Page 39 of His Queen

“I do not,” he replies with zero remorse.

“And I guess while you’re planning on getting me fired, you don’t care about crushing my dreams in the process? Break my confidence and destroy my reputation?”

He bites his bottom lip, the first sign of emotion he’s shown since he walked in here.

I slant my head to the side. “Don’t tell me that never crossed your mind.”

“I told you not to accept the project.”

“Yet you failed to say why.”

“It’s too dangerous?”

“How?” I throw my hands in the air. “How is planning a wedding too dangerous?”

“The Carrington-Winslow wedding isn’t just any wedding.”

“What do you mean?”

Silence settles heavily between us, and I watch as he vigorously rubs his fingers along the rough growth of his five o’clock shadow. “They aren’t normal people,” he finally says, eyes locked on to mine. “That guest list you’re working on has names of notorious criminals who have their heads right up Satan’s asshole, and you think I’ll let you be anywhere near there? The Winslow family, they have connections to some very dangerous individuals.”

“Sounds like another family I know.”

“All I want to do is protect you, Mira.” His tone’s a sense of earnestness, almost a tenor of desperation that constricts my heart.

He stands, eyes glaring with fiery intensity, his size a menacing shadow that towers over me. I’d shiver in fear if I were anyone else, but the authority that seeps from his pores doesn’t scare me. It excites me. Turns me on.

With a shallow breath, I keep my gaze locked on his as he steps closer, leaning down and placing his hands on either side of me. “I’m going to say this as simply as possible.” He licks his lips as if he’s an animal with a taste for blood. “I do not care about ruining the dream weddings of a thousand blushing brides. I do not give a fuck if two hundred guests die of food poisoning as long as I. Protect. You.”

My breath hitches, and he leans even closer, his eyes boring into mine with a heat that spreads from my throat to the back of my neck. His hands cage me in, leaving no room for escape even if I wanted to. All I can do is stare up at him as the intensity of his gaze burns through to my soul.

“I made you a promise before, to love you with all that I am, every day for the rest of my life,” he whispers fiercely, his lips grazing against mine. “Here’s another promise I can make you.” He brings his hand up to my throat, easing his fingers around it, fingertips brushing across my skin. “I promise you that I’m going to piss you off over and over again, make you angry, and I might even make you cry because you aren’t always going to like the lengths I will go to in order to protect you. But even if you beg me, plead to me with a thousand glimmering tears in your eyes to stop, I won’t. You know why?”

I swallow hard, barely able to take a shallow breath as he presses his thumb against my jaw.

“Because you’re too important to me.”

My heart thunders against its confines as I take in the sheer force of his will and determination aimed squarely at protecting me always. It invokes a jolt of fear through my veins that simmer with a threat to burn. But it’s not just any kind of fear; it’s a deep and primal terror that excited every nerve ending in my body. There’s no way of understanding it, the pleasure behind the adrenaline rush coursing through me as I stare into the blue depths of my husband’s soul. The way his fingers tighten around my throat only heightens the excitement, intensifying every sensation threefold, desire pooling between my thighs.

“You understand that, Hummingbird? You’re too important to me to let anything bad happen to you,” he growls. And as if he can sense the swirl of darkness stirring within me, he tightens his fingers until I’m barely able to take a shallow breath.

“Do you. Understand that?”

“Yes,” I choke out in a whisper.

“Good girl. Now, how about you get on your knees?” he rasps, but instead of allowing me to obey, he makes me yield by forcing me down in front of him as he keeps his grip tight on my throat. Fear and pleasure blur together as they become one and the same, slicking my arousal between my legs. It’s a force much too powerful to be denied.

“Take out my cock, baby,” he commands, his words vibrating through my core as I obey without a second thought. I reach out and pull down the zipper of his pants, fumbling with shaking hands until I finally free his length. The sight of glistening precum sends an insatiable need through my core.

“That’s it,” he groans as he lets go of my throat and watches me intently as I wrap my fingers around his length. “Look at me,” he demands, and I flick my gaze up to his, gasping when he lightly presses the blade’s tip against the side of my face, slanting his head as he stares down while biting his bottom lip. I didn’t even realize he had it in his hand.

With a slow, subtle drag of the sharp tip downward, I know he’s tracing the scar hidden beneath my make-up—a scar we both know is there. The cold steel makes me hyperaware of the cruelty that lays thick on its smooth edge, its violent intentions branding my skin with its blade. It’s a shivering excitement I can’t describe, something I’m powerless against.

He slides the knife gently down my jaw, then applies the slightest pressure as he nudges the tip deeper into my skin, forcing my chin upward. “Pull your pants down to your knees. I want to see you touch that pretty pussy of yours.”

Unzipping my jeans, I hook my fingers into the sides, sliding them down while his hard cock is inches away from my face.

He leans back slightly, gazing down between my legs and licking his lips, all the while keeping the blade in place. “Good girl. Now take me in your mouth.”

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