I smacked my hand against the railing and stomped up each ascending step.
“Where are you going?” he asked, the calm to my storm.
“To bed,” I answered halfway up the stairs. “Without you.”
He grunted his disapproval from the bottom step. “Not before I check to ensure you followed my order tonight.”
I faltered, almost missing a step, and sucked in a breath, amazed that he thought I would let him touch me after tonight. “Fuck off.”
“That’s not a polite response.”
I flipped him off over my shoulder, focusing on my escape.
“Are you still upset, princess?”
That damn nickname, said in such a casual tone, wrapped around me and squeezed, locking me in place just as I made it to the top. I whipped around and glared. “Do. Not. Fucking. Call me that.”
He scanned me from head to toe, studying me with a tilt of his head, like I was some odd piece of art he didn’t understand. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
His relaxed posture, aloof expression, and that maddeningly calm tone—laced with amusement and false sincerity—struck a spark straight through my restraint. Anger flared so hot it robbed me of speech. Instead, an unhinged, screeching growl tore from my throat as I spun and bolted. I needed distance from this man before I killed him.
I almost made it to my room.Almost.
His hand clamped around my arm, yanking me back into him before crowding me against the wall.
“This is familiar,” he murmured, smirking down at me.
“Let. Go.”
“Not until I’ve checked.”
Again, that cool tone grated along the frayed rope of my control.
It pissed me off.
It made me feel unhinged.
It left me vibrating on the brink of bursting.
Balanced on the edge of exploding, I made a decision. If he was going to push and push and push—then I wasn’t going alone. I would take him with me.
I shoved him, trying to skirt away, but he towered over me with his height and backed me down the hall—closer to his room.
Dammit.
“Isn’t your hand tired after all that work earlier?” I sneered.
His mouth twitched. “Worried about my hands?”
I glared, my mind too scattered to shape a careful response, grasping for anything that might crack his composure. I hurled the first words that reached my lips, messy and unfiltered. “I’m more worried that my future husband might be too scared to use his cock.”
He froze mid-step.
His eyes tightened.
The muscle along his jaw ticked.
I relished the direct hit, not fully understanding the crack in his aloof exterior, but soaking up the win.
