Page 46 of Shameless Royalty

“Not bloody well happening, so tell me right the fuck now who put their hands on you.”

He stares at me, stubborn and silent. I hate this. Hate that he won’t tell me, and honestly, why the fuck would he tell me, anyway?

“You think I won’t find out?” I press, leaning in just slightly, enough that our faces are inches apart. “You think I won’t burn down the whole fuckin’ world to get to whoever did this?”

For a second, I think he might cave. But then his expression hardens. “I don’t belong to you, Connor,” he says, voice like steel. “You can’t just demand answers from me like this. I’m not yours.”

Something inside me snaps at those fucking words. I lean even closer, so close that I inhale his every breath and can see the faintest dusting of freckles on his nose.

“You’re mine,mo stóirín,” I murmur, the Gaelic slipping out before I can stop it. My lips are so close to his now that I can feel his breath, shaky and uneven against my mouth. “No one gets to fuckin’ touch you. No one.”

Before he can say anything—before I can think better of it—I lower my head, my lips brushing his. It’s not gentle. I bite his bottom lip, pulling slightly, and he gasps against me.

The sound shoots straight through me, igniting something wild in my chest. I pull back just enough to look at him, his face flushed, his breathing shallow, his eyes full of confusion and a sliver of want.

I lift a hand, brushing my fingers lightly over the hem of his shirt again. “I don’t like knowin’ someone hurt you,” I admit. “I don’t like that you won’t tell me who, and it kinda fuckin’ feels like you’re protectin’ them.”

He swallows, his eyes darting away for a second before meeting mine again. “What difference would it make?”

I arch a brow. “You think I wouldn’t hunt the bastard down?”

His lips move like he’s trying to find the words, but nothing comes out. I don’t give him a chance to push me away, because I’m not leaving. Not until I know the truth. Not until I know who I’m going to fucking kill.

Chapter 25

Malachi

Connor’seyesburnintomine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. His voice is low and possessive; the words sinking into my skin like a brand. His hand is still around my throat, and my pulse hammers beneath his touch, betraying everything I’m trying so hard to keep buried.

I can’t even think straight—can’t focus on anything but him, the heat of his body, the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice wraps around me like a chain I don’t want to break.

And then there’s the worst part, the part that makes my cheeks burn with shame. I’m hard. Fuck, my cock is hard as steel right now, and it’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he won’t notice, but Connor’s not the kind of man who misses anything. I feel his grip shift and my eyes fly open when his thumb brushes against the hollow of my throat as his eyes flicker down. His smirk is slow, lazy, and sharp enough to cut.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with smug amusement. “What have we here, Babyface?”

“Shut up,” I snap, but my voice comes out weaker than I’d like, cracking slightly at the end. My face feels like it’s on fire, and I squirm under his gaze, desperate to put some space between us. “Just let me go.”

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” he says, his green eyes gleaming with dark mischief, and it makes my stomach flip. “You think I’m lettin’ this slide? Not when you’re reactin’ like that.”

“It’s not—” I start, but the words die in my throat when his thumb moves again, this time trailing up to brush lightly along my jaw. My breath catches, and he chuckles, the sound sending another jolt through me.

“You’re a terrible liar, Malachi,” he says softly, his smirk widening. “Your body gives you away every fuckin’ time.”

I want to argue, to snap back with something cutting and sassy, but my brain’s too scrambled to form coherent words. All I can do is glare at him, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.

Connor’s smirk fades and his hand tightens around my throat, just enough to make my pulse jump. “Who hurt you?” he asks again, and this time his tone carries a hint of warning.

I shake my head, refusing to answer. “It doesn’t matter.”

“The fuck it doesn’t,” he growls, his grip tightening for a split second before easing again. “You don’t get to brush this off, Malachi. Not with those marks on your back.”

I shake my head again, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something stupid. “It doesn’t matter,” I repeat. “It’s in the past. Just… leave it alone.”

Connor stares at me for a long moment, his eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to read my thoughts. Then, slowly, his hand moves and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip in a way that makes my breath hitch.

“Please, Malachi,” he begs. “Please tell me who hurt you.”

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