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“Shut up, Ava.”
“I’m just offering a useful suggestion.”
“I said.” He stands up threateningly and presses his hands on either side of me on the desk surface, then slowly lowers himself so that his face is level with mine. I cease breathing when his lips skim my ear. “Shut that fucking mouth before I fill it with something that’s guaranteed to keep it occupied.”
My held breath comes out in a strangled pant. His lips burn my skin, but it’s no worse than the volcano that is his words, because why the hell do I feel thirsty all of a sudden?
“You’re easier on the eyes when you behave, Mrs. King.” He still speaks in my ear, as if injecting sweet poison into my veins. “So how about you be a good girl, change into a decent dress, and meet me downstairs?”
His warm lips leave my ear, but he doesn’t budge. His nearness and intimidating presence sear into me like a cigarette against paper. It’s hopeless to deny my desire for his touch when every inch of my body aches for it.
I’m wet just due to the vibrations of his deep, rough voice.
It’s ridiculous at this point.
“Or what?” I hear myself whisper as I steal a glance at him, then regret it immediately.
His gaze darkens to a sinful gray as he gathers both my wrists in one hand, holds them hostage at my back, and drops his other hand to my waist.
“Or…” His large palm slides up, squeezing my breast through the flimsy camisole, and my nipples harden under his touch ashe lets his hand trail down, grabs my arse, and shoves me against him. “I’ll punish you, Mrs. King.”
A shaky whimper leaves me as his unmistakable hardness settles against the bottom of my stomach.
“How will you do that?” I murmur.
“Don’t play with fire.”
“Maybe I’m craving the burn.”
“Fuck, Ava.” He releases me and steps back slowly, almost as if he doesn’t want to. “Go get ready before I do something I can’t undo.”
The sizzling print of his skin on mine still burns, heat coils damp and warm between my legs, but I refuse to surrender to the whips of rejection.
Again.
What a fool.
I came here intent on giving him a piece of my mind and retreating, but I ended up like a mouse between the cat’s claws.
And I would’ve let him go further if he’d so much as kissed me.
Obviously, my pride packed up and left the building at some point.
I cross my arms over my chest. His eyes zoom in on my cleavage, and I will myself to breathe properly.
“If you want me to come with you, I have conditions.”
His brows rise as he focuses back on my face. “Conditions. Plural?”
“Two, actually.”
“And what makes you think you can dish out conditions?”
“A small fact called being your wife,” I throw his words back at him with a sweet smile.
“I don’t see the correlation.”
“You have to treat me like a queen, duh, and that means making me happy. Complying with my conditions makes me happy. As the saying goes, happy wife, happy life.”
