AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Why the fuck would I when he obviously doesn’t give a fuck?
Jesus fucking Christ.
I feel myself spiraling down that black hole.
Fuck this.
I need to find Jeremy and go on a goddamn hunt. Either that or I will actually hunt my Prince Not-Fucking-Charming down.
And I’m notthatdesperate.
18
NIKOLAI
At the end of the day, I’m spent.
Violence might be frowned upon by a bunch of ethical elites, but it’s actually the only method that manages to calm me down.
But that’s not exactly the case right now.
I should’ve stayed at the mansion and bugged Jeremy for another mission, to give myself something to do, but I found myself driving my Harley to the penthouse.
The moment I step out of the elevator, I sense something different.
No—I smell it or, more accurately,him. Clover, citrus, and a fucking conundrum.
Sure enough, Bran is sitting on the sofa, legs wide apart, elbows on his knees, and his fingers forming a steeple at his chin.
God-fucking-damn-it. He’s hot.
I can barely stop myself from reaching over and messing up his perfectly styled hair and put-together dark-blue polo shirt and khaki pants.
Mr. GQ reporting for fucking duty.
Upon seeing me, however, he doesn’t seem to be here for round two. His expression is calm and composed, but I can sense the waves of a malicious storm whirling beneath.
Still, I take an immense amount of pride in the fact that he let himself in for the second night in a row.
“I got you something.” He reaches into his pants and throws something at my chest.
I catch it and then frown. “A pack of condoms?”
“Figured you’d need it so you don’t give people STIs.”
“What…?”
He stands up with the same infuriating calm. “Good night, then.”
“Wait—”
The moment I touch his wrist, he whirls around fast and slams me against the wall with an elbow on my throat.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he grits out, his lips so close to mine, he almost kisses me with every word.
I suppress a groan at how fucking sexy he looks when he’s enraged. I take a shit ton of pride in the fact that I’m the only one who sees this side of him—rugged at the edges and different from the golden-boy image he wears in public.
He’s perfect to the outside world but himself with me.
