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My eyes narrow, following him as he walks to the foot of the bed. Slow, deliberate movements. He traces the curve of the gold frame, something resembling a smile dancing on his lips. “How are you finding the bed? It was Marie Antoinette’s.”
Still, I don’t answer. I watch him instead. His hair is disheveled, thick, black strands curl on his forehead. The shirt that was so crisp and white this morning is now wrinkled, and there’s a dark stain on his chest.
He raises his gaze to mine, the somewhat-smile hardening into a scowl. “I’m talking to you.”
Three unsteady strides and he’s inches from me, looming over my body. I force myself not to cower away, instead, I look past him at the bedroom door. He’s left it wide open, and in that pit of darkness lies my freedom.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” I mutter, lying down on my side as if returning to a sleeping position.
The bed dips under his weight. Glancing sideways, I see he’s sitting by my feet. “Then we won’t talk,” he growls, his cold, clammy hand curling around my calf. His touch slides slowly up my leg, over my knee, until it lingers on my thigh.
It’s now or never.
I slip my hand under the pillow, grabbing my weapon. There’s no time to think. I lunge forward and press the sharp enamel into the side of his face, before stumbling to my feet and bolting towards the bedroom door. The light of the lamp doesn’t stretch further than the threshold, so I stumble into the darkness, my shaking hands clamoring around me. They land on a long banister, and I follow the curve until the floor disappears underneath me.
Stairs. Going down. Yes, that’s good. That’s—
The bed groans. The floorboards creak. My breathing hitches in my chest and the slow, deliberate footsteps send a wave of terror washing over my trembling body.
He’s in no rush to stop me.
Because he knows I can’t escape.
The realization paralyzes me with fear. Before my brain can scream loudly enough at my limbsto keep it fucking moving,a strong arm snakes around my waist, lifting me in the air like I weigh nothing.
“Put me down,” I shriek, clawing, hammering, beating against any hard flesh I can reach. “Just let me fucking go, goddammit!”
A few seconds later I’m back in the glow of the bedroom, and when he releases me, I crash onto the soft mattress.
I scramble to get away from him, but he grabs me by the ankle, flipping me onto my back like a rag doll.
Suddenly, his weight is on top of me. His hands are pinning down my wrists, and his thigh is wedged in between my legs.
The fight has left my body by brute force, and I find myself reverting back to being a nine-year-old girl, peeking through the crack of my father’s study. I squeeze my eyes shut.What you can’t see can’t hurt you. What you can’t see can’t hurt you.
“Look at me.” Lorcan’s breath tickles against my cheek. It smells like liquor and cigars. “Now.”
Why make it worse for myself? With a lungful of stale air, I pop my eyes open and force myself to meet his furious glare. His eyes are glassy, unhinged, but the fury behind them is like the pits of hell. The blood drips from his cheek, onto my silk robe in small, warm drops.
He’s going to kill me.
“I own you now,” he says, eerily calm. “I own all of you. Every curve of your body belongs to me. Every hair on your head.” He pushes his thigh against my bare mound. The friction from his suit rubs against my clit, sending an unwanted shiver up to my stomach. “You will do as I want and as I say. You will eat when I tell you to eat. You will drink when I tell you to drink. Is that understood?”
I clamp my mouth shut in response. He pushes his chest closer to mine, and I can feel the strong beat of his heart. His silk tie dips between my cleavage, butter-soft and gentle.
I hate how my nipples stiffen under the weight of him. Hate the way my pussy is tingling from the pressure of his muscular thigh. It’s crazy, but instinctive, to want to push myself against it.
That’s all it is, Poppy. Instinctive.
I need to get myself out of this situation before I lose my goddamn mind. Whatever it takes. “Yes,” I croak.
“Yes what?” he growls back.
“I understand that I’m yours.”
Right now, I’ll say anything to get him off of me. To get him out of this room.
With one last lingering stare, he pushes himself to his feet, picks up my shank from the floor, and slips it into his breast pocket.
