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“Don’t be difficult.”
“Difficult? What are you smoking?” The humour that we shared moments ago is completely gone. If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding out from his cutting glare. But it doesn’t stop me. I’m on a fucking roll, and my temper is going with it as I take step after step in his direction, telling him what for. “This is the real world. People don’t live in palaces, drinking brandy that’s thousands of pounds a bottle. We don’t have drivers, or cooks, and people to sniff our arses and tell us how wonderful we are when our egos take a beating.”
Like a beast unfurling, he stands taller than ever, watching me without any recognition of what I’m saying. Callousness paints his face with indifference, as though I am nothing. Shit on the bottom of his ridiculously expensive shoes would be more important to him.
“What is wrong with you?” I growl, pushing my hand into his chest when my toes touch the tips of his shoes. “I’m safer slumming it with real people than I’ll ever be with your lot. If you don’t feel safe here, then you get in your fucking car with your poxy driver and go. Go back to your whorehouse and—” I stop.
A cold hand flattens over mine, still pushing into his chest. It’s the first time he’s touched me, and the feel of his touch is nothing like I expected. Calluses roughen the pads of his fingers and palms.
Fuck, my train of thought falters at the contact. Slowly, his fingers curl around my hand. Their grasp gets tighter by the second. In a lightning move, he twists my arm, pinning it behind my back as he pushes inside my flat and presses me into the wall.
The sound of his grunting breaths claws through me. Hot and sticky, they coat the shell of my ear when he lowers himself to my level. When I try to shake him off, Henry grips me tighter, the sharp scream of pain from my straining shoulder causing my eyes to water.
“You silly girl,” he spits, low and mean. He’s going to bruise me. I can already feel my blood pooling beneath my skin. “Don’t ever fucking touch me.”
I’m going to be left with his mark on me. The rhythm of my angry heart stutters. The thought ebbs to a heated whisper, seeping deep into my bones.
And I still, with his front pressed to my back, hard, muscled flesh grinding me into the wall. His cruelty blankets me. It smothers my senses until I’m completely overwhelmed.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I push back into him, seeking the shuddering strength of his control as his lips ghost over my ear.
I can’t breathe when he bites out a gravelled curse. “Fuck.”
That low groan lances through me. Strong hips rut into my arse, grinding over me in warning and lurid promise. And I feel him. Big and hard. And wanting.
Suddenly, all the anger in my chest pools between my legs.
“Aaah…” The mangled sigh escapes me.
He’s touching me, and I’m feeling him. All of him. His hunger. His need. His lust. Most of all, his rage. I feel it all pulse between us, and it sets me on fire.
Henry’s lips trail down to my neck, their warmth tracing my skin in lieu of their physical touch. I’m not sure if he’s going to bite me or kiss me. Maybe both?
All I can think is that I want it. I thirst for more. For it all—everything. To unravel him. Break him. Punish him. Torture him. I want to make him hurt. More than that, I want to make him want me until he can’t breathe or see straight. All these things that he makes me feel and want, in spite of the way I loathe him. In fact, I want him to hate me to the point that it kills him to desire me.
The loud ringing of his phone cuts through the maddened haze of our closeness. Still, Henry doesn’t release me. If anything, he twists my arm harder, using all his weight to push himself off me before he spins me to face him. It all happens so quickly that I can still feel his rough hold on my arm while his hand is already pinning my back to the wall by my throat.
“Talk like that to me again and you won’t like what happens to you.”
“What are you going to do?” I choke out the words. “Kill me?”
A sneering grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “One way or another, I will be the death of you.” Flexing his grip, his hand hitches up my throat while his thumb strokes along my jaw to my lips. “Your blood will be on my hands, darling.”
“Is that a promise?” My sore rasp snaps with the squeeze of his hand around my neck.
Tears burn my eyes as they drip hotly down my face, much to his pleasure. I can see it shining black and rotten along with my reflection in the depths of his eyes.
“It’s a guarantee.” With a shove into the wall, he releases me.
The deafening trill of his phone blares again. This time, he doesn’t ignore it. Digging his phone from his pocket, Henry walks away as he answers it. Before he leaves, he picks up his fallen jacket in the doorway and looks back over his shoulder at me. “Until tomorrow, Eve.”
“Don’t count on it, Your Grace,” I grouse at him through the pulsing burn in my throat.
A tawdry smirk is his only response as he disappears out of my door, and I rush to shut it as quickly as I can, locking the bolt at eye level and securing the safety chain below it.
This is it.
There’s no way I’m going back to their cesspit.
