his arms slid under my knees and back, lifting me clean off his lap.

I squealed—an embarrassingly high-pitched sound. “Kit! Put me down!”

“Nah,” he said, striding towards the bedroom whilst I made a theatrical show of struggling against his grip.

“This is physical assault!”

“You can file a complaint with my boss if you want.”

He kicked open the bedroom door and tossed me onto his bed like I weighed nothing. I bounced once, twice, and then something was fluttering through the air around me in the dim light spilling from the hallway. Soft things, dozens of them, settling on the duvet and my hoodie.

It took me a moment to realise what they were.

“Rose petals? Really?” Laughter burst from my chest as I scooped up a handful of them and flung them at Kit’s face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Sorry that I wanted it to be perfect,” he said, brushing pink petals from his hair with a sheepish expression.

“Look, I’m allergic to this stuff.”

“Flowers?”

“No. Romance,” I said, even though my heart was squeezing so tightly I could barely breathe.

Kit moved towards the bed, climbing up and positioning himself over me, his elbows braced on either side of my head so he completely covered me. His face hovered inches from mine, close enough that I could count his eyelashes in the half-light.

He leaned down to whisper in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think you secretly love it very much.”

His hand trailed down my body to rest at my waist.

“Love being spoiled,” he murmured.

I said nothing, my throat too tight for words.

“Being taken care of.” His hand slid around to my lower back.

I tried to make myself protest, to maintain some shred of dignity, but all that came out was a whine because Kit’s hand slipped down to my ass and squeezed.

“Being treated like a princess.”

“P-princess?” I half laughed, as heat prickled my cheeks.

“Don’t deny it.”

I tried to deny it, I really did, but Kit’s hand was already at the button of my jeans, fingers working it open. The soft pop of the metal through fabric made me gasp.

“Maybe I need to show you exactly how princesses get treated,” he murmured against my throat.

A sound escaped me—something between a whimper and a plea, embarrassingly desperate even to my own ears.

My hips lifted themselves up of their own accord, and Kit wiggled my jeans down my legs until they joined the rose petals on the floor. The cool air swept against my bare skin, a tingly shiver prickling up my leg.