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I merely passed it earlier in the midst of Martha’s obvious attempts to keep me as far away from it as possible.
White light fills the space, highlighting the clean, minimalistic, and almost clinical appearance of the room. The colors are just as basic—gray, black, and white.
My heart skips a beat when I realize those are the exact colors in my own bedroom. Jeez. Talk about some twisted coincidences.
Kingsley drops me on the bed, gently but also with the type of firmness that displays his need for dominance.
I lift myself on my elbows just in time to witness him remove his jacket. His movements drip with control, ease, and the confidence of a man who knows what he’s doing and where he’s going.
His white shirt stretches across his muscular chest as he throws the jacket somewhere I can’t see. Then, without breaking eye contact with me, he unbuttons his cufflinks and rolls the sleeves of his shirt over his powerful forearms.
I couldn’t look away even if I tried. Because the thing is, Kingsley is veiny. He has big hands with long fingers and visible veins that stretch from the backs of them to his arms.
And even though I somehow forgot the details from back then, the memory of what those hands did to me is starting to hit me. Right between my legs.
Not to mention that the cuts on the back of his hands and knuckles add a barbaric edge to his already callous appearance.
At this moment, he could be classified as a merciless monarch with a penchant for conquering.
“Here’s the thing, sweetheart,” he speaks in a voice full of lust that drags out my own. “Your lips are injured and your tongue is chewed on, probably because you refused to give the fuckers the satisfaction of seeing you weak. As a result, you bit on it, constantly, until you nearly bit it off.”
My mouth falls open. “How…”
“You said it back then, right? You’d rather swallow your poison. I know Nietzsche is your idol and the holy messiah of your brain, but he’s a fucking moron who couldn’t make up his mind, so the next time you’re in a life-threatening situation…” His knee drops between my legs, effortlessly prying them open as he slams a hand on the mattress by my head. The other cups my jaw again. His thumb glides over my lips, and they tingle with both pleasure and pain. “You’ll open these fucking lips and scream for help. Am I clear?”
“I told you I don’t believe in that.” I try to push his hand away, but he leaves me no room to fight. He has the type of infuriating authority that’s impossible to budge, and while I rebelled against it before, I can feel myself losing that warrior spirit now.
“You’ll start to…eventually. Now…” He slides his thumb back and forth over my lips again, not sparing the swollen or cut or broken parts. “Seeing as you’re in pain, I’m upgrading the earlier challenge from a kiss to something else.”
“Something else…?”
My low-spoken question remains hanging in the air as he tactfully drops his hand between my breasts and fingers them through the material until both my nipples protrude. The friction against the dress is so painful that I gasp.
“You’re so sensitive here, aren’t you?” he says with dark sadism, then closes his lips around the nipple through the cloth and sucks. The fact that he didn’t even bother to remove the dress and is doing it through it is dirtier than anything I could’ve imagined.
He licks and probes and bites my nipple so hard, I think I’ll come from the friction alone. The bursts of pain from my shoulder and upper chest blend with the pleasure and spreads to my aching core.
It’s too much.
Him.
This.
Everything about this moment is too surreal in nature that I can’t wrap my mind around it. All I can do is fall into its trap with the helplessness of a prey.
My hair forms a halo over my head from how much I’m writhing. The discomfort from my bruises and his unapologetic claiming makes the atmosphere animalistic in nature.
And just when I think I might orgasm from the sensation alone, Kingsley releases the tortured nipple, leaving a wet, transparent blotch on the white dress and licks his lips as if proud of his handiwork.
I’m ready to call him a hundred colorful names, but that thought vanishes because his head lowers to my other nipple, gracing it with the same attention he gave the previous one.
My hands ball into painful fists, strangling the sheet, and I wish it was in disgust. In denial. Anything but what I’m feeling right now.
Excitement and a scary sensation of letting go.
My nipples throb, sending a straight zap between my legs with each of his brutal bites.
“Oh, God…”
