“Gladly.” I smirk and pat my thigh. Her face pinches, ocean eyes trying to burn me with that glare. She has no idea how close she gets to being fucked when she does that. “On my lap,” I order.
Her lips part, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
“I didn’t mean to say…” she murmurs, pastry paused mid-bite, a glossy thread of brown sliding down her wrist in slow-motion.
“I don’t care. Climb up here. Now.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so,” I drawl. “Come, or I’ll make you.”
She chews on her lip, a quiet war playing out behind her eyes. Then, with a small exhale, she drops her breakfast in the box and rises slowly. Her hands find the line of my shoulders hesitantly, testing the weight of the decision. My fingers curve around her waist and lower her down to my thighs. The short dress climbs up to her hips as she straddles me.
Her lower lip juts out in an adorable pout, not sure what to expect. And that makes me want to fuck with her so bad. Mytongue darts out and licks the brown off her plump little mouth, just to get a taste.
“Maisy is good, isn’t she?” I ask, then suck her lip for a cleaner taste of her.
She whimpers softly as my erection grows between her legs. She’s not fooling anyone, either. Her panties are so soaked, they’re wetting my jeans.
I ignore all that and take a tube out of my jacket. One I bought from the twenty-four-hour pharmacy while Maisy was baking. Her nails dig into my jacket when I lift her dress up and pull down the strap of her panties. Slowly, I rub the gel over the blue bruise on her hipbone. Her breath hitches with every circle my thumb draws. I fucking love the effect my touch has on her, and the blush that floods her cheeks instantly.
“You’ve been hiding this from me,” I mutter, accusation clear in my voice.
“If I knew it would get Hugo beaten up, I would have told you sooner.”
“He’s lucky to get away with that.”
Only because she was standing there.This mark on her felt like a hot whip against my ribs. He said he was just scaring her.The fucking nerve. I could have killed him tonight.
“It’s not that bad,” she mumbles.
“Then why does it hurt?” I ask since she continues to wince at the touch. I cap the tube and toss it toward her purse. It bounces off and lands next to her shoes. She shifts, starting to peel herself off me, but I seize her waist and pull her back down.
“Did I say you could move?”
“You have to be so crass all the time?” She throws a hand in the air. “Can’t you ask nicely?”
“Not all of us were raised in castles, princess.” I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Some of us learned to get what we wanted the hard way.”
“I wasn’t raised in a castle,” she mutters. “Just visited it a few weeks a year. That’s as long as Dad can stand Grandpa.”
“Your dad wasn’t a fan of Elton? He and I would have something in common.”
“Only that.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re too morally corrupt for my dad. He lives by strict codes. Black-and-white. No grays. Ever.”
Lives.
Present tense. Always the present tense.
She talks about her parents like they’re still alive. I had noticed that in her texts and emails and assumed it was a typo. But she doesn’t realize she’s doing it. Like her mind hasn’t caught up with the truth. Or maybe it has, and she’s just refusing to let it in. Either way, she’s bleeding from the inside and too fucking stubborn to notice.
“What?” she asks, taking in my expression.
I shake my head. “You are a strange one, princess.”
“I am strange?” She laughs.
The sound cuts off mid-beat when her hand brushes the hard metal under my leather. Deliberately, her index finger traces the rim of the gun over my jacket. Then her face pinches. I’m about to offer to put it away, when?—
