Page 55 of Knights Game

“Just stop being so stubborn.” I take her hand again and start leading her to the master bedroom. She follows, thank fuck.

The penthouse was over 40 million pounds and is one of my favourite properties. The view alone is what made the price of this place astronomical.

She pauses in front of the double doors to the living room, which is shrouded in darkness, but the lights from the LondonEye in the distance, along with Big Ben are breathtaking as always.

She edges closer, drawn by the famous landmarks and lights that reflect off the Thames.

The living room has dark wooden custom-made cabinets which cover one side, hiding my entertainment unit and a huge U-shaped sofa sits centre stage. It’s a large space, the warmth of the wood making it feel cosy.

“As you can see, my mobster pocket does stretch to other colours.” I hold my arms out to the dark midnight blue walls. She glances over her shoulder and looks at me with a serious expression then turns back to the view.

“Can I get a shower?” she whispers, the lights of London casting off her features.

“Come.” I lead her gently from the living room, my arm resting softly against her lower back, navigating her down the hallway. My favourite art hangs on the walls.

Chess pieces.

She’s not looking though, her head is down, she’s withdrawn; and the anger that had fuelled her up until this point along with a healthy dose of adrenaline has disappeared. Replacing my defiant temptress with a subdued Layla.

We enter the master suite, and I press the tablet on the wall, turning on the lights to a soft glow. Everything is meticulously positioned—my housekeeper has looked after the place while I move between properties.

Centre stage sits the emperor bed, imposing and inviting in the middle of the room. I leave her standing in the doorway, walking into the ensuite where I flick the light on and turn on the walk-in shower, letting the steam build.

“When you’re here, I expect you to sleep in my bed, next to me…naked.” I add and wait for her to take the bait.

She’s staring at the thick plush carpet, and finally looks up, her eyes burning.

Ah—there she is.

“Fuck off.” She barks and saunters ahead of me, grabbing the hem of her dress and lifting it over her head. Her bare arse sashays as she crosses my bedroom to the waiting shower, and I hate that she’s washing me off her. I want her to smell like me, smell the leftovers of our sex, like I can smell her all over me. I want to see the remnants of me dried on her skin. I want everyone to know she is fucking mine, and if she washes it off, I’ll just have to put more on her.

Her hands wrap behind her back where she unclasps her bra and drops it on the floor. As soon as she crosses the door to the ensuite she spins around standing stock still staring at me defiantly, completely fucking breathtakingly naked.

And I drink her in like a man that hasn’t seen water for days. She slowly lifts her hand and shows me her middle finger, then she slams the door in my face.

Molten fury bursts through my veins. I storm forward, pulling my own top off over my head, and then my trousers before crashing into the door and pushing it open.

She’s in the shower, her wet hair clinging to her face. She’s never looked more frightened and more fucking beautiful.

She should fear me.

I step into the shower, my eyes never leaving hers and she lifts her chin, goading me. I grip her throat, my favourite place to dominate her and push her back, crashing her into the tiled wall of the shower, the breath leaving her lips in a quick exhale, her face blanching as her back cracks into the hard tiles.

“Let me make you understand this, Layla. My hospitality will be on my terms, this deal will be on my fucking terms. You will do what I say when I say it, and in return I won’t fucking kill you. Say you understand me.”

She stares at me and nods, or at least tries to against my hard grip. Then she does something surprising, she grabs my cock, which is rock hard.

“Do you get off dominating me?” She chokes around my hand, her breaths coming in raged heaves as she fights to breathe against my grip. Her hand glides up my shaft.

Fuck me.

“Do you get off goading me?” I reply, gripping harder, her eyes widening as I cut off her air completely, her hand drops from my cock as she claws at me.

I am in control here, not her.

Even if she does like to think that her standing up to me is her taking back control.

She takes what I give her. That’s all.

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