Page 44

I know I look like shit, with the bruise under my eye from the Karate lesson I took last night. Dash told me it added to the skinny bad boy vibe I had going on.

“There’s another healed scar underneath,” he whispers, his voice ice cold.

The way his palm cups my cheek has my dick taking notice. I’m aching painfully. This needs to stop, whatever is happening between us needs to stop. I bite on my bottom lip trying to keep the moan threatening to spill out, locked in my throat. His eyes fly to my lips. The disgusted look never leaving his stoic face. Fuck, I know I look like shit, but he doesn’t have to make it that obvious.

“Nothing happened. I fell,” I murmur, trying to pull my chin free, but he keeps holding on.

His other hand grabs the back of my neck, and he yanks on my long hair. The back of my head doesn’t hit the stones, but the palm of his hand. He grinds his molars together and keeps looking at me.

“I’ll ask again, who did this to you?” His tone harsh as he searches my eyes for the truth.

My heart races in my chest, my cock throbbing by the way he possessively glares at me. He doesn’t just look at my face, but stares straight into my eyes. This has always been the difference between him and other people. He’s the only one that first looks into my eyes, before they slide over my face.

“Why?” I bark. My spit hits his lips and my dick twitches watching his tongue dart out over the same spot, licking it up. “If I don’t tell you, are you going to assault me like you did a year ago?”

Shaking his head, he grinds his teeth together. “You’re part of my family,” is his only answer. He breathes out hard through his nose. “Tell me,” he demands. His voice is so dark, matching with his blank stare it makes me cower back a little. I don’t know why a pang of hurt runs through my veins and reaches my heart when he doesn’t deny the assault part. He doesn’t care about me; he only cares about keeping the family name intact; we can’t show weakness. Maybe he thinks me looking like this means I’m a weak link somehow.

His shoulders are rigid, like he’s doing everything in his power not to hit me or choke the truth out of me.

“My trainer.” I swallow hard. He never takes his eyes away from me but keeps softly brushing his thumb over the almost healed cut. “Boxing,” is my only answer; two can play the denial game. I force myself to flash him a smile.

“Boxing,” he repeats. “Is that what you’ve been doing with Tian?” he asks frowning, sounding a little jealous. I nod; I’m not going to tell him the truth. Or that the other one is from when I fell out of bed because I was too caught up with jerking off to the thought of Moon and crashed against the side of the nightstand. I wish I could steal one of his suit jackets and bury my head in it to smell his scent, as I lie on my front as I masturbate against it inhaling his cologne. He releases the strain on my chin a little, but his fingers move through my hair exposing my throat to him.

“Yes.” I swallow, his eyes following the movement.

His lips part, and I can taste him on mine, cigarettes mixed with matcha, the exact scent I’ve been fantasizing about.

Without saying a word his hand moves down my neck, and I try to break free when he wraps his hand around my throat, pressing his palm against my Adam’s apple. I swallow again and his small smile is gone before I can blink.

“You better be telling the truth,” he says, leaning forward, his eyes looking almost cruel. I shake my head when he slams me against the stones again. He grips my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His pupils are dilated and the smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips is threatening. He likes me to feel pain.

I want to move away, but then his knee presses against the inside of my thigh holding me in place. It digs into my flesh, and I have to spread my legs wide to keep upright as my right foot slips on the stones, but he’s there to hold me up.

“Tell me the truth,” he says softly, with his hand around my throat, the other gripping the back of my head tight and pulling on my strands.

My cock swells and throbs and I feel it twitching under his gaze. My head is pounding as I try to break free. I want to tell him to fuck off, but my mouth is so dry the words won’t come out.

“Why are you always so disobedient?” he asks in awe. I frown when I see the half smile light up his face for a second. “Are you testing how far you can take it?”

My heart hammers in my chest drowning out the sound of the water. But I don’t move and inch.

“Tell me that, pretty psycho,” he taunts. I hate it when people call me pretty.

“I’m not.” I feel my anger rising, and I hope he can see it in my eyes too.

“You are when I say you are. You’re so defiant. I really need to train you.”

“Train me? Fuck that, fuck you!”

He puts his hand over my mouth and cocks his head, his eyes on fire. “Relax, be good.”

I struggle, biting his palm, and he smiles all menacing, letting me go. “Keep talking back to me, fight me. Say no.” He moves in closer, and I shut my eyes when I feel his warm breath against my lips. “Open them,” he commands, his voice a little hoarse as I cover my lips with the back of my hand.

I shake my head and he pinches my chin, snatching my hand away. I do what he tells me and watch as his eyes trail over my face. “You’re really too pretty for your own good. I ordered you to not do anyone besides me, remember?”

The bile rises in my throat when I think about what happened on the staircase. He cups my cheek while I try to break free, but he presses his elbow against my throat holding me in place, my feet slipping over the stones.

“How many have you touched, Eliot?” he yells in my face.