Page 111 of Bishop

I want to hear him say how I’m nothing but a puppet. My father’s sinister little slut. I need to hate him so all those wonderfully comfortable feelings of the opposite nature quit haunting me.

“Say it.” I hold his gaze. “Let me have your worst.”

“You’re feisty this morning,” he mutters.

No, I’m emotional.

I’ve spent hours daydreaming about a reality that can’t exist with the threat of his rejection waiting in the wings. Now I just want it over and done with. “Say it, Bishop. Tell me not to look at you like I’m my father’s deceitful little whore.”

His eyes narrow to slits, his chin raising slightly.

Did I hit a bullseye?

“Tell me,” I snap. “Say how I look like a pathetic, worthless—”

He clamps a hand over my mouth, tight and painful, his fingers digging into my cheek as I gasp. He swoops closer till we’re nose to nose, those harsh eyes glaring. “Speak about yourself like that again and I’ll spank those words right out of your fucking mouth. You hear me?”

He pauses. Maybe he wants me to respond. But I have nothing. No words. Only a heated imagination.

“I was going to say, don’t look at me like you want me, belladonna,” he snarls in my face. “I’m not strong enough to deny you today.”

My stomach bottoms, my heart frantically attempting to outrun the stampede of delirium barrelling down on me.

He drops his hand from my face, still glaring, still in my personal space.

I swallow. Drag my teeth over my bottom lip.

His gaze catches the movement, his eyes narrowing with enough intensity to make my mouth burn.

“Don’t do that either,” he warns. “I already jerked off while you were sleeping, then again in the shower. You’re not out of my system yet despite how much I’d prefer otherwise.”

Between my thighs, an ache forms. But the pleasure holds nowhere near the potency of the relief that rushes through me for being wrong about his cruelty.

“Don’t tell me Abri Costa is speechless.” He raises a condescending brow, retreating a step. “I guess that’s better than the sass I’ve dealt with for days.”

He walks for the fridge. “I’m more than happy to do what you suggested and forget what happened. I already planned on giving you a wide birth. I’ll stay out of your space and you stay out of mine. I’ll give you updates as I have them.” He pulls open the fridge and all I can think about is how the heat from his touch still lingers on my face. Through my shirt.

I want to touch him like he touches me. Roughly. Without permission.

To take liberties and claim victory over his body as he’s done to mine so many times.

My pulse races with the need to return his animalistic energy. To get in his face and demand things of him. To revel in the volatility of whatever this is.

To hell with holding back.

I bridge the space between us, not thinking about the consequences or the potential aftermath as I settle in close. “You prefer my silence to my sass?” My breath quickens as I wrap my arms around his back to his chest, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. “I know a way you can keep me quiet a little longer.”

A deep rumble vibrates from his throat as he swings around to face me, kicking the fridge shut. “My preferences wouldn’t keep you quiet, belladonna. You’d be left screaming until your throat ran dry.”

“I can handle that.”

His expression tightens. “I doubt it.”

“Give me your worst.”

His nostrils flare while he leans closer. “My worst isn’t something you’re capable of withstanding, Abri.”

I smirk. “Chicken?”

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