Page 74 of Pride: Kneel Before None

Even Ace couldn’t resist the temptation if the glimpses of what had happened in this bed held any truth. Assuming they did, I should be pissed. I should remind him that the mark on my thigh doesn’t entitle him to anything.

But the spiking energy inside me since we fucked eclipsed all anger. It spread faster than a flame through spilled kerosene. I felt him, the beknighted hellfire and unholy strength he’d imbued me with, leaving char marks in my bones, smoke in my lungs, and consuming my existence.

Complete intoxication of his power.

“Feeling better,” he rumbled, not looking away from me.

I huffed, rolling my eyes. “None of your business.” Though the response came out with less bite than intended, I did feel better, but I wasn’t about to credit him with my good mood.

He smirked. “I wasn’t asking.”

Asshole.

Shifting, I forced myself to sit up. The silk sheets pooled around my waist. My fingers worked through my hair, smoothing it out from the tangled mess it had become while I napped.

As I wrangled my tresses, my eyes drifted back to him despite my best efforts to appear unaffected by his presence. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, and as my eyes drifted lower, I felt a pang of disappointment. A slim strip of dark fabric low on his hips peeked out from underneath the edge of the sheet.

Underwear. The only thing decent about him.

Go figure.

Feeling restless, I couldn’t stay in bed a moment longer with him staring at me like he was waiting for the second coming—or third, or fourth.

Casting the sheet aside, I scooted to the other side of my bed and ignored the fact that I was naked from the waist down as I strode to the bathroom.

I could feel Ace’s stare following the sway of my hips, the possessive press of his desire and insatiable hunger.

“Don’t take too long. We have company coming,” Ace said from his place on my bed.

Pausing in the threshold of the bathroom, I placed a hand on the edge of the doorframe and turned to look at him with a curious tilt of my head.

“Company?”

He nodded and discarded the sheets from his lower body. The movement was fluid and, dare I say, graceful as he got out of bed.

Drawing out his response to my question, he stretched his arms high above his head, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. The pull on his body elongated the muscles, accentuating each line and curve.

It also exposed more of the tapered V that cut in sharply, the lines dipping into boxer briefs that suddenly looked too inadequate for what filled them.

My mouth went dry.

I suffered a momentary lapse in brain activity until his voice yanked my thoughts back online.

“Genevieve. Eyes. Here.” He used two fingers to gesture at his eyeballs first, then dropped his hand to cup himself, giving an obscene squeeze. “Not here.”

He knew exactly what the hell he was doing. Goddamn cheater.

I echoed the sentiment right back at him, mocking his attempt to throw me off-kilter.

“Barnabel. Eyes. Here.” My pointer and middle fingers sharply pointed at my crystalline blue eyes.

Dropping my hand back down at my side, I turned to retreat fully into the bathroom. In a gesture of bratty defiance, I popped up both middle fingers, crossing them into an X in front of my bare ass.

“Not here.”

The door shut behind me, denying him any further viewing privileges.

That afternoon, Ace sat on the sofa in the living room of his penthouse, one ankle propped on top of his knee and a hand on his ankle. He looked every bit the image of playboy nonchalance while I stood in front of him, Val circling me like a vulture.