Page 60 of Vicious Hearts

“What are you doing?”

He says nothing, still gripping my arm viciously hard with one hand while the other twists the knobs and tests the temperature with his elbow. He pushes a button on the side of the tub, and instantly, it starts to fill with soapy bubbles.

My pulse quickness.

“What is this?” I snap.

“A fucking bathtub. Get in.”

My core tightens.

“What?”

“It’s bath time, Una,” he grunts, turning to let those green eyes of his lance into me. “Now get the fuck in.”

My head shakes. “No.”

“I think you’re imagining the question mark at the end of my last sentence.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you.”

I blush the second I say it, as his lips curl deviously and his eyebrows fly up.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

I simmer. “That…that was different.”

“And why is that?” he says, eyes narrowing. “Because you were trying to kill me at the time?”

I swallow as he turns to face me fully, towering over me with a vicious, thin smile on his chiseled jaw.

“Ididnotice that didn’t stop you from coming all over my cock, by the way.”

Explosive, vindictive, sinful heat explodes through me as he leans down close to me and cups my jaw firmly in his hand, lifting my chin as his eyes eviscerate me.

“Now,” he reaches behind him, twisting the water off. “Get thefuckin.”

The bathroom goes silent but for the slight drip-drip-drip of the faucet into the sudsy water. I purse my lips, defiantly staring right back up into his eyes.

“How about instead, you go fuck yours—HEY!”

He explodes into action so fast it’s almost supernatural. He grabs me, lifting me like I weigh absolutely nothing before turning…

…and unceremoniously dunking me into the tub, clothes and all.

I sputter and cough, trying to claw my way out. But his grip is unmerciful, his powerful arms pure corded iron as he shoves me right back down into the bubbles.

For a half a second, terror fills me, wondering ifthisis actually his revenge. If this is how he kills me, by drowning me in his tub. But just as that though crosses my mind, his grip on the front of my dress tightens, yanking me back up out of the water.

I cough and sputter and hurl obscenities at him. But not a one of them fazes him. He doesn’t even blink, even when he drops his hand from my dress to stand back, smirking at me sitting there in his tub like a shipwreck survivor.

“This would probably be easier if you took off your clothes.”

“Get fucked.”

He shrugs and suddenly pulls a butterfly knife out of his pocket and flicks it open.

“WAIT! PLEASE!”

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