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The pressure became overwhelming, and I could feel my eyes roll back in my head. “Fuck you,” I cursed. And damn, he felt good. So good it made doing this even harder.
I lowered my leg and shoved him back as hard as I could, just before he could rip an orgasm out of me. He landed on the ground in the shards of glass but didn’t make a sound. My arousal glistened on his lips, and his eyes were like haunting black orbs of power.
“I’m not letting you get away with this,” I growled before straddling his body. I bent at the hips, pressing my hand to his throat. With him at my mercy, I felt powerful. “You don’t get to taste me, Atticus. You don’t get to control me. I’m tired of everyone staking a claim. I belong to myself. I’m alive.”
A smile crossed his mouth, surprising me. “Yes, Little Monster.”
“Don’t look so pleased,” I said. “You’ve started a war in your home. I won’t submit easily. You made me a monster, and now I’ll show you just how capable I am. I’ll show everyone.”
He arched his eyebrow, his smug smile fading. “I know how capable you are,” he said. “You think I don’t see how powerful—how perfect—you are? I know you can fight your own battles, but it doesn’t mean I won’t protect you.” The intensity in his gaze bounced between pain and pleasure.
“If you thought I was powerful, you wouldn’t hide me away and let the rest of the world think I was dead. You wouldn’t lie to the men I love, Atticus.”
“You love me, too.”
“I’m not sure I can love someone who treats me like this,” I admitted, and the mask he wore finally cracked. I saw a flicker of fear flash across his eyes.
“You can. And you will.”
“I hope you enjoyed the taste of me, because I’m never letting you touch me again,” I spat.
He licked his lips, savoring my arousal for a moment before speaking. “Go ahead. Fight it. It’ll make claiming you so much sweeter.”
I got off of him and scowled. “I’m not staying here.”
“Go shower, Christine. Then you need to eat. Tomorrow, we’re having dinner with my parents.”
“What? Your parents?”
“Yes,” he said while sitting up and picking a shard of glass off his suit. “We have some things we need to discuss with them. I can assure you, they’re just as good at keeping secrets as I am, and they agree that keeping you here where it’s safe is best for everyone.”
My scowl was so heavy I felt like I could collapse. “Of course they do.” My anger was like venom, infecting everyone.
I picked up the photo of us kissing and stared at it for a moment, the weight of his gaze pressing down on me. “This is a lie, you know,” I said softly.
“What? The picture or us?”
I ripped it up and let the tattered pieces fall to the floor. “Both.”
And with those parting words, I stormed off to the bathroom and slammed the door shut, his laughter a haunting reminder that I was locked here while two men who I loved thought I was gone forever.
Chapter Three
ATTICUS
I didn’t want to be at the fucking castle. I didn’t want to drag a king out of the pits of grief and make sure he didn’t drink himself to death. And I definitely preferred my warm bed, where an angry Little Monster was curled up with the blankets wrapped tightly around her, a wall of pillows separating us.
As if feather pillows would hold me back.
The only thing that kept me from prying apart her thighs and sinking into Christine’s hot warmth was that I never wanted her to associate me with the demons that stole her precious innocence. Even though I knew she wanted me just as badly as I wanted her, when we finally collided, she would look me in the eye and beg.
So I was here. At the damn castle. Inhaling the remnants of smoke in the air and trying not to punch something. At least my anger would help convince Augustus that I was grieving. He liked to wallow. I liked to kill people.
I parked my car and walked up the steps, where a line of armed guards glared at me. Leo appeared at the top of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest and that damn long hair of his flowing in the wind. “We need to talk,” he huffed.
I observed him openly. He had dark circles under his eyes and a snarl on his lips. He looked tired as hell, but not like a tortured, grieving man who lost a woman he cared about.
“Let’s talk,” I replied.
