Tyrant(54)

I opened my mouth to argue. “Stop f*cking talking,” he snapped.

King lifted me off the dresser and carried me and set me down in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door. He stood behind me. A head taller than me and outweighing me by a hundred pounds, our differences had never been more obvious. His dark jeans and dark tank top were a stark contrast to my little white eyelet sundress. My pale skin next to his tanned. My white hair to his black. It was a sight that made my knees weak. Because although the reflection in the mirror made our differences obvious, it also made me see how well the two fit together.

“You see this?” King said, his arms wrapped around my waist, speaking to my reflection. “You see how this f*cking works? How we fit?” He pushed my cardigan off my shoulders and it fell to the floor. He spun me around and grabbed a hand mirror off the desk and held it in front of me, the same way he did when he was showing a client their new tattoo.

“Do you see this? What does this shit f*cking say?” he asked. Pointing to the tattoo he’d given me. The one I just put on full display to spite my father and Tanner.

“It says, I don’t want to repeat my innocence, I want the pleasure of losing it all over again. It’s an F. Scott Fitzgerald quote,” I answered.

“No.” He pushed on my head, shifting my perspective to a slightly sideways view. “Tell me again. Look in the crown, in the vines. What the f*ck does that shit say?”

“King,” I whispered. “It says…King.”





Chapter Twenty




King


“You are mine. You always have been,” I said unapologetically.

Pup looked in the mirror with wide eyes, still staring at the tattoo baring my name. “You tattooed your name on me,” she said in disbelief.

My gaze met hers in the mirror. “Marked you the first f*cking chance I got. My only regret is not making it bigger, because maybe then that kid would’ve known better than to put his f*cking lips on you.”

“It’s not his fault,” she said, glaring daggers at me.

It pissed me off that she was defending the little f*ck. He could call himself her husband all he wanted ’cause I found out all I needed to know when her breath quickened at my nearness, when she darted her tongue out and wet her lips in anticipation, the way her nipples hardened against the fabric of the little sexy as f*ck conservative dress she was wearing. It wasn’t just physical though because the air around us crackled with our almost palpable connection. I could practically taste it on my tongue.

I wanted to taste her on my tongue. I wanted to put my face between her thighs and feel her squirm under my mouth while she scraped the top of my head with her fingernails until she came.

I was so f*cking hard it took every bit of self control I had not to bend her over the dresser, flip that dress over her ass, and f*ck some sense into my girl.

I ran my hand over her mouth and her lips parted. Those beautiful pink lips of hers would’ve made my cock instantly hard if it wasn’t already an iron rod straining against my jeans. “I already wanted to slit the senator’s throat for the stunt he pulled with Max, but when I saw him standing up there, wearing his ‘better-than-everyone-suit, and his member-of-the-club ridiculous gold watch, and heard him telling people you’d got f*cking married, to someone who isn’t me, I wanted to unload my gun into his skull then reload for the kid.

My words might have been harsh, but they were true.

I took the mirror from Pup and set it down on the dresser. “For a second I thought that maybe I just imagined this thing between us.” I untied the halter of her sundress and let it fall to the floor, revealing a matching beige strapless bra and panty set. It was standard everyday stuff, but on my girl, she might as well have been wearing crotchless panties and carrying a whip, because she was the sexiest thing I’d ever f*cking seen. My cock was in agony as I swept my gaze over her body.

“It was that look of yours that stopped me,” I said.

“What look?” She asked, spinning around to face me.

“The look you get when you’re up to no good. And I was right. Because you took off your sweater. You showed them your tattoo.” I ran my fingertips from the base of her neck to the cheeks of her ass.

“I was showing them I wasn’t a monkey and no matter what I agreed to I wasn’t going to dance for them,” she said, unable to contain the thrill of being able to put them in their place.