Page 41 of Wanted By a King

Her brows shoot up at my honesty, and she nods, her gaze softening. “I can go with you if you want? It might help.”

Jesus. I can’t even fucking speak right now I’m nearly choking on so many fucking emotions. I chew the inside of my cheek trying to fight it and suck in a deep breath, hoping it will fucking calm me.

“Sorry, I just thou—”

I cut her off, taking her lips with mine. I can’t speak right now, to tell her how I feel, but I can show her. She doesn’t even try to fight the kiss, instead claiming my lips right back, her hands fisting into my hair as she drags herself closer.

It’s a long deep kiss, and as hard as my dick is, I don’t want to strip her bare and bury myself inside her. I just want this intimate moment to never end.

But it fucking does. We both have to come up for air, and Zoe breaks the kiss first, but doesn’t retreat when I press my forehead with hers.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers, and I draw back to look at her properly.

“Doing what?”

“This.” She gestures to the cemetery and then to us. “What do I have to pay for this outing today?”

Frowning, I shake my head. “I’m not following.”

Sighing, she thinks on her words for a moment before responding. “I’ve been in danger, and in exchange for your protection, I’ve been giving you my body. I’m just wondering what the currency is for this kind gesture.”

A low growl rumbles in my chest, and I tug her closer as I press my nose to hers.

“Despite what you might think, my time with you isnottransactional.”

“Time is different from sex. That’s still transactional.” She quips and I bare my teeth.

“No, Princess. Our previous arrangement no longer stands, so you can be sure that when I pleasure you, it’s because I want to.”

She scoffs, “Unlike when I have to pleasure you.”

I fist my hand at her nape and tip her head back forcefully. “Are you saying when you pleasure me, that you don’t want to, Princess? Are you really trying to tell me that you don’t want it?”

She shrugs.

“Fuck,” I hiss, releasing her and lifting her off my lap and bike until her feet land on the ground, not bothering to mask my wince when my shoulder starts to fucking throb.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking slightly panicked. I can tell she didn’t notice my wince. Or if she did, she thinks it’s related to me being angry.

“I don’t know what the fuck I have to do to get you to understand what I’m trying to say and do here. It’s like every time I show you my hand, myrealfucking hand, you fucking spit on it. You just turned an honest moment, an intimate moment, into something ugly.”

Her mouth drops open before snapping shut again, and she shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you fucking did.” I shake my head and point to my bike. “Get on. I’m taking you back now.”

“No,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Get on or I’m leaving you here,” I hiss and she scoffs.

“No, you won’t.”

Fuck it. I know I won’t either.

Dragging a rough hand through my hair, I look away from her, unsure of what to fucking do. Maybe I could knock her out and get her on my bike that way, but to do that I’d have to hurt her, and I don’t want to hurt her.

“Please,” I say through gritted teeth. “Please. Get. On. My. Bike.”

She stares at me warily for a few long beats before she admits.

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