The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,61
my back on my unborn child. So you better not cause me grief while you’re here. I’ve got enough on my plate, and I don’t fucking need it.”
I’m panting, this position is weirdly sexy. Who gets turned on by being held up against a wall? I need therapy. Not a bit of counseling either. I probably need that deep shit, what’s it called? Psychoanalysis?
He strokes his thumb along my jaw. “Ah, Cassie. If only…”
Not finishing his thought, he lets me go and steps back.
“You might have been so much fun, and now I’ll never know.” The smirk is back, and seeing him smile like this flips a switch in me.
I always knew that one day my temper would be my downfall, but I never imagined it would put me in quite so much danger.
Not thinking, unable to think, I pull back and slap him hard across the face, then I do it again.
He stares at me. He doesn’t do anything to stop me. He simply takes the two hard slaps I deliver and stares. Then his smile widens, and he laughs. He laughs at me, as if I’m nothing but a silly little child having a tantrum. So I do. I scream in rage and launch myself at him, my hands raised as I slap him again and again.
“Fuck yes, more,” he says, laughing.
What the hell? He’s crazy. A psychopath surely.
I push at his chest, and this time, instead of the flat of my hand, I go at him with my fist. He catches it easily, big hand around my slight wrist, and he twists us, then flips me backward.
I’m falling, but something soft catches me.
I land on my back on the bed, and Konstantin lands on top of me.
His weight is crushing, and he doesn’t lift himself up to let me breathe easily.
Hot breath whispers over my ear.
“Do you know what I am, sunshine?”
“A pig,” I gasp.
He bites my earlobe before licking where he bit. I shiver, my body reacting to his touch despite myself.
“Well, they call me the King, so pig’s new.”
“You’re a filthy pig.”
“No, gorgeous, not a pig. If we must go with the animal metaphors, get it right. Pigs eat what they find, they’re scavengers. Me, I’m a predator. Nothing excites me more than someone fighting me, or fleeing from me, so by all means, keep this up.”
He shifts his position, and I freeze as his very hard, and large, penis digs into my hip.
“Christ, you turn me on, Cassie. If my life weren’t a shitshow of epic proportions right now, I’d fuck you into this mattress.”
“I’d say no.” I try to buck him off, but I can’t move him at all.
“Not sure that would stop me,” he muses as if wondering about the weather.
Oh, God. His words terrify me. I might find him insanely attractive, but no woman wants to be taken against her will. Not for real, anyway. Maybe as role play in a fantasy, but not for real.
He bites my ear again then lifts himself from me. Staring down at me, he grins. “Think before you slap me again, Cassie. It only turns me on.”
Then as if to prove his point, he ostentatiously adjusts himself in his pants.
“Write the list of things you need for Derek. Play nice with Liza; she’s a pain in the ass, but she’s eight months pregnant, so can’t be stressed too badly. And don’t give my men the sort of lip you give me; they won’t take as kindly to it. Eat what you want. There’s food prepared daily for the whole house to take as they will. Salads, fresh meats, and cheeses and fresh baked bread. Fruit too, and if you want something hot, simply ask Mrs. Dannivon. She’s the housekeeper. Oh, and use the pools, outside or inside.”
Pools, plural? The flashy fucker.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say. Not sure why that’s the thing out of all this crazy I choose to focus on.
“Skinny dip if you want. If not, put one on the list.” He emphasizes those last words as if I’m super stupid.
He leaves without looking back, and I curl in on myself until I’m laid in a tight ball, arms around my knees.
My head hurts, my stomach is sour, and worst of all, my core aches.
I still want him.
I still want that bastard, pig of a man, and I hate myself for it.
They call me a king, he’d said. Who? His stupid minions, Denis and Vasily. Denis is so dumb looking I’m surprised