Page 33 of Wicked King

“It’s not fair,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping her foot, like a petulant child. All it does is draw my gaze to her tempting cleavage.

“Life’s not fair, you might as well get used to it.”

With a final scathing glare, she plops down onto the worn cushions and stretches across the narrow couch. “Well, I hope you like the floor.”

Merda. “Do you have a blanket or a pillow at least?”

She tosses me a lumpy cushion off the couch, then a throw-blanket. I eye both, and my mouth twists. Maybe I’ll just make some coffee instead. I doubt I’ll sleep much tonight anyway. Either way, I need out of this monkey suit.

Sliding the jacket off my shoulders, I release a faint groan as my back cracks once I’m free of the oppressive material. I must have really been out of my mind if I hadn’t even attempted to take it off hours ago. The crisp button-down shirt comes off next, and I heave out a sigh of relief as I stretch my arms and glance up at the industrial rafters. The studio may be tiny, but at least the high ceilings give it a less claustrophobic feel.

When I glance down again, I catch a pair of dark eyes raking over my bare chest, lingering on the masterful dragon tattooed into my skin. The hint of a smile curls my lips as Jia’s gaze darts away. Caught ya. “Uh, uh, uh, no peeking, Jia, not until we’re married.”

“I was not,” she hisses and rolls over, burying her head in the pillow.

I move closer, unbuckling my belt as I grow near and finally stop when my legs hit the couch. I toss my belt on the floor, and a tiny gasp escapes between the cushions. Reaching for my zipper, I draw it down ever so slowly.

Her breaths grow ragged and despite her back being toward me, I can make out the quickening tempo of her pulse by the rise and fall of her shoulder.

My slacks slough to the floor with a satisfying whoosh, and I remain rooted to the spot. The rising tension has my cock thickening, excitement rushing through my veins. If she would only turn around, she’d see exactly what sort of effect she has on me.

“Jia?” I whisper. Turn around…come on, turn around.

“What?” she mumbles into the pillow.

“I need your help with something.”

She whirls around, and I’m so damned hard now her nose nearly bumps right into my cock. She releases a gasp and a squeal, her face twisting into an expression of pure horror, and I can’t hold back the roar of laughter.

“Oh my God, you’re such an ass,” she hisses as she spins back around and covers her face with a pillow once again.

I buckle forward, the laughter a much-needed release after the tension of the day. Once the mad chuckles finally subside, I drop down between the couch and the coffee table, shoving it over for a little extra room. At least there’s a fluffy white rug that might offer a tiny bit of padding against the hard floor.

“Must you sleep right here?” she snarls.

“No, I could sleep beside you if you weren’t hogging the sofa.”

“In your dreams, Rossi.”

“Hopefully. I’ll need something to envision while I get rid of this erection.”

“You’re vile!”

“You know, you could help me out. It’s your fault I’m all worked up.”

“Me?” She flips over to face me, her annoyance clear, and I prop myself up on my elbow to glance up at her. Her gaze trails my bare torso—there’s no denying it this time—then darts to the outline of my cock. Her cheeks turn an enticing crimson before she rips her gaze away and fixes it to mine. “How is that”—she motions at my lower half—"my fault?”

“For men like me, there’s a razor thin line between rage and desire. Surely, you must have noticed as the daughter and sister of two very fucked-up males.”

If she’s upset by my insult, she doesn’t show it. A part of me is starting to believe this hatred toward Nico and me for her brother’s demise is more for show than anything else.

“So killing that man earlier turned you on?” she hisses.

“Exacting my revenge turns me on, spitfire. The idea of snuffing out that pezzo di merda for daring to touch what’s mine, that’s what turns me on.” I drop my gaze from those piercing eyes, down to the perfect bow of her lips, to her elegant neck and to the rest of her form where it’s swallowed up by the oversized sweatshirt. I can already imagine what she looks like bare beneath…

“And I think it turned you on a little, too.”

Her pupils dilate, lips curving into an O as she regards me. “You’re wrong,” she exhales, her tone laced with desire.

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