Page 16 of Promise to Break

"You're naked in my room, and I don't want you here." I say the obvious, as if he's daft.

"And? How is this harassment?"

"You tell me. After all, you're the one who passed the bar exam three years ago. Tell me, is it legal to enter a girl's room and show her your parts?"

"Was that a compliment? And 'my parts?' Really? It's called a cock, honey, and it's thrilled to see you. Don't hurt its feelings. Come closer."

"Oh, your arrogance," I reply with a roll of my eyes. I don't give him the satisfaction of an answer to the other things he said. It only makes him smile again.

He reminds me of all those serial killer documentaries I've seen. These killers are made by nature, like Greek gods, but then when you see them on TV, you can't understand the appeal—forgetting that what you're seeing now is an unflattering picture that was taken after the monster was caged.

I can definitely see the appeal of someone like Killian. Even if he stood near a camera in the police station, he wouldn't look ghastly, ugly, repulsive or defeated. Never defeated. No, he would still appear deadly and god-like, looking prideful and untouchable.

"And you're going to take me to court?" he asks.

"As if I'm reckless enough to do that. I haven't got a penny to my name, and your father would kill me on the spot." Those weren't the right words to say, apparently, because Killian's usually unmovable face is suddenly raging with fury. I've never seen him like this. He clenches his jaw so tightly that I'm afraid he'll break it. And his eyes, which typically show nothing, are fully awake. It's like the light blue in those eyes has been touched by lightning.

What the fuck?

"You do have money. After all, your dear sister married my brother. When are you going to stop your martyr games? Because you aren't one."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I place my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes. "You know what? Fuck you, asshole. I don't answer to you anymore. I never did. You just wanted me to dance to your tune. But this is over, Cabron."

"What did you call me this time?" I like him not understanding my native language. It gives me at least a little power over him.

"Cabron. Go to the dictionary and find out." I open the door of the bathroom, breathing in the air from the AC that enters the steamy room as if I had been stuck in a mine. Then I push the door wide open, letting the freezing air come inside, saving me from suffocation.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I take another few steps to what feels like freedom. I need to get out of here.

He comes after me. Just a few steps more, and I'm standing in the center of my room. I'm almost there…

"Stop," he commends, as his hand covers my shoulder. I freeze in place, and all the air I finally gathered in my lungs whooshes out of me. I can't do a thing to stop it. His scent is clean, and his dick, the one I refused to think about after the initial shock, is poking into my back. It's like he rolled in wood and leather and some mint.

"Don't touch me. I'm not your toy. This game is over." I try to get free. It's not like he's holding me captive. It's just his hand.

Move, Maricela, move!

"It hasn't even started, Wild Child."

He lets go of me, and I practically fly out to my room. I don't even turn around as I say, "Get out of my bathroom, now!"

"I am," he says with another shrug. "The bed is much softer, anyway." He looks at it as if he wants to call the carpenter who made it and appraise the work as well done.

"Are you slow or something? Were your brain cells all burned out by books?"

"My brain cells aren't in charge right now." He throws himself on my bed, picks up my bunny panties, and sniffs them. I gape, unable to move. His rough hand cups the thin material like a glove that isn't quite big enough for his large hand and starts rubbing the panties over his dick. The motions are strong and firm.

"You're so hot, watching me while I fuck your panties. Tell me, Little One, did someone ever touch you?"

I don't move or say a thing, and it's not because I don't want to. I just can't speak. This is wrong, so fucking wrong.

"Our little girl likes baby bunnies. How sweet. Fuck, I'm going to come. Keep looking at me, just like that."

I do. Even if the place was on fire, I couldn't do anything else. I feel like I'm burning. His body is a masterpiece. All I want to do is take my phone from the counter and take pictures of the way he looks.

Up and down. A moan.

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