Page 88 of Royal Bargain
“You just meant it more than you wanted to admit.”
She’s breathing hard, shoulders trembling, and I take a step forward, sick with guilt. “Ana, I?—”
“Don’t.”
Her eyes blaze as she shoves me, hands flat against my chest. “You’re being an asshole, Liam.”
I react before I think.My hands catch her wrists, twist gently, pinning them above her head as I press her back—firm but careful—against the wall.
The air sparks between us. Our faces are inches apart.
Her breath catches.
My voice drops, rough. “I know.”
There’s something wild in my eyes—apology, need, anger—all knotted together.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, right before I kiss her.
Hard. Desperate. A crash of everything we’re too stubborn to say.
She gasps into my mouth, but she doesn’t pull away. She presses in, fiery and unrelenting.
Her whole body trembles. She kisses like she’s trying to erase the fight, to burn it out of us both.
To win.
Her wrists tense under my grip, but she doesn’t try to break free—not really.
She kisses me like she’s furious. Like it’s punishment.
I let go of her hands just long enough to drag her against me, one arm around her waist, the other in her hair. I walk her back blindly until her hips hit the kitchen counter.
She shoves me again—but this time, it’s not to push me away.
It’s to pull me closer.
Her fingers yank at my shirt, nails scraping skin. I growl into her mouth and lift her onto the counter.
She kicks me in the thigh—more playful than angry—then slides down, pulling me with her.
We hit the floor in a tangle of limbs and breath. My hand slips under her shirt, fingers splaying across her waist as her mouth trails down my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.
I don’t remember how her dress comes off. Or how I end up flat on my back, her knees bracketing my hips.
Her eyes are dark. Dangerous.
She grinds down onto my hard cock with a sharp inhale, and my control shatters.
“Still thinkI’m too naive to see what’s right in front of me?” she hisses.
I groan, bucking beneath her. “God, no.”
“Good.” She leans down, kissing me again—deeper this time, slower, but no less intense. “Then shut up and show me how sorry you are.”
So I do, right there on the cold tile floor, with the taste of anger and need burning between us, I worship her like a man starved—like she’s the only thing anchoring me to this world.
Our bodies twine together, passion, need, and desire all fanning the flames around us as we burn and perish, her wet cunt making lewd noises as I slam into it over and over again.
