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I kiss him back.
And oh, my fucking fuck.
My insides pulse, my entire body coming alive as I sweep my tongue with his, our lips moving like they’ve known each other all our fucking lives. Like they were meant for this, for each other.
It's a stupid, sobering thought and I tear myself away.
My hand slaps over my mouth and he growls, prowling forward and erasing every bit of space I put between us until my back is against the wall.
“I fucked up. I want to take it all back,” he growls angrily. “I'll take your anger over this fucking lie.”
“I don’t understand.”
Knight grits his teeth, tearing away as his fingers dive into his hair and he pulls. When he finally looks back at me, there’s a raging inferno. “You are going to fucking hate me. More now than before, but I’m not sure I fucking care."
His mouth slams into mine again and I fight it, but then he dips down, gripping my thighs and my legs wrap around them as if they belong.
“You can’t be my fucking Queen, London,” he growls against my lips.
“I don’t want to be.”
That pisses him off and he tears me from the wall, only to slam me back against it.
His hands dive under the small dress I wore today, and he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers dive right inside, my moan loud and needy as his entire body shakes at the sound.
“I fucking missed you,” he murmurs into my neck, and I let him talk his madness because the feel of his fingers inside my pussy is too much for me to care that he’s picturing me as someone else.
He works me relentlessly, grinding his cock against my thigh as he does, and my head tips back.
“Fuck,” I rasp, tugging on his hair as his lips come back to mine.
“I might have to keep you too.”
Too.
Too?!
His words are like a fucking ice bath, and my muscles freeze.
Literally.
Knight jerks back, and I fall to the floor as he looks to his fingers as if I burned him.
I stare back at my skin, noting the new tinted blue.
He turns to his fingers, my arousal coated across them... as hard as ice.
I pull my dress down, taking backward steps but he keeps coming.
Panic flares and I throw my hands up to keep him away. He goes flying, his back crashing against the opposite wall.
My mouth falls open and my knees begin to shake.
“Oh shit. I am … my Lord, I … please don’t kill me!” I finally beg. “Please, I—”
“Your eyes,” he says quietly, climbing to his feet. “They’re black.”
I swallow, blinking, fighting the urge to run to a mirror and see for myself.
