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His throat bobs as he swallows, taking a step closer even though we’re already flush with each other. Blood rushes between my ears, temporarily stalling the parts of my brain that process logic and reason, making me forget every single reason I have for being wary.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice little more than a husky whisper, “my name sounds damn good on your tongue, little one.”
“Wh—where are my clothes?” I stutter, amazed at my ability to form that coherent sentence, when all my brain can think about is his lips on mine.
“Unpacked and hanging in the hall closet. I didn’t think you’d be up before we landed.”
He takes another step, pushing me back over the threshold to the bathroom.
“My dress?”
A muscle tics in his jaw, making a dimple appear in his left cheek. “Incinerated. Took care of that before we left the airport.”
My mouth parts, shocked. “You burned my wedding dress?”
“I didn’t appreciate you marrying me in the gown you’d intended to be on Mateo’s bedroom floor tonight.”
I frown. “To be fair, I wasn’t planning on sleeping with Mateo. Ever, if I could get away with it.”
He takes another step, backing me into the sink. I put one arm behind me to keep from falling, holding tight to my bedsheet, and he leans in to place his hand on the counter beside my hip.
“No?” he asks, warm breath ghosting over my face. “So, you didn’t wear that skimpy lingerie for him? Didn’t shave your sweet little pussy just in case your new husband wanted a taste?”
Licking my lips as he fists the knot holding my sheet closed, I shake my head. My breathing scatters as he shifts even closer, so close I’m not even sure we’re two separate beings any longer.
Chest tight, I glance up at him through hooded lashes, trying to keep my breathing even, dipping my toe in the pool of attraction trickling between us. “Maybe I wanted the dress to be on your floor tonight.”
Kal’s irises darken even further, a breath hitching in his throat. “Were you going to think of me when he fucked you?”
Not waiting for an answer, he tugs at the satin, uncurling my fingers with his free hand as he takes another bite of the apple. The obscene slurping sound as he pulls the fruit away sends a violent shiver down my spine, and I clench my thighs together as moisture pools at the apex, warming me from the inside.
With one sweep of his hand, the sheet falls away from my body, catching at my waist where I’m pinned against the sink. Kal lets out a shaky exhale as he chews, raking his hungry gaze down the length of my body.
“As sinful as I remember,” he mutters, setting the apple on the counter behind me, then reaching out with sticky fingers to brush the pomegranate tattoo beneath my breast—the one I got when he started calling me his little Persephone, as if I might be able to reach him with the symbol.
His touch is icy, devoid of the warmth his eyes hold, and yet it scorches me anyway.
What is wrong with me?
Just a few hours ago, this man blackmailed me into marrying him. Threatened the lives of everyone I love, just so I would become a willing pawn in some weird little game I don’t even understand yet.
I’m not sure I buy his story about being blackmailed himself, either—a man dubbed Doctor Death by everyone he comes into contact with is not a man who so easily bends to the will of others, so his immediate default to accepting the terms of his tormentor set off red flags in my mind.
But since I also have no other leads to go on, and know he doesn’t make idle threats, I’d had no choice.
That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy our little arrangement, though, and yet the longer he stares, the faster my resolve liquefies.
My hand grips the counter until it aches, the effort to keep myself from touching him back overwhelming.
His thumb glides over my tattoo, making me shake like a leaf, and he smirks, moving downward. It curves over my hip, grazing along my pubic bone, before dipping farther to caress my clit.
A small gasp falls from my lips, and his smirk widens, the lines at the corner of his mouth deepening.
“You didn’t shave for him, but I don’t recall you being bare for me,” he says, the timbre of his voice rumbling against my chest. “So, who have you been fucking in my absence?”
Tracing along my seam, he creates a repetitive sweeping motion, each time rubbing my clit on the descent. My throat constricts until it hurts, and I frantically suck in air, trying to keep myself from exploding.
One little touch from this man, and I’m already there.
