She should stop. But she couldn’t force her hand away from her aching pussy, and she couldn’t change the scene in her mind no matter how hard she tried. And so she worked herself closer and closer to that shimmering peak, all while imagining Killian?—
Knock, knock, knock.
Her fingers stilled and the relief that had been right there disappeared. Choking back a sob of frustration, Aria considered just finishing the job before getting her breakfast. But now that the spell was broken, humiliation had taken the place of desire and the thought of touching herself again while imagining Killian doing those things to her made her vaguely nauseous.
So she forced herself out of bed and over to the door, expecting to find one of her guards on the other side, holding her breakfast tray, as they had every other morning since the start of her captivity.
“Good morning, princess.”
Fuck.
Could he tell what she’d been doing before he’d arrived? The thought that he might have any clue she’d been getting herself off to kinky daydreams about him had fresh humiliation rushing to her cheeks.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
One dark brow raised in response, but he didn’t scold her. That was a thing, she’d found in some of her books. Apparently some submissives weren’t allowed to cuss and it was a Very Important Rule that often led to mouths full of soap and other devious punishments that had her clit throbbing.
“I brought you breakfast.” Lifting the tray up, as if she couldn’t see him holding it, he smiled, a bright flash of teeth that threatened to turn her knees to water with the force of it. “Well, I suppose it’s more accurate to say I brought us breakfast. May I come in?”
“Come in?”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “Yes. This tray is getting heavy and I’d like to put it down.”
“You can give it to me, and you can leave. I don’t want you in my room.”
“Then you can come down and join the rest of us for breakfast. Either way, we will be taking our meals together from now on. Where we take those meals is entirely up to you.”
Anger sparked in her chest. It should have smothered the need still pulsing between her thighs, but no. If anything, the desire burned hotter, and it was all she could do not to drag him into her room and ride him like a bull.
“I’m not eating with you.”
The amusement was still there, warming the bright green of his eyes. But there was something else, something… harder. It reminded her of the determination she’d seen there during their first night together, when she’d refused to follow his orders at first, only about a million times more dangerous.
“Aria. I don’t want to fight with you. Correction.” His smile turned smug. “I very much enjoy fighting with you. But I also want you to be as comfortable as possible in my home. So while I could put this tray down, force my way into your room, and spank your delectable ass until you beg to have breakfast with me, I am quite certain you’d prefer to just let me in.”
A certain part of her anatomy would actually prefer the scenario he’d laid out. But luckily, her brain was still somewhat in charge, so she moved aside to allow him in.
Stepping into her bedroom, he paused just beside her, his voice dropping down to a low growl. “Good girl.”
“Fuck you.”
“Gladly. But breakfast first.”
Biting back a scream of frustration, she shut the door behind him. And if she used a little more force than necessary, and if the loud slamming of said door helped to settle her nerves just a teeny-tiny bit, well, she was only human.
“I do have to warn you,” he said, his tone conversational, as if he hadn’t forced his way into her bedroom after kidnapping her off the street and holding her hostage, “Reagan is only going to be held off for so long. She’s very put out that you’ve been skipping family meals, and if you don’t come down for dinner tonight, she’s liable to bring the entire troupe up here to your room. You’ve been warned.”
Settling at the table, Aria frowned. “When you say the entire troupe…”
“Myself, Reagan, and Brody of course.” As he spoke, he lifted the silver dome from the tray, revealing two plates laden with eggs and bacon and what looked to be blueberry muffins. “The three of us have breakfast together every morning and dinner together most nights. But on Sundays, the rest of the cousins join us as well. Lochlan and Tiernan, the twins. You’ve met them.”
“I have.” Ignoring the eggs, she reached for the muffin on her plate. “Lochlan is—what did you call him? Oh, yes, the family psychopath.”
“Or sociopath. He’s never been formally diagnosed, so we’re all just guessing.”
“Charming.”
“He is, actually, once you get to know him a bit. Tiernan is a harder nut to crack, but he has a razor-sharp wit hiding beneath all the brooding good looks. Then there’s Murphy, the oldest of all of us, and his son, Rowan.”
