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I still can’t help the nagging feeling of wondering where he could’ve been that he had to change suits.
He’s casually leaning against the frame with his legs crossed at the ankle as if he’s been there for a while, watching, biding his time as all predators do.
Unlucky for him, I’m no prey.
“I breached no one’s privacy.” I’m surprised at my cool tone as I calmly place the album back in the drawer. “You willingly brought me inside your house and forgot to post rules about freedom of movement where I can see them.”
“You must be better if your tongue is back to its favorite hobby of talking back.”
Actually, my tongue is sore and hurts like a mother, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight.
I stand up, holding my head up with effort. “Sorry to ruin your twisted fantasies of seeing me on my knees. Better luck next time.”
He pushes off the door frame and reaches me in a few determined strides. The force behind them knocks the living breath out of my lungs, but not more than when his chest nearly grazes mine.
The distance that separates us is merely a hair’s breadth, and even that is crowded with the smell of cedarwood mixed with the potent scent of his masculinity.
All my attempts to breathe properly splash on the floor and shrivel to a slow death when he grabs my chin with his thumb and forefinger, slowly tilting it up until he has my full attention and then some.
His other hand lands on my waist, controlling and so possessive that I can barely feel the fabric separating us.
“As I insinuated this morning and you refused to accept in your pretty head, seeing you physically beaten brings me no sense of victory whatsoever. The only position where you’d look good on your knees is when you’re choking on my cock, sweetheart.”
My lips part and it has nothing to do with how swollen they feel. I scramble for a scathing reply and come up embarrassingly empty-handed.
“If your tongue is healed, we can start right away.”
“In your dreams, asshole.”
“In my dreams, you’re taking my cock up your ass like a pro.”
“Good thing it’s a dream, because it won’t be happening in this lifetime. And for the record, you’re a damn pervert.”
“The number of fucks I have to give about your opinion of me is in the negative.”
“And yet, you still want a piece of me.”
“Not a piece.Pieces.” His voice drops and so does his hand—from my waist to my hip and then to my ass.
I yelp when he squeezes the flesh, pulling me straight into his chest. The pain that explodes in my body has no bearing whatsoever on my reaction.
Logically, I should be appalled to my bones, but that’s shamelessly absent. Instead, my heart starts a war as if intending to jump straight between us.
My thighs shake against his and I’m sure he feels how much of an effect he has on me.
Something I don’t like.
The weakness. The being at someone else’s mercy.
The only sex I take part in is when I’m riding. Never when I’m dominated.
Not after that first time, at least.
It scared the shit of me, the power he had and continued to have on me when he was nothing more than an Anonymous mask. Now that he has a face, an illegally gorgeous one at that, it’s even more dangerous.
So I slam a palm on his shoulder, trying, and failing, to push him away.
“Kingsley,” I attempt to warn, but my voice is too soft, even to my own ears.
