Page 57 of The King of Hearts

“Then why in the fuck did you let Braxton fucking Hayes touch you?” he asks in an angry grated growl.

I can’t answer because his hand is still cutting off my air, and I don’t dare lift a hand to try to break his hold. I’m not really sure I want to anyway. My eyes roll back in my head, and it’s not because I can’t breathe, and I’m on the verge of losing consciousness. It’s from pure fucking pleasure. I’ve heard of breath play. It’s a kink that people get off on. I never would have pegged myself as someone who would, but apparently I am. From the way my panties are soaked, Ireallyget off on it.

Just when black spots start dancing behind my closed eyelids, he loosens his hold enough for me to suck in a lungful of air.

“Answer the question, Savina,” he demands in a sinister tone.

I run my tongue over my lips. “It was just a dance,” I wheeze out. “He’s a friend and coworker.”

His mouth comes to the side of my neck, sliding his lips down until he reaches the exposed skin on my shoulder. There’s a little nip of his teeth before he bites down harder. I can’t stop the whimper of pain and pleasure that slips from my lips.

“I don’t think you fully grasp exactly what I meant when I said you were mine. When I said no other man touches you, I meantno other man fucking touches you. You’ve seen what happens when they do.”

My eyes pop open at his implication.

“Please don’t hurt Braxton.” I lay my hand on his that’s on the rail in front of us, wedging my fingers between his.

“Do you think this is a game I’m playing? Or some silly little crush?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“I give warnings only once, and I’ve already shown you what happens when someone touches what belongs to me.”

“Please.”

I want to turn around and face him. To rip off both of our masks so I can see his face and he can see mine. I can’t comprehend the thought of him killing Braxton, ripping out his heart, and presenting it to me. It hurts too much to even think about. I’ve known Braxton for years, and as I told him, he’s not only part of The Raven Group, he’s a friend, almost like a brother.

“You begging for another man only makes my need for bloodshed stronger, Vicious,” he grates out. He sounds angry, and that skyrockets my worry.

His breath fans against the side of my shoulder before I feel the sharp sting of his teeth again. He bites down so hard that the skin breaks. I try to cry out at the pain, but his fingers tighten around my throat again. I lift a hand and grab his wrist, digging my nails into his skin. His grip tightens even further.

“Put your hand on the railing, Savina,” he demands in a hard but calm tone.

I only hesitate for a second before I curl my fingers around the railing, adding my other hand beside it. His grip loosens enough for me to suck in a shallow breath.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and his praise sends a shot of pleasure through me. “You want to know what I thought about when I saw you out on that dance floor with Braxton? Besides breaking every bone in his fucking body?”

“What?”

“Shredding this dress from you, throwing you to the floor, and fucking you in front of every single person in the room so they’d all know who you belong to.”

My stomach tightens at his words. And the thing is, I’m not so sure I would have stopped him. I’m so madly desperate for this man that I’d let him do anything to me. Even fuck me in a room full of people; people who include my family.

“Do you know the only thing that stopped me from doing that?”

“What?”

“I’d have the tedious task of cutting out the eyes of every person present. Not only can no one touch you, I don’t want their fucking eyes on you either.”

His hand slides down the front of my dress, down my stomach, and stops when he reaches my core. He presses his fingers between my legs, and I feel the squish of my arousal against my thong. A low moan leaves my throat.

“This pussy is fucking mine. Every fucking cell in your body belongs to me. Every breath you take, every beat your heart pumps. It’s all mine, Vicious. No one gets to touch you. No one gets to fucking look at you.”

He turns me around, and I get my first full look at him, tipping my head back because he’s at least a foot taller than me. His shoulders and chest are wide beneath his black tuxedo jacket, and it tapers off into a narrower waist. The tux he’s wearing fits him as if it were tailor made to his body, which I assume it was. The way he talks and carries himself, he has to come from money.

I look at his face. He’s wearing the same mask he always wears. I try to get a peek behind the eyeholes, but it’s too dark to see anything but two black, bottomless pits.

“Drop to your fucking knees, Vicious,” he orders in a deep voice.

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