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He shrugs, and I point at him. “Give me my knife.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out calmly, holding it up between two fingers. “This one?”

My entire soul locks onto it. “Yes, that one.” I lunge for it.

He moves his hand back just enough to keep it out of reach. “Not yet, princeling.”

“Did you just call me princeling?”

He smiles, and the fact that it makes my heart beat faster is the most annoying thing in the fucking world. “You sound offended.”

“I sound like I’m about to carve your organs out.”

I punch him in the chest.

Hard.

Nothing.

The man barely moves.

What the hell is he made of? Reinforced sin? Black marble? Actual structural steel?

I hit him again.

Still nothing.

He just looks down at me, amused.

“Why are you so strong?” I snap.

“Why are you so beautiful?”

I make a disgusted noise because I know he doesn’t mean it. “What do you want?”

His gaze drops to my mouth, lazy and wicked. “Your ass open. Me inside you.” He tips his head, considering. “But I decided to take it slow tonight. So I’m going to settle for a kiss.”

He actually puckers his lips.

I see red and punch him in the mouth.

That one at least turns his head a little.

Victory.

I use the second to shove at him, reaching again for the knife, and when that fails, I do the only logical thing left. I basically climb him like a furious feral cat trying to recover stolen property.

“Give it back!”

He catches both my wrists with one hand and uses the other to pin my waist, turning us with ease. One second I’m trying to climb over him, the next I’m on my back on the ground with him above me and my dignity somewhere in another city.

“Oh, fuck you.”

His mouth curves. “I will be the one doing the fucking.”

My eyes widen, and I thrash once, twice, trying to wrench a hand free, knee him, bite him, something useful. He pins me down, holding me exactly where he wants me, but weirdly he’s not trying to hurt me.

Well, to be fair, his grip around my wrists aches, but that’s because of the bruises I’m hiding under the sleeves, so I know it’s not deliberate. He’s controlling as hell, but there’s something unsettling about the fact that, despite everything I’ve done to him, he refuses to be violent with me. And believe me, I have done a lot. I’ve stabbed and punched him more times than I can count.