Page 78 of Reckless King

Whatever the hell my problem was, it’s gone now. Violet’s wearing my ring, and all I want to do is pull down her shorts and bend her over the desk behind me so I can pin her wrists above her head and admire how it looks on her finger while I fill her with my cock.

With her hand still in mine, I tug her toward me. Before she can react, she’s pressed to my chest, and my lips are ghosting the shell of her ear. “Do you know what this means? You’re mine, Violet.”

A shiver racks her body, and I’m rock fucking hard in an instant. “Tate,” she whimpers. “I?—”

Before she can finish that thought, I cup her face and trace her cheekbones with my thumbs. I was prepared to give her time, to make her ask for it, but I need this. I’m holding on by the thinnest of threads. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” The word comes out on a ragged breath.

I crash my mouth down on hers, reveling in the effortless way her lips part under mine, in the needy little whine she makes at the back of her throat, the way she arches up against me, as if she wants to get closer. None of that is a fucking act. There’s no one here but us.

My kiss is anything but gentle, my teeth tugging on her lower lip, my tongue sliding deep. But she doesn’t seem to care. She’s rubbing herself against me, moaning. I could have her here, right now. I could fulfill my fantasy from a moment ago and bend her over my desk. Spank her ass for holding me at arm’s length for so long. She’d do it. She’d take everything I gave her. I can feel it.

That’s why I force myself to stop, to pull back.

Her eyes are midnight blue, shallow breaths falling from between her swollen lips. It takes every bit of my willpower to let her go. She brings her left hand to her mouth, fingers pressing against it as if she’s shocked, either from the kiss or its sudden end. Maybe both.

“Why did you stop?” she asks.

I rake my hand through my hair, then adjust the raging hard-on pressing against my pants. It’s in vain, because as I do it, she follows the movement with her eyes, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, making me harder, if that’s possible.

“Because you said yes to a kiss, not to being fucked on my desk. And that’s where this would have ended up if I didn’t stop. When I fuck you, butterfly, you’ll be the one asking for it, not me. I want you so fucking desperate for my cock that you’ll getdown on your knees and beg for it. That way there’s no damn confusion as to whether this is an act. Got it?”

A surprising anger has flooded me. I’m furious that the first time I’ve ever felt more than passing lust for a woman, I’m in this damn situation. With this pretense hanging between us. And I’m furious that Violet’s opinion of me is so low. And that it’s my own damn fault.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Violet? If you want my cock,” I grab her hand and press it against my aching shaft, fighting back a groan when her fingers instinctively curl around it, “you’re gonna have to ask me nicely for it. Okay?”

“Okay.” The word comes out on a shuddery breath.

I leave her there, eyes wide, pupils still flared with desire, and make for the door.

“Wait,” she says. “Where are you going?”

I grit my teeth. “To my bedroom so I can jerk off imagining all the things I’m going to do to you when you finally give in to this.”

And then I’m gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

VIOLET

Isag against the edge of Tate’s desk. What the hell just happened?

One minute he was slipping the ring on my finger, and the next I was almost begging him to do me on his desk. And the fact that he knew that there was analmostin that thought is what I can’t stop focusing on.

He read me so damn perfectly. I wanted it badly. I wantedhimbadly. And yet that vestige of doubt still claws at me. It would be incredible. I have no doubt. He could wreck me. With the best intentions, Tate could take my body and my heart and break the shield I’ve put up around them. That fear lives on. That I’ll give him my body, then my heart, and at the end of this, he’ll still walk away.

But god, I’m so turned on. My whole body is buzzing, my nipples hard little peaks inside my shirt. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then another, willing myself to calm down. Willing my mind to clear. It’s impossible, because I’m assaulted by visions of Tate in his bedroom, his hand working his cock, head thrown back, stroking himself while thinking about me.

My knees almost buckle. God, do I want to see it. He was angry when he left here, and I’m almost dizzy at the thought ofhow hard he might thrust into his fist. I want to see him while he touches himself. I need to. I might not be ready to feel his body against mine, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. This might be as close as I ever get.

Before I realize I’m doing it, I’m walking down the hallway toward our bedrooms. I stop outside Tate’s door. It’s ajar, like maybe he knew I’d come. Or was it hope? Maybe it was neither. Maybe it was carelessness on his part. Though the more time I spend with Tate, the more I learn that nothing he does is careless, contrary to how it often appears.

I take a deep breath, but my hand is still shaking as I push the door open and step inside. He’s not on the bed. Not in his bathroom either. It takes a moment to find him where he’s reclined in one of the deep leather chairs in his bedroom’s sitting area. And he’s not touching himself, even though he’s still sporting a large bulge beneath his pants.

He’s stripped out of his shirt, and with his upper torso bare and golden, he looks like a lion in repose, and just as arrogant. His eyes are hooded as he watches me. “Did you come for the show, butterfly?”

I flinch, but it’s true. “Yes,” I whisper.

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