Page 15
“Get off me,” I snarled. I kicked out, my knee connecting with his thigh.
He ignored it and leaned in, his face inches from mine, and my pulse shocked into a frantic rhythm.
“You came down here,” he whispered. “You followed me. Why? Don’t give me that shit that you wanted to talk.”
His thigh wedged between my legs as he shifted his weight, pressing up against my crotch. My body betrayed me instantly, a jolt of arousal arcing up my spine.
“I came to put you in your place,” I spat.
“This is your place,” he said. “Pinned. Beneath me.”
Leander dropped his head and pain exploded in my neck.
He bit down, teeth sinking into the tender skin just above the collar of my uniform. It was a branding. A claim.
I cried out, the sound echoing in the narrow tunnel. “Stop!”
“Make me.”
He sucked on the wound, soothing the sting while his free hand dropped to my waist. He found the waistband of my shorts and shoved his hand inside.
Rough fingers dug into my hip bone. He didn’t ask. He took.
My knees buckled. I hated him. I hated the smell of him and the weight of him. But my hips bucked forward to meet his hand.
“That’s it,” he growled against my throat. “Show me what the King looks like when he breaks.”
He yanked my shorts down. The cool air hit my skin for a second before his hand replaced it.
I gasped, head falling back against the concrete. My eyes rolled back. This was wrong. This was madness.
He pumped his hand. Once. Twice. Just enough to let me feel the friction. Just enough to make the air leave my lungs in a broken sob. I was hard. Painfully hard. Desperate for it.
“Please,” I begged. I didn’t know what I was asking for. For him to stop. For him to never stop.
“Look at me.” His voice was a command.
I held my eyes shut. I wouldn’t give him that.
He stopped moving. His hand froze.
“I said look at me.”
He released my wrists and grabbed my jaw, forcing my chin up. I opened my eyes.
Leander was staring at me. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris. He looked feral, but perfectly in control.
“You want this,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I hate you,” I moaned.
“I know.”
He squeezed my cock one last time, hard enough to bruise. Then he let go.
The loss of pressure was jarring. He stepped back, pulling his hand away.
I stumbled forward, bracing myself against the wall. My breath came in ragged. I was throbbing, right on the edge.
