Shit, that’s what I am, right? His prey. His Chosen.
I take advantage of this rare moment to really study him. The sharp line of his jaw, the slight stubble darkening his chin, the small scar at his right temple hairline that I’ve always wondered about. My eyes trace the solid planes of his chest, the defined abs, the V of his hips disappearing beneath the sheet that’s barely covering his lower half.
It’s not fucking fair. No one should be this pretty and this demented. Calling him Lucifer is so fitting—an angel cast from heaven, beautiful and damned.
“I can hear you thinking.”
I nearly jump out of my skin. His eyes are still closed, but a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.
“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” I hiss, heart racing. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to feel you admiring your prize,” he says, finally opening those emerald eyes that seem to cut right through me.
I scoff, pushing myself up onto my elbows. “Aren’t I your prize? Isn’t that the whole point of this Chosen bullshit?”
In one swift, predatory movement, he rolls on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. His body cages mine completely, his morning wood pressing hard against my thigh. The sheet slides away, leaving us both naked, skin to skin.
“Damn right you are,” he growls, his face hovering inches from mine. “And I protect what’s mine. Just like I defend my territory on the court. I box out, I position myself right where I need to be, and I don’t let anyone else get their fucking hands on what belongs to me.”
I roll my eyes, even as heat pools between my legs. “Did you seriously just compare me to basketball?”
“No, well, maybe a little bit.”
His weight shifts on top of me as he grinds his hard cock against my thigh, the friction making me squirm underneath him.
I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re such a fucking jock. Even with your fancy vocabulary and designer suits, you’re still just a meathead with a ball.”
He laughs, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into mine. “Would you prefer me to quote Shakespeare while I fuck you? ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’” His hips roll again, more deliberately this time, making my back arch involuntarily.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, trying to ignore how good the friction feels. “Nothing kills the mood faster than dead white men’s poetry.”
The pressure of his dick sliding against my inner thigh sends sparks of pleasure through me. I can feel myself getting wet already, which is fucking embarrassing considering how sore I am from last night.
“You’re such a cocky bastard,” I mutter, but my body betrays me as my hips lift slightly to meet his.
“Mmm, and you love it,” he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. His teeth graze my pulse point while he continues grinding against me, teasing me with what he knows I want.
I bite my lip to keep from moaning as he shifts so his cock slides between my legs, the head brushing against my clit in a way that makes my toes curl. “Fuck,” I whisper, hating how easily he can get me worked up.
“That’s the plan,” he says, his voice rough with sleep and arousal. “Unless you’d rather I stop?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl, wrapping my legs around his waist to keep him in place.
He chuckles against my skin, the vibration sending shivers down my spine. “So demanding even in the morning.”
Just as I’m about to grab his hair and pull his mouth to mine, he suddenly lifts himself off me with a wicked grin. The cold air hits my overheated skin, making me gasp.
“What the hell?” I prop myself up on my elbows, watching in disbelief as he stretches languidly, every muscle in his back rippling with the movement.
“I need a shower,” he says casually, as if he wasn’t just about to fuck me into the mattress. “Practice in an hour.”
My jaw drops as he saunters toward his bathroom, completely naked and completely unashamed. His ass is a fucking work of art—firm, muscled, with two dimples right above the curve that my fingers itch to dig into.
I wonder what sound he’d make if I sank my teeth into one of those perfect cheeks. Would he growl? Moan? Push me up against the wall and punish me for it?
Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? I shake my head, trying to clear the filthy thoughts.
“You’re such an asshole!” I call after him, falling back onto the pillows in frustration.
