Page 63 of Kiss the Villain

His forehead starts to lower to mine and I headbutt him. “Get the fuck off me and don’t kiss me again.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my throat. “You’re right. This is sogayand we’re definitelystraight.”

“I’m straight. I have serious doubts about you.”

He laughs again, reaching for my mouth, and I expect him to spit in it, and honestly, I prefer his dirty side over what he does. Because he just wipes something from my lip. “Loving the hot and cold, baby. Adorable.”

I’m about to headbutt him again, but he steps back, tucks himself in, and kneels behind me. I go to turn around, but he’s already grabbed my hip in one hand, then retrieves the tie that’s been dangling around his neck.

“I can do it on my own. Don’t touch me.”

“Quiet.” He slides the fabric between my ass cheeks, and his handprints burn whenever his fingers brush against them.

“Stop.”

“Don’t push it.” His voice darkens, and even though he’s on his knees, I can feel the domineering energy in waves. “I’m doing something nice for you, so shut up and take it.”

I glare down at him. “You’re anything but nice.”

I expect him to laugh it off and mock me like he always does, but he just stares up at me.

Orglares?

The expression disappears before I can decipher it. “Believe me. I am being nice right now.”

The humiliating feeling of being cleaned up by him dissipates at the cryptic look in his eyes.

It vanishes as he finishes the task and stands up.

A distant scream pierces my ears, and I stare ahead, dumbfounded.

The fuck.

I completely forgot that we were in the mansion’s forest, during the initiation, where it’s buzzing with over a hundred people.

Jesus fucking Christ. How could Iforget?

Though the risk is minimal, someone could’ve passed by and seen me come all over my professor’s fingers.

Fuck.

I face the tree and pull my jeans up.

“Lose the girl.” Hot breaths skim my skin, and my fingers pause on the buttons. “Loseallgirls.”

I don’t look at him as I release an annoyed breath. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“I don’t like seeing any of their claws on you.”

“Jealous or something?”

“Territorial.” He wraps his arms around me from behind, sliding his large hands up and down my chest, then tightens his arms around me in a possessive grip. “They’re sullying my beautiful toy with their rancid breaths and cheap presence.”

Give it to this fucker to call someone beautiful and a toy in the same sentence. Why the hell am I evenbotheredby that?

Still refusing to look at him, I grunt, “Why would I listen to you?”

“If you don’t, I’ll fuck you in front of them, so they know who owns you.”

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