Page 17 of Hostile King

“You’re coming inside with me.” My fingertips dig into her flushed cheeks to make my instruction more pressing. “Take a shower and give me the fucking shirt, so I can burn it.”

I can’t quite fathom how her fiery eyes galvanize me. The crown of amber circling bottomless pupils fluctuates its molten appearance like nothing I’ve ever seen before. She makes a noise in her throat that competes with the scorching blood whooshing through my veins. It’s a whimper of need, a grunt of disgust, or a groan so confusing that we both freeze in its wake.

My eyes snap closed to block out the heat of her stare. In that beat of a reprieve, she catches me off guard, shunts my chest with her body weight, and shoves me backwards. My fingers tangle in her tousled hair, the strands tugging between us like blood vessels joining her heart to mine.

She huffs with anger. “You’re an asshole. I will never obey you again after this.” Her lower lip wobbles ever so slightly until she sucks it into her pretty little mouth and pushes back her shoulders.

Both of us inhale hard, my self-discipline tested beyond the realms of sanity. Before I can retaliate with words or actions, she darts towards André who’s leaning against a black, safari jeep. Jealousy stabs me in the gut, slicing my finely tuned instincts with worry.

Lifting to her tiptoes, she silently steals the ashy tipped cigarette from his lips, and bites the butt between her teeth, but doesn't inhale the smoke.

André’s brows drift up to the night sky. Somehow, he stays silent for the first time in his life. Instead, he side-eyes me with an uncertain smirk plastered over his cocky face.

Her quick return to the waiting cash makes my locked jaw twitch with temper.

“What the hell are you doing?” I growl, low and foreboding, hating how utterly sexy and rebellious she looks with a cigarette and only an unclean shirt hiding her nipples and perfect pussy. She’s a goddess of war, primed for revolt.

Ignoring me, she drops to her haunches, grabs the bag, turns it upside down, and shakes two million dollars out onto the tarmac. I flinch, unsure of what the hell she’s doing, until she holds up a brick of the paper notes. She pinches the cigarette between her fingers and waves the wad of dollar bills in my direction.

“I don’t want your dirty money.” She pings the rubber band holding the bills together and drags it free to loosen the bundle. “I agreed to your terms, because I was fascinated by you. I secretly craved the man who held me hostage with threats and promises.”

For a split second, I don’t see the fluttering paper hit the breeze like ticker tape. But then my heart explodes when she rushes to the left side of the helicopter and yanks the fuel pump out of Spitfire's hands. Tugging the black hose, she squeezes the nozzle to release a downpour of aviation kerosene all over the duffle bags and the tumbling mound of dollars.

Without a second to reflect on the consequences or consider how I’d react; she pings the lit cigarette and jumps back to watch the satisfying eruption.

An inferno of fire and smoke rises between us like the eternal flames of loneliness. It forms a deadly barrier to split our paths in two. A holocaust to burn my initial plan to ashes.

She belongs with me.

But I’m a curse.

Through the flickering blaze, I pocket my hands and watch her slowly unfasten each button, crumple the shirt up and toss it into the fray.

Completely naked and brazen, she flips me the bird. “Fuck you, Tomás Souza.”

Her hair dances in the light wind and her eyes dance with flickering flames. My throbbing dick turns to stone and my icy veins run hotter than the millions burning in a costly pyre.

I couldn’t give a fuck if she blew up the whole damn fleet of helicopters, because her insurgent outburst is what makes her devastatingly unique.

Her chaos is my sanctuary.

Her anarchy is my happiness.

Her touch is the cure to my affliction.

Her body is my deepest fantasy.

Her tortured soul echoes my own.

It’s allher.

“I can burn the shirt without your help,” she continues to back up, almost reaching the passenger door. “And I’ll decide whether I want to shower or not.” With her bare ass hitting the chopper, she glances over her shoulder at the dumbstruck pilot.

Sable strands whip across her face and settle in place over her blemished breasts. The sheer sight of her tempting bare flesh alone causes mayhem within me, never mind the branding left by a mad king.

I struggle to contain my unnatural craving for her, to stop the cracks forming in my superiority. Until she yanks open the door, whirls to face me in all her naked glory, and nails me to the spot with a gaze so full of emotion it stabs my rapidly beating heart with a thousand darts.

“I never wanted your money, Tomás. All I wanted was you.”

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