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“You already punished me for that with the wall.” With every step I took in her direction, her eyes widened.
“And I’m going to punish you again.” The thought sent a burst of desire straight to my dick.
“Are you going to spank me?” She licked her lower lip and sucked in a breath.
“I shouldn’t.” Because she wanted me to. “But yes. I’m going to spank you.” My fucking dick was dying for it, too. “Stand up and lower your pants.”
She moved quickly, stood, and shoved her jeans to her ankles. “Over the bed?”
“My lap.” I barely managed to get the words out before she laid across my legs, beautiful ass in the air, waiting for me. “Riley, the Society is always going to be more important than your jealousy.” Swat. She yelped, and I smiled. “If I have to fuck the detective for the sake of saving the Scorpio Society, I will.” I swatted again, and she whimpered as a red handprint appeared on her ass.
“But I couldn’t fuck the professor?”
I ignored the question and continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Much the same as if the detective is into women and not men, you will fuck her if it means keeping the Society safe.” I smacked her ass again, then again.
“If I don’t?” Her defiance was very real, and I swatted once more.
“Stand up.” When she did as she was told, I pulled her against my cock, which strained to be inside her. I just needed a second of her against me, because spanking her like this made me hotter than I’d been in a couple days, anyway. “Then the Scorpio Society will end its association with you.”
She huffed out a scoff, but I curled my finger under her chin and lifted so she had to meet my gaze. “Riley, if we end our association with you, we don’t leave loose ends.”
“You’d kill me?” Her disbelief heightened the pitch of her voice.
And because I didn’t want to consider the thought, I smiled. “Let’s not find out.”
I kissed the tip of her nose and lightly slapped the side of her ass I hadn’t spanked. “Come on. My mother’s called for a special dinner in your honor.” Even though Riley’s part hadn’t been a total success, the mission itself had been completed to Society satisfaction, and my mother would’ve taken the accolades from her friends all day. It always made her happy.
And if we were lucky, maybe she would trade the chicken nuggets for something of the steak variety, but we were probably having pizza. Again.
“I have no idea why I agreed to live with you,” she muttered, and I chuckled. Come to think of it, she hadn’t agreed yet. Good thing I wasn’t a stickler for those kinds of details.
“You didn’t, sweetheart. I insisted.” And I would’ve done it all again. Jealousy or not. I pulled her close. “I like you, Riley, a lot, but I won’t play little kid games. You want to scream at me, scream, but don’t get my brother killed by flirting with him to get back at me.”
I kissed her softly on the cheek and let her go so I could walk out before I did something stupid, like profess my undying love for her.
Riley
You’re on your second strike, Riley.
I could hear his voice in my head. Doubt poured through me. Doubt about us, about my place in the Society, about everything associated with Roman Hawthorne.
The man he was—powerful, dangerous, exciting—was three-fourths of the man I wanted him to be—powerful, dangerous, exciting, and willing to worship me. Three-fourths wasn’t enough. I wanted it all, and I wouldn’t settle for less.
I rolled on my side and looked at him. Even as he slept, the power rolled off him. The beauty of him didn’t hurt, either. He had one hand resting on his stomach as he laid on his back, the blanket pulled low at his waist. Even this guy’s hair didn’t have the audacity to fall out of place, not while he was awake and not while he slept.
And like we were in some romance novel or one of those sickeningly sweet made-for-TV movies, a beam of moonlight shone through the window and onto his face. I chuckled. Even the fucking moon loved Roman.
And then my thought sent shivers through me.Loved. Stupid word. Stupider idea. There was no way I was in love with this guy. I wanted him. Always. Couldn’t get enough of him, his body, that mouth. But love? Hell no.
Looking at him didn’t help, either. He was too handsome, too built like a god, too wrapped in his own perfection to be resistible. I turned to face the wall, mind spinning, heart pinging.
Love, my ass.
His arm curled around my middle, and he scooted closer, kissed my shoulder, then went right back to breathing even and quiet.
Son of a bitch. I didn’t love Roman Hawthorne. And I stayed up the rest of the night reminding myself.
By the time morning hit, I hadn’t slept, hadn’t fucked out my anxiety, and I finally dragged myself out of his arms and to the bathroom for a shower. When I emerged with my teeth brushed and hair combed into a smooth ponytail, he was awake.
