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A full-body shudder wracks me as he makes a show of inhaling my breath. “Sweet, but not strawberry,” he murmurs, his lips almost touching mine. “Try again, Princess. Where have you been?”
Swallowing thickly, I try to wriggle from his grip, to no avail because he’s older, stronger, and has many centuries of experience over me. He merely seems amused as he settles more of his weight onto me, pressing me into the mattress.
His hips push my thighs wider apart, and my breaths grow heavier in response to feeling him so close. The scent of my arousal is far more humiliating than I even want to discuss, considering it can’t be ignored or go unnoticed.
He makes no sound of interest or disinterest. Just stares at me like he wants me to know how much power he has, while I have so little.
“I did some light shopping,” I say, though it comes out more breathy than snarky or strong.
“If you want me out of here, you’ll tell me where you’ve been,” he murmurs, sounding distracted as his gaze sweeps down to my cleavage.
Most of my shirt is ripped open or gashed up from the harbinger battle earlier today. It’s been a rather eventful day, after all.
My skirt is around my hips, providing very little barrier from his touch. One of his hands grips both of my wrists, holding me there even as I forget to struggle.
The weight of his gaze doubles when he bites down on his bottom lip and lets his free hand come up to tear open the rest of my shirt, exposing everything up top to him.
His hips shift, pressing down on me more, as a feral growl forms low in his throat. It’s like my entire body responds, and I embarrassingly roll my hips against him for a little friction.
His gaze snaps to mine and his eyes narrow.
“How sick are you, little princess?” he asks, his hand now moving to shove my skirt up even higher.
I’d rather not answer that question, because the answer is very, very sick. I’m not even trying to stop him from touching me. I want him to dominate me in this moment like no one else has ever been able to do.
The one man in my past who has touched me nearly broke me by using a sacred bond against me in a way I never believed possible. He was crazy. He was power hungry.
Now he’s dead. Because Slade killed him.
For no reason.
Well, no reason other than he knew what he’d done to me. Or maybe I’m foolishly—and psychotically—romanticizing his actions in my head only.
My breaths grow shakier as my back arches, pressing into him a little more, wondering if he’ll have the balls to do anything or if he’s just playing one of his head games.
He quickly rips my panties off, and my heart thunders against my chest, echoing in my ears.
“You’d really rather me take you than you tell me where you’ve been?” he asks, his voice thicker than usual as he stares at my lips.
Before I can answer, a blast of power illuminates the room, and Slade is thrown off me, crashing through the wall.
Well…this is awkward…
My dad stands in my doorway, his face twisted in fury, as he stalks through the hole in the wall he’s just created. I scramble to cover up with a sheet, just as Slade pushes up to his feet, laughing darkly while looking over at my dad.
“Bring it, King. Show me what you’ve got,” Slade taunts.
“You break into my house and force yourself on my daughter and expect to live?” Dad growls.
Before I can say a thing, Slade answers, “Trust me when I say the last thing I’d ever have to do is force myself on her.”
He even winks at Dad like he’s trying to get himself killed.
Rapid blasts and yells of rage come from Dad as he tries to hit Slade. But each streak of power misses. Slade deflects them without even trying, and his eyes land on me, proving how easy it is for him to ruin
us all.
And, like the sick pet I am, I almost turned myself over to the dark devil willingly.
