"Sure thing. I definitely didn't see you getting your dick sucked by Nicole, King."
“Don't call me that.”
“Isn’t that what you demand everyone to call you, King?”
“Not you.”
As if possible, his chest comes impossibly closer. My breasts brush against his Elites’ jacket with every breath. I try not to focus on how full and tight they feel or how my nipples ache in response.
His fresh scent mixed with a distant whiff of Vodka fills all my senses.
His presence is like a natural disaster; impossible to avoid and always leaves destruction behind.
And I refuse to be collateral damage.
I struggle against him, trying to headbutt him, but he easily moves out of the way.
“Do you consider me a joke?”
“A joke,” he repeats slowly, keeping his merciless hold on my wrists.
“Or am I a conquest? A war you need to win.”
“A war is a fucking child’s play compared to you, princess.”
“How many girls have you told that? Does that include Nicole? You know with her taking care of the captain and all that.”
His lips curve into a wolfish smirk. Damn him and how unreal he looks. “Why are you so upset, princess?”
“I'm not.”
"Are you perhaps jealous?"
“Screw. You.”
And screw Nicole and screw my heart for ever thumping for this bastard.
He pushes his pelvis into the space where my T-shirt meets my skirt. Something hard and thick presses at the bottom of my stomach through his jeans.
I can’t help the shudder that draws down my spine.
“Do you feel that, princess? There’s nothing more I want to do than to spread your legs and fuck you raw.”
His dirty words elicit a tightening at the pit of my stomach. It’s like a flashback from that night and I’m hardly stopping myself from rubbing all over him.
Then I recall, a certain blondie has been rubbing all over him not so long ago.
I bite my lower lip until I almost draw blood. “Nicole’s sloppy seconds aren’t on my to-do list.”
“Fuck Nicole. Fuck everyone. None of them matter.”
“And I do?” I scoff.
“You do.”
He pauses as if he surprised himself. His posture turns tense and we watch each other for a second too long as if we need to soak in the moment.
I’m the first who pulls myself out of the trance. “Leave me alone, King.”
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
He releases my wrists and grabs me by the hips. His hands are large and strong around my petite frame as he lifts me with ease.
I yelp as he sits me on the desk. He slaps my legs apart. The denim skirt stretches with the motion as he settles between my parted thighs.
Tiny shivers break on my skin and down my back.
“Do you know who I thought about when Nicole was between my legs.”
“I don’t want to know.”
His hot breaths tease the shell of my ear, drawing a shudder from my inner walls. “You don’t, huh?”
“I don’t.”
“I’m telling you, anyway. When she looked up, it was these green gates.” His fingers trace along my eyelashes. “When she opened her mouth, I saw these lips.” He trails a forefinger from my eyes to the corner of my mouth, hovering but not touching.
I swallow around the sound clawing its way out. My breathing shatters and breaks with every draw.
“Then what?” My voice is low, defeated. “You would’ve fucked her and pretended it’s me?”
“She’s not you.”
The words are barely out of his mouth and his entire posture stiffens like he hates it. He hates that she’s not me. That he can’t play his games on her and pretend it’s me.
And for some reason, that makes me feel a strange sense of accomplishment.
Even the king doesn’t always get what he wants.
Levi grabs a handful of my hair in his fist and pulls until my head tilts back. He trails his other hand up my collarbone and wraps it around my throat.
His hold is firm enough to make sure I know he’s controlling my breathing. One squeeze and all air will be gone.
My pulse goes on overdrive until it’s impossible to hear it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
At this angle, I have a complete view of the clenching in his sharp jawline, the contempt on his hard features, and the black in his pale eyes.
I’m starting to think that for Levi, black isn’t a colour. It’s a state of mind and being.
A monster hides behind that sinister, menacing look. A monster who’ll rip me to pieces if I let him.
Scratch that. He’ll rip me apart even if I don’t let him.