Page 74 of The King of Hearts

Earlier, when he brought me up here to his bedroom to shower and get ready for bed, he didn’t say anything. Just turned around and left, closing the door behind him. I knew he’d be back, though.

He said he’s waited two years to have me. Now that he has me in his home, I don’t see him waiting any longer.

My feelings for this man are all over the place. I want nothing to do with him and wish he’d drop off the face of the earth. I want to stab him in the eyes and rip out his heart, just like he’s done to his victims. Maybe I’ll put his heart in a jar and keep it for a souvenir.

I want him to take me. To make me feel what only he’s ever made me feel.

I want him to dominate me. To force me and give me no choice but to like it. To hurt me and make me bleed for him.

I blame the books I read for this way of thinking, but really, it’s just my fucked-up mind bringing them forth.

He walks inside the bathroom like he’s stalking his prey. Predatory and god-like. Dominance radiates off him, and his eyes hold so much heat that I feel the burn on my back. Liquid fire seeps from between my legs, and my breathing picks up speed. My stomach dips into a free fall, and tingles slide through the tiny veins of my nerves.

He comes up to me, his naked chest pressing into my naked back. He’s taller than me by at least a foot, so the hard cock beneath his sweats pushes against my lower back. I hold his stare in the mirror. Fingers slide through my hair, and my head is turned. Demanding lips capture mine, his plundering tongue sliding past them.

His hold tightens in my hair, and he angles my head where he wants it. My fingers grip the edge of the counter, desperate to hold on to something before my knees give out.

He tastes like mint and pure masculine man, a heady combination that leaves me dizzy and discombobulated.

He explores my mouth expertly, licking the inside and erotically sliding his tongue against mine. There’s a sharp sting on my tongue, and I jerk my head back. The coppery tang of blood hits my taste buds.

Ryker’s eyes blaze down into mine, anger and possession filling the gray orbs.

“Give me your fucking tongue,” he growls.

I press my lips together and swallow the saliva and blood that’s slowly filling my mouth. “Fuck you. That hurt, you bastard.”

“It’s going to hurt a lot worse if you don’t do as you’re told. Now stick out your tongue, or I’ll make you bleed elsewhere.”

I’m tempted to spit the blood he’s demanding I offer him in his face, but I’m not sure the consequences would be worth it.

My glare is as hot as his as I part my lips and stick out my sore tongue. He must have bitten me pretty good because a drop of blood drips from the end and lands on my chest.

He attacks my tongue, wrapping his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth. He groans, like the taste of my blood is the best thing he’s ever had.

And why, oh why, does that thought turn me on so much?

Stupid fucking dark romance books.

When he pulls back moments later, he runs his tongue over his lips. “Goddamn delicious,” he growls darkly.

I’m panting and out of breath when he lets my hair go, and I face the mirror again. The little drop of blood that fell from my tongue has left a trail of red about two inches long on my chest.

Both of my breasts are grabbed by harsh hands, my nipples getting caught between his thumbs and index fingers. He pinches them so hard it feels like he’s trying to rip them off. I cry out as tears pepper my eyes. It hurts so much, but my core clenches in need.

“My tits,” Ryker says in my ear. He looks at me through the mirror, his hard features matching the painful grip he has on my flesh. “Say it.”

“Fuck you.” I glare at him through the mirror.

“I’ll be fucking you momentarily.” He pinches harder, and I whimper. “Now say the fucking word, Vicious.”

I want to hold on to my resolve, but the pain mixed with pleasure has made me crazed, so it slips out before I can stop it. “Yours.”

Blessed relief comes immediately when he lets my breasts go, and I sag against his chest. One arm wraps around my ribs, and his other hand heads south. It stops when his big palm settles over my lower stomach, right where his baby sits. His hand is so big that it nearly encompasses my whole stomach. This touch is the opposite of the one a moment ago. It’s soft and gentle, and his expression turns reverent.

“My baby,” he whispers across my ear, sending a shiver through me. “Say it.”

I only hesitate a moment. “Your baby.”

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