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Who the hell toldhimhe was Gordon Ramsey?
I took a forkful of pasta and tasted it for myself, almost choking before I got it all down. “Okay, so, cooking isn’t one of my many talents.”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then crowded me against the counter. He swept his thumb over the corner of my mouth. A smile spread over his lips, every bit as lethal as it was beautiful. “I know all about your talents, Princess.” He brought the same thumb to his lips, then swirled his tongue to lick off the sauce he’d wiped from my face.
“It’s not a talent if it’s your first time doing it.”
Something intangible darkened his eyes, something like anger laced with need. “Say that again.”
“Earlier today… that was my first time.” And I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. The memory of it invaded every deep, dark part of me.
Both of his hands were at my sides, caging me in. “Have you ever been fucked, Princess?”
I hated the way my body so eagerly responded to his words. The way my mouth went dry and stomach did flips. “I told you my name is Anniston, and that’s none of your business.”
“I think it is my business.” He inched forward, positioning himself between my legs and pressing the thick ridges of his rock-hard cock against my stomach. “Tell me your pussy wasn’t soaked when I held the blade to your throat and my cock to your lips. Tell me and I’ll walk away. I’ll let you rot in that fucking room until someone decides to come save you.”
I should have told him he was wrong. I should have screamed and pushed him away, told him I’d rather rot than ever have him near me again. But the words got trapped in my throat.Because they would have been a lie.
“I think you like the danger, the rebellion, the idea of pissing Daddy off.” His gaze narrowed. His words were unapologetic. “Do you dream about fucking the servants like your brother does? Fantasize about giving the guards a taste of your sweet cunt?” I couldn’t breathe. “Or maybe you’ve done that already. Your mouth was a virgin. That doesn’t mean your pussy is.” There was no way he knew about the guard. No one knew. He swept my hair off my neck, and his fingertips felt like a thousand tiny shockwaves on my skin. His lips were against my throat. “I think the perfect princess wants a dirty villain. And I think if I reached inside those shorts and pulled your panties to the side, you’d be dripping wet.” He ran his tongue up the side of my neck as he pushed his erection against me again. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll dirty you up. Soon enough. I’ll ruin you.”
Chandler was right. I was soaked. But only because my body reacted before my mind had a chance. His words were filthy, erotic, and delivered with the precision of a newly sharpened blade. The jab at my lifestyle was clearly meant to humiliate me.Again.He’d stereotyped me. He put me in a box. My body responded to Chandler because of something that lived inside of me, because something in him awakened something in me. It had nothing to do with rebelling against my father. That was his battle, not mine.
I reached between us and grasped his cock in my hand. “Maybe you should start thinking with your other brain.” I gave it a squeeze. Hard. “This one got it wrong.”
Lightning quick, his hand was at my throat. His eyes were wild as his fingertips dug into my flesh. “The fuck did I say about touching me?”
Panic seized my chest as I remembered his words from last night, not believing I’d forgotten them. Now I’d messed up. The animal was uncaged.
His chest heaved as his feral stare penetrated me. Burned through me.
I dropped my hand. My ears popped, the way they did when the altitude changed, or I went underwater. “I’m sorry,” I managed to say, though my voice came out strangled.
He held me there, powerless and struggling for air, for what felt like several minutes. Then his grip on my throat loosened, and his heavy breaths began to calm. Finally, he let me go. He continued staring at me as I brought my hand to my throat. I held his gaze while I rubbed the soreness from my neck.
What in the world happened to you?My brother always told me monsters weren’t born. They were made. The muscles in Chandler’s jaw flexed and tightened as he backed away from me.
And then he walked over to the elevator, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen.
“Who made you a monster?” I asked, more to myself than him, as he disappeared behind the closing doors.
Day two:
People don’t belong in cages.
