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Wait. Did I want Manic to be my admirer?

Why would I want that?

I ground my teeth. Whatever. It meant nothing.

Manic only fucked with me because he could, and I was too weak to deny him. Granted, he’d given me the best orgasms of my life, but I’d never tell him that. It would only inflate his ego, and that was already too large for the both of us.

Clenching my jaw, I carefully placed his phone back into his pocket and rose from bed, now eager for a cup of coffee. I walked down the hallway, rounded the corner, and stepped into the kitchen. With Axell gone, I could easily slip out of the penthouse unnoticed.

Logically, I should attempt it.

But as I stared at the kitchen and its emptiness, soft light filtering in from the living room windows, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe it was the hunger curling my insides, or the coffee I was desperate to inhale. Either way, for the next thirty minutes, I made breakfast and cleaned while Manic slept. I moved around with blurring ease, zoning out as I hummed and wiped the counters.

Everything sparkled when I was done.

With a smile and my second cup of coffee in hand, I turned for the hallway. I immediately yelped, practically jumping out of my skin. Coffee sloshed over the rim and splattered at my feet, a scorching heat on my toes.

“Jesus,” I breathed, my heart in my throat. “Say something next time.”

Manic stood at the corner of the kitchen island, completely disheveled, his gun held down at his side. My stomach curled, the hair rising on the back of my neck.

He looked drunk, his eyes heavy and disoriented, like he’d had one of those deep sleeps that made you forget where you were. It would have been comical if he weren’t holding his gun, an exhale away from snapping.

His hands trembled slightly, and I swallowed. Mere seconds ticked by while he stared at me in absolute silence, his jaw tensing. For a brief, flickering moment, his features tightened.

Shit, shit, shit.

Did he know I’d gone through his phone? Had he seen the texts I sent to Axell? Fear of punishment set my skin ablaze, and I forced a weak smile.

“I made coffee and breakfast if you want any,” I offered, too afraid to move.

He looked like he was eager to snap someone’s neck, but all he did was blink and take two heaving breaths. Unsure of what else to do, I turned for the coffee machine to reach for another cup. The moment I set my own cup down, a dull thud ringing in the air, Manic was already behind me.

I held my breath, arms shaking as fear wrapped around me like a cold blanket. He pressed his chest against my back, bracing his hands on either side of me. His gun clinked against the counter, secure in his right hand.

I froze, pinned between him and the marble.

Manic leaned in, his mouth coasting over my neck, his warm breaths beating in tune with the flutter of my pulse. Like a bolt of lightning, my entire body jerked awake from the heat of his presence.

“Do you know what I hate about you?” he asked beneath his breath.

I huffed a low laugh, having fully expected to be scolded for going through his phone. But not that.

With quick efficiency, he buried his fingers into my hair, and I gasped as he yanked my head back. Our eyes clashed, though a snarl twisted his mouth as his other hand snaked down my waist.

“Oh, please.” I smirked. “Enlighten me.”

His words came slow and precise, dripping with disdain. “I hate that I slept beside you instead of spreading your thighs like I wanted.”

My stomach flipped.

“I hate how great you taste and how much your pussy consumes my thoughts. I hate how much I think about you, because you’re all I fucking think about.” His lip curled. “I hate you.”

Damn, all that over a good night’s sleep? I felt honored.

“You always know how to bring a girl to her knees, don’t you?” I chuckled, staring way too long at his mouth.

Yet I knew, right at this moment, how much he wanted to hate me. Manic Mortaine liked me, and it was driving him insane. I hated him too. For that very reason.