KING(13)

“That’s a lie. I barely touched you.”

“No, not now. When you saw me earlier, with that girl. You stood in the doorway and you watched us. Did you like what you saw? Did you like watching me come for you?”

“You give yourself way too much credit. I didn’t stay to watch you. I was just surprised. You were practically strangling her, why would I stay to watch that?”

He moved his hands to my throat and squeezed hard, leaving me with just enough airway so I could still breath. “You mean like this?” He asked, looking into my eyes as I tried to hide the terror alarms going off in my body. He was feeding off my fear.

“Fuck you,” I spat, mustering all the courage I could manage. He was toying with me, and I may have been afraid, but I was no f*cking pushover.

“I know that you wanted to be that girl. You wanted it to be you who my cock was slamming into. I saw the way you looked at me and it made me explode. I see the way you look at me now and behind the fear you want me, maybe even because of it.”

“You’re wrong. That’s not how I’m looking at you.”

“No? Then tell me what you are really thinking when you look at me. Right now. What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

“I was thinking about what a shame it was that good looks are wasted on someone like you.” He smiled out of the corner of his mouth and squeezed my throat tighter, leaning in so that his cheek was flush with mine and I could hear his words vibrate off my skin.

“How old are you, pup?”

“What the hell is it to you?” I seethed through gritted teeth.

“I just want to know if you’re illegal.” He pulled back and his gaze roamed over my body with one long slow sweep. He released my throat and pinned both my wrists above my head with one hand. He dipped a calloused finger into the low neckline of my tank top, slowly tracing the rounded flesh of my breasts. Goosebumps rose on the flesh of my arms.

I inhaled sharply.

“I’ve seen all the shit going on out there.” I said, tilting my head toward the door. “Like you really give a shit about illegal,” my breath shallow and quick.

“I don’t give a shit,” he said with a deep chuckle, “As a matter of fact, I’m hoping you are illegal.” He pressed his forearms against the wall on both sides of my head, caging me in with his massive frame, pressing his erection up against my stomach. “Cause I do illegal real f*cking well.”

I gasped and my lungs felt heavy in my chest. I squirmed in his grip and couldn’t decide if I wanted to rub up against him to find the friction I now craved or slap the living shit out of him. He must have sensed my indecision because he looked me in the eyes and shook his head.

“Go ahead, pup. But I wouldn’t if I were you.” His expression stern, his eyes dark and dangerous, glimmering with a trace of amusement. He pressed his forehead to mine and sighed. “You and I could’ve had a lot of fun, Pup.” He shook his head and for the first time I noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the redness of his eye lids.

He looked tired. And not the kind of tired you feel after a long day, but the kind of tired that lingers no matter how much sleep you get or how much coffee you ingest. The kind of tired that is less about rest and more about unrest.

I knew this because I was the same kind of tired.

He released me and stepped back. The second his intimidating presence was gone from my personal space I felt the coldness of his absence.

He grabbed the bottle from the nightstand and headed for the door.

I was still frozen to the wall. My jaw firmly affixed to the floor.

What the hell just happened?

“You’re leaving?” I asked. My relief warring with some f*cked-up misplaced sense of disappointment.

He cracked the door open and paused with his hand on the handle. The music filtered in through the opening, penetrating the silence, each heavy beat taking another footstep inside. “It’s been a long f*cking day and you’ve caught me at a really weird time. As much as the innocent thing you’ve got going on makes my cock hard, I don’t do gentle, so you should be happy I’m walking away.” He took a swig from the bottle and cast one last confused glance toward me, taking in my body that was still pressed up against the wall. “Three years ago I would have f*cked you into the middle of next week without thinking twice.”

Then he was gone.

What the f*ck did that mean?

My stomach interrupted my thought by growling loudly. The twisting pain threatening to topple me over. I hugged myself in an attempt to soothe the ache. I’d looked around for some sort of food when I’d first arrived, but all the tables downstairs were covered with beer and liquor bottles. The coffee table had nothing on it but a mirror and a mound of blow, which was being cut into lines with a credit card by a man who looked old enough to be a grandfather.