Page 52 of Their Princess

Was Kaos the reason Graff hadn’t come back to the music? Sas and Graff had been sharing her. No wonder she’d been flaunting herself like that.

Graff flashed his gaze between Sas and me, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “You two have to work your shit out. You’re the two getting married. And neither of you should be playing these fucking games.”

“What fun would that be,” started Sas, twisting his fingers tighter, “when she was just telling me what she could do with her lips and teeth?”

There was a lot I could do with my lips, but my problem at the moment was that my lower lips quivered. My body apparently wanted me to act stupid.

So many college boys had gently tried to get me in bed, but none of them had made my body respond like this. Not one of them had gotten inside my head this way. No one had ever commanded a reaction from my body like the danger I sensed rolling off Sas right now.

And Graff.

Having him here, watching. Just feet away from us.

Why was that so fucking hot? I rubbed my thighs together, trying to squelch how my body thrummed. It wanted things way off limits.

“Come on, baby. Show Graff what those lips can do.” Then Sas pulled my head farther back, bent his head down, and kissed me.

The intrusion left me unable to breathe with his tongue prying its way between my lips and teeth. I would’ve expected him to taste like old beer, but he tasted rich, smoky, slightly sweet, and earthy. The kiss, however, wasn’t filled with desire. No, it was a command. It demanded my response.

My brain reeled for several seconds, and then I met his angry kiss with my teeth, biting down on his tongue. And then his lip, tasting blood mingled with a taste I would always associate with him. Then... something musky.

Kaos.

Bitch.

All the sweet and sour tastes flowed into my mouth, overwhelming me.

Sas peeled back, raising his hand. “You slut!”

“I think you mean baby. Or princess,” I snarled, bracing myself to receive the blow.

Fear was pulsing through my veins on a heavy heartbeat, but I wouldn’t pull away because it was awakening the inner me. If he wanted a fight, I’d give him another one. Maybe I could give him a second shiner to match my uncle’s.

Rafe would be proud.

Shaking his head, Graff laughed humorlessly with his attention glued on me. “That’s one way of talking it out, I guess.”

Sas and I both cut our eyes sideways to where Graff settled back with his ass on the sofa table and picked up the sketchbook. A small smile lifted one side of his mouth while his hand dashed over the paper.

His eyes travelled between Sas and me and the paper. Was he really drawing this scene?

Though Sas scowled at Graff too, my future husband didn’t release my hair. I tried to seize the opportunity to wiggle free, but he yanked me forward, wrapping his hand around my neck. My chin sat in the curve between his thumb and forefinger. He released my hair, and with the single hand beneath my chin, he lifted me until my toes barely brushed the floor.

Sas came back into my face, his lip curling as a growl rumbled in his chest.

Then, my head hit the plaster, pain shooting through my skull. If Sas noticed, he didn’t show it, but then there was a scrape and clink.

Metal against metal.

So loud. So close.

A gun chamber sliding into place.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” spat a familiar voice, and I grimaced. I hadn’t wanted my uncle to see me in this situation. Or get involved.

Rafe stood on the other side of Sas, closer to the door, with his gun planted where Sas’s jaw met his earlobe. His finger brushed the side of the trigger guard. Sas only needed to make one wrong move, and Rafe would pull the trigger. I had no doubt in my mind about that. In less than a second, my future husband would be a puddle of flesh, blood, and gray matter.

“Let her go,” demanded Rafe, sounding more like a military commander than a motley biker with too much testosterone.

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