Page 39 of Primal

The corner of his mouth quirks into a devilish grin. “Yeah, I did. Get up, so I make it up to you.”

Without even a second thought, I stand up and face him, not letting on to the fact that my heart feels like a racecar in my chest.

And when he says, “Turn around,” I swear I feel like I’m about to pass out.

His deep blue eyes darken dangerously as I turn my back to him. He grips my wrists roughly and ties them with one half of the shirt. I’m just about to tell him off for tying it too tight when he spins me back around and shoves the other half into my mouth.

Well, that’s one way of telling someone to shut the hell up.

“This what you want, yeah?” he asks tauntingly as he pulls my phone out of his pocket and the locket off his wrist. I nod excitedly and relax a little at the sight of my necklace.

But my heart immediately starts racing when he bends down and pulls something out of his boot.

My heart races when I see the evening sunlight reflect off the silver blade of his knife.

I try to run, but he grabs a fistful of my hair and slams me against the wall so hard the breath is knocked out of me. Instead of giving me a chance to recover—I don’t know why I would expect him to—he takes the shirt out of my mouth and presses his lips against mine, capturing me in a heated kiss.

When he dips his tongue inside my mouth, I want to bite him, but I can’t bring myself to do it when he feels so good, even though I feel like I’m about to pass out.

When I start to sway in his arms, I wrench my head back and forth to get him to stop, but that only makes him crazier with need. He grabs my face and kisses me like, if he doesn’t, I’ll cease to exist.

It’s only when I go slack in his arms that he decides to let go.

I fall to my knees and take deep, heaving breaths until my heart rate goes back to normal.

“I hate you,” I breathe.

“Liar,” he retorts.

He’s not wrong.

No matter how mad I am at him, I don’t think I could ever find it in me to hate him, even after everything he’s done.

“Get up, butterfly,” he says softly.

On wobbly legs, I slowly get to my feet and face him. He shoves the shirt back into my mouth and pushes me against the wall again.

“How bad do you want it, Kiara?”

The necklace or him? That’s the real question.

I want both, but I can’t figure out which one I want more right now.

As if in answer, my aching clit throbs, almost to the point of pain. I lean against the wall and spread my legs to show him what I want the most.

I flinch when he tosses my phone and necklace onto the floor and touches me. It starts with featherlight strokes down my arms, stomach, and thighs. Then his touches become heavier, more intentional. His fingers fondle the areas around my sensitive parts, skimming by my clit and nipples without any stimulation. I whimper pathetically when he lightly grazes my heated sex, and he just chuckles darkly.

“You’re so needy, baby,” he murmurs, letting his lips skate across my jaw. “Do you want me to finger that pretty pussy?”

I nod.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, please,” I say around the gag in my mouth, grinding against his thigh to get some relief.

He reaches toward his jeans, and I think he’s going to pull them down, but instead, he presses something large and cool against my inner thigh.

I gasp and look down to see his gun between my legs.

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