Page 80 of The Prodigal

The muscles along his cheek twitch as his hands clutch the armrests of his chair in a tight grip.

“What did you tell me before?” I ask, holding his eyes as I let the drawing tumble down his chest. “Don’t believe pretty lies?” My fingers toy with the edge of my tank top, watching as he fights every need in his body to touch me. “What was it again?”

I grin as he swallows thickly. “Wait, I remember.”

Without hesitation, I rip off my top and toss it to the floor. “Pretty lies can be as ruthless as the truth.”

I don’t give him the opportunity to deny the words as I push down my sleep shorts and panties and kick them out of the way. “I warned you that your answer would determine your fate.”

I take the drawing, and his eyes flash to it briefly before coming back to me. “Did you draw this for me?”

He doesn’t blink. “No.”

I love his games, just about as much as I love his denial. “Such a shame.” I tsk. “I thought you didn’t care what anyone thought of you.”

“I don’t.”

I let the drawing slip from my fingers and flutter to the floor. His eyes follow it the whole way. “I think you do.” Pushing closer, I stroke the scruff on his face. “I think you care a whole lot about whatIthink of you.”

He scoffs, and it’s weak, nowhere near as sarcastic as it usually is. “Then prove it,” I dare. “Tell me the ruthless truth—be brave, 101, and risk your fate.”

I’ve spoken his language. I’ve issued him a challenge that he can’t refuse. “Villains don’t care who they hurt with the truth. Are you a villain, Remington? Or are you a hero?”

Like a viper, he strikes, snatching the cigarette from between my lips and tossing it behind him. “You want to know the truth,” he grits out between clenched teeth, his eyes fighting to stay on mine. “You want me to tell you the truth?”

My chest rises as a flush spreads across my skin. “Yes.”

A growl rumbles through his chest right before his arms circle my waist and pull me onto his lap. “Fine. I drew your fucking angel,” he spits out, his words full of venom as I ease lower over his hips. His cock jumps under his boxers, and I smile.

“Why?”

There isn’t much room for my legs to straddle Remington comfortably or decently.

But Eden would be decent.

Not Eve.

Eve is brave.

Eve is made for this one man.

I ease my legs over the armrest, spread completely open for my dark king.

Remington’s eyes flash to my center, aching for his touch, dripping for his cock.

“Are you going to answer me, 101?”

His eyes never leave my pussy, his hands flinching along my back as he holds me on his throne. “Do you want me to tell you what I think?”

The muscles in his neck are coiled tight. “No.”

“Too bad,” I whisper, leaning into his tense neck and placing a gentle kiss just below his jaw. “I think you hate that you can’t treat me like everyone else. That you can’t say mean things to me, without making it right with thoughtful gestures, like a drawing or suitcase.”

This time, I kiss his jaw. “You are a man of action, Remington. Pretty lies are merely your favorite kind of foreplay.”

His hand spasms against my back, but he holds still, continuing to deny what’s between us.

“So, I’ll tell you prettylies—I’ll play your game.”

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