Page 49 of The Broken Queen
Her eyes trailed over my bare chest, and the same old ink that hadn’t changed since she last ran her fingernails over each one of them. I couldn’t bring myself to add anything that might not ever be exposed to her touch.
“Gio didn’t build me this house,” Presley said matter-of-factly, drawing an invisible line in the butter dish.
My head was already nodding. “He did?—”
She shocked me by stepping around the counter and getting directly in front of me. Her head tilted back once more, those electric blue eyes on fire as she stared up at me. “Stop lying to me.”
“I’m no?—”
She raised her hand faster than I could process and slapped me across the face. My head jerked to the side as my eyes stung with tears merely from being hit so hard.
“Stop it.” Her voice was a whisper, an anguished prayer.
I felt empowered to see how far she’d go to get me to stop. “Gio planned out every detail, hired the contractors, and gutted the whole place by himself.”
Another slap landed against my cheek, but I had started walking toward her, making her back up.
“He didn’t focus on anything else for months, Presley. Almost an entire year, he toiled in this fucking house. All so you would have a place to finally belong. Because he knew better than anyone that you’ve never felt like you really fit anywhere.”
“There was one place I fit,” she whispered on a sob while her ass hit the kitchen table.
I stared down at her. “Where?”
“Between you and Gio, you idiot. You two have been my roots, my wings, my entire origin story. Even when you leave, even whenyou’re not even really here when you return. My soul is still tied to yours, which is why this game you’re playing is so fucking stupid.”
“I’m not playing a—” She lifted her hand to slap me again, but I gripped her wrist and then automatically went for the other when she lifted that one. Bringing her wrists together, I held them above her head as I leaned forward, covering her body with my own.
My mouth trailed over the column of her throat, hovering the smallest amount.
“Why do you keep hitting me?”
She fought against my hold, but I kept her in place, with her hands pinned above her head.
“You told me if I touched you, you’d touch me back.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from me or the way my cock swelled in my boxers.
“You’re such a fucking brat, Presley,” I whispered against her ear, right before biting down on the lobe.
She lifted her hips the smallest bit. “And you’re such a fucking prick, and yet you’re hard.”
Even hearing her say that had my dick twitch and a groan slipping from my mouth.
“What is it you want from me?” I asked, almost desperate for her to just spell it the fuck out. I knew she was still angry with me for what I did to her last year. I knew she carried so much hurt that she might not ever get over what I did to her.
Shifting her head so her lips were near the side of my face, she whispered in reply, “I want you to stop calling me Presley. I want you to call me your queen again. I want you to stop pretending that you’re not going to be a part of my future. I want you to handle me the way you’ve always handled me.”
“And how’s that?” I inched closer, allowing my erection to press against her thigh.
So fucking tempting.
She wet her lips and then went lax in my arms. “Like I’m yours.Broken, whole, hurting, happy. Whatever I’ve ever felt, you always made room for it.”
“And what do you feel right now?” I was even closer, and I knew she could feel my thickness against her thigh because she let out a small gasp.
Her lips lifted again, and this time I pulled her closer to the edge so she could grind against my cock through my boxers.
“I feel desperate. I need you to touch me. I need you to help me navigate this new hole in my chest that Adrian left behind.”
