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I’m so distracted by my thoughts that I barely register when he leans in to kiss me.
I jerk my head hard to the side. His mouth misses, and my voice comes out vicious. “You’re so fucking disgusting.”
Something in his eyes changes. They turn darker, somehow, the black swallowing what little light was left in them. I don’t know how eyes that were already black can become blacker, but his do.
“That word,” Kento says quietly, “makes me mad.”
“Then die mad.”
His grip on my jaw tightens. He brings the knife up, my knife, and presses the rounded end against my lower lip.
I try to turn my face away. He doesn’t let me. The handle slides past my teeth, and I gag around it.
Kento’s eyes stay locked on mine as he pushes it in a little deeper, then draws it back, then in again.
“There,” he says, voice low. “Take it. Since you wanted it so badly.”
I shove at his chest with my freed hand. Pointless. He’s a wall. He presses deeper, watches me choke on it, then eases back just enough that I can breathe.
I make a furious sound and try to knee him again. He shifts his weight and shuts the movement down without effort.
The handle slides in and out once more. My gag reflex kicks harder, and my fingers dig into his jacket.
Kento leans down until his forehead almost touches mine.
“Next time you call me disgusting, I’m going to put something else in this pretty mouth.” I shove at his chest with both hands. Nothing happens. He’s a fucking mountain, and I’m the idiot who keeps climbing it.
He tilts his head a bit so his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “Are you hard for me, my prince?”
I’m hard.
I’m throbbing against him because apparently my dick didn’t get the memo that we’re enemies. Fine. Cool. Great. I will simply die here.
Kento rolls his hips once, just to confirm, and the friction makes my stomach drop.
“You gag so much at this tiny thing,” he murmurs as the handle slides out, then in again. “How are you going to take my cock down this pretty throat, hm? You’re already choking on a handle. Imagine the real thing. I’d have to hold you still. Make you take it until you cry.”
I make a furious sound as his free hand leaves my jaw and starts traveling down. Over my chest. Lower. Fingers catching the hem of my shirt.
No.
No.
No.
My eyes go wide. Heart slamming so hard I can feel it in my teeth. He can’t see. He can’t.
I drive my knee straight up between his legs with everything I have left.
Kento grunts. The sound is punched out of him, and his body tightens for a second. But he doesn’t roll off, nor does he give me the courtesy of folding. He just pushes the knife handle deeper into my mouth until my gag reflex screams and my vision dots, and then he goes still.
He looks at me.
Really looks.
Whatever he sees in my eyes makes his expression change. He doesn’t seem softer, but redirected. The hand that was about to lift my shirt retreats and settles instead on my hip.
“Alright. Not the shirt.”
