Page 62 of Warlord's Plaything

Heat. Tension. Something worse.

She freezes for a fraction of a second.

And I use it.

Leaning in, pressing just enough for her to feel me, to remember how fucking deep I was inside her.

"You weren’t this weak last night."

Her snarl is instant.

She shoves back, but I don’t let her go.

I won’t.

Not when she still smells like me.

Not when I can still hear the way she moaned my name.

"Get off me, warlord."

"Why? Afraid?"

Her breath hitches.

Not fear.

Not even fucking close.

I dip my head, brush my lips against her ear.

Not a kiss.

A taunt. A reminder.

"You weren’t so shy when you were coming apart beneath me."

She lunges.

Pure instinct. Pure rage.

But I expect it.

I twist her, catching her from behind, pressing her into the wall.

Her pulse slams against my palm where I grip her throat.

She’s so fucking alive.

And I want her again.

"Let. Me. Go."

"Say please."

She snarls, thrashing against me, but I don’t move.

I can’t.

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