And a throne.
“This is yours?” I ask, so out of my element.
I’ve always been the sexually confident one in my relationships. Even with Maddox, I’ve held my own. But he’s transformed that chemistry we had into something much more intimate over the last few days. Coming face-to-face with his royal fuckboy habitat is like whiplash.
“Ours,” he corrects.
“Okay,” I mutter, trying to lean into the sweetness of that response while also being honest about where my head is. “But this is where you …”
“It’s all new,” he explains, his gaze burning my skin. “It didn’t look anything like this a couple of days ago. And I haven’t been in here for a long time. I designed this for us, but we can add whatever you’d like.”
“Oh,” is all I can muster.
He put a throne in here. For us?
I’m not sure how I feel about that. No. I think I might be pissed about it.
He struts over to some black curtains, tying them back on a hook to display a life-size picture. “Recognize this?”
It’s one of my drawings. He had it enlarged and hung it here? I love that sketch. It’s the back of a woman. She’s naked, her dark hair swept aside and spilling over one shoulder. A rope binds her wrists behind the small of her back, accentuating the curve of her hips.
My hand rises to my chest as I try to quell the hammering inside. It’s fruitless. As if my intuition discerns the contrast, my focus flicks to Maddox. So comfortable … in his kingdom.
He slips his shoes off and unbuttons his shirt. “Did Axel and Ryker talk to you about what it means to be mine?”
The change in subject is unnerving. Everything about this day has been.
I turn back to the sketch. “Mostly about the protection offered to me and my family.”
“And how did you respond?” he presses, probably testing me, like they were.
“I politely told them I wouldn’t be bribed to be yours. That we needed to discuss it, and if I decided to be with you, it would be because it was right.” My eyes don’t move from the woman I drew. My mind won’t dismiss the sight of her bondage. “Not because they offered me something.”
“It’s a done deal.” His voice is gruff with that, brooking no room for argument.
My veins pump with ire. I knew it was a done deal, but hearing it pushes all my buttons.
“I sensed that,” I grit out, unsure if I should rage or run or simply surrender.
“I love all your drawings because there is something so authentic in them. So honest. But that one felt right for here, and I wanted you to see your mark all over La Lune Noire.” He moves behind me, his breath cascading over my shoulders and acting like a magnet, pulling me toward him, but I fight it.
My sketches are a window to my soul, like when I’m tattooing someone, etching a piece of myself onto them. His observation alone is a testament to how much better he knows me than my own flesh and blood ever did. It confuses everything.
The first beats of “Inferno” by Sub Urban and Bella Poarch trill from his phone, and I briefly wonder what playlist this is. He has so many, all designated for different tasks—driving, walk-throughs, ignoring Axel.
“I thought after the shitty morning we had, we could use a retreat.” He splays his hand over my stomach, tugging my hips back and anchoring me to him as he sways us to the beat. “But all you can think about is bolting.”
He’s right about both the need for a retreat and my desire to escape. If I dismiss the way he’s chained me to this world without my consent, I want nothing more than to enjoy him. But I can’t wrap my head around what his message is with this. I’ll never be meek and obedient.
Disregarding the mention of my urge to flee, I reroute us. “A retreat with a throne?”
“Yes,” he confirms, and the imprint of his hand on my abs and his erection spearing my backside sears into me like pinpricks of fire.
My breathing grows shallow, my war to be my own person raging within while my body longs to be swallowed by this man. Maybe we simply need clarity.
“What they didn’t tell me is what would be expected of me.” I hate the quaver delivering that, the heartbreaking lilt to my conclusion. “I’m not sure I’m what you’re looking for.”
He spins me toward him, and the scene is upside down from all my fears. I’m still dressed. His clothes are gone. His hair is down. His cock is hard and glistening.
