Page 90 of Wicked Spite
“Yeah, right,” she snorts, rolling her eyes. “Like you’d ever commit to anything that permanent.”
“Who says I wouldn’t?” My grin widens, and I lean down, pressing my lips against her neck. The way she shivers beneath me sends a thrill through my veins. “I’ve already fucking married you. Gave you my last name. Put a ring on your finger you can’t take off. Gave you my virginity. Put my brand on you. I’m covered in ink, hellfire. Decorating my body with something that is all you is well within the realm of shit I can and will do.”
“Fuck,” she gasps, her chest heaving. “You’re not playing fair.”
“Never said I would,” I retort, sliding my hand down her stomach.
I pull back, my gaze never leaving hers as I start to peel off my shirt. Her eyes follow my movements, widening slightly as inch by inch of inked skin is revealed. I know she loves my body, and I mean really who could blame her? I work hard on it. Spent thousands on the art covering it. She wants a show? I’ll give her a fucking show.
“Like what you see?” I ask, tossing the shirt aside, letting itland wherever it damn well pleases. Her lips curl into a smile, one that’s both challenging and inviting.
“Depends,” she retorts, propping herself up on her elbows. “Are you planning to keep going, or is this some kind of half-assed tease?”
“Wife, you should know by now,” I say, unbuttoning my jeans. “I don’t do anything halfway.”
I kick off my boots, then slowly slide my jeans down, allowing them to fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my boxer briefs.
“Enjoying the view?” I tease, smirking at her obvious appreciation.
“Maybe,” she retorts, trying to maintain her cool exterior, but I can see the flush creeping up her neck.
I saunter over to my dark red duffel bag on the floor, feeling her eyes follow me. As I hoist it onto the bed, Reagan sits up, her interest piqued.
“Isn’t that your…murder bag?” she asks cautiously, her eyes narrowing to assess my reaction.
“Maybe,” I grin mischievously, recognizing the opportunity to tease her further. “Or maybe it’s just here to murder your pussy.”
“Jesus, Penn,” Reagan scoffs, her cheeks flushing a deep red. “Seriously,” she presses up on her hands now. The movement draws my gaze to her chest, her nipples still hardened peaks against her skin. “What’s with the bag?”
“Only one way to find out.” I let my hand wander higher up her leg as I lean in, my lips brushing against her earlobe. Her shiver doesn’t go unnoticed, and I can’t help but relish the effect I have on her.
“Fine,” she mutters, giving in despite her stubborn resistance. “But if this goes south, you’re going to regret it.”
“Always so dramatic.” I chuckle, my breath hot against her neck. “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”
“Your ego knows no bounds, does it?” Reagan quips, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the excitement in them.
“Maybe not,” I admit with a smirk, “but my skills more than make up for it.”
“Show me,” she challenges, tilting her chin up stubbornly.
I growl, letting my lust take over. In one swift motion, I haul Reagan from her back to her stomach on the bed, pinning her down with one hand between her shoulder blades.
“Hey!” she protests, wriggling beneath my grip. “What the hell are you doing?”
Her body feels small under my hands, taut muscles and soft skin sprawled out on the bed.
“Jesus, Penn,” she says, voice muffled by the pillow. “What the fuck?”
“Relax, baby,” I growl, my tone rougher than I intend. The power shift is palpable; it’s like flipping a switch inside me. I lean down, my lips near her ear, whispering, “You challenged me. Now take it.”
Her breath hitches, caught between a laugh and something darker. “I didn’t ask for—” Her words cut off abruptly as my hand presses firmly against her lower back, keeping her in place. She wriggles slightly, testing the restraint, but my grip is unyielding.
“Didn’t ask for what?” I taunt, my other hand sliding up her spine, feeling each vertebrae beneath my touch. “For me to show you how much I want you? How much I need you?”
“You’re—” she starts, but then bites her lip, holding back whatever insult or retort she was about to throw my way. Instead, she settles for something so basic, “You’re an ass, Penn.”
Her willful nature thrills me, and I’m more than ready to take control.
