Page 68 of The Darkest King

“Condom,” she said, and I cursed.

Fuck. How could I have forgotten?

Once sheathed, I slid the head of my cock inside her and lifted my eyes to hers again. When she blinked, I stilled.

“Tell me you want this,” I growled, realizing there was no way I could do this without her permission.

“I want my freedom, so yes,” Mia replied, after a really fucking long second.

Fury stormed through me. I leaned down and gripped her jaw. “Then tell me you want me to stop.”

She winced, her body tugging my cock inside her, and I smirked.

“Didn’t think so,” I replied and thrust deeper inside her.

Mia arched, gripping my arms, and her nails dug into me with all the passion and desire she was trying to hide. One arm on the sheets beside her, the other on her hips, I slammed in deep, pulling back and then again. Anger and desire weaved its way between us as we fucked each other for our own reasons.

She wanted freedom.

I wanted revenge.

I realized then there was no way this was going to end well.

Afterward, Mia closed the door in the master bathroom, and when she came out, I did the same. I tossed the used condom in the trash, cleaned up, and then leaned my palms on the marble and stared at myself in the mirror.

I am a hard man; I know that.

Seeing your parents murdered in cold blood would do that to a man. But Mia’s touch, those eyes, the softness of her skin, is doing something to me.

Perhaps it is a natural need to protect someone innocent, but the thought of her being handed to a gangster who will fuck her rough and abuse her makes me want to kill.

Nobody touches Mia. She is mine.

The hell? She doesn’t belong to you.

Stay on task.

When I returned to bed, Mia was rolled in a ball, unlikely to be asleep but clearly wanting space. I lasted about twenty minutes, lying prone and staring at the ceiling, until I pulled her into my arms, and within minutes, I was asleep.

I stayed asleep.

No nightmares. I don’t have them every night, but I’m pleased she won’t wake and question me about it so soon.

It will come, I have no doubt.

Now she’s breathing softly, her hair tickling my chin and hand tucked around my bicep, which is flexed because my arm is propping my pillow up. She’s like a damn jigsaw piece fitting against me at every angle.

I watch the sun rise behind the buildings, creating an orange haze in my bedroom, and as I glance around, I wonder what Mia sees.

It’s huge, with a giant bed covered in black silk sheets. There’s also black cabinets and a chaste lounge in the corner of the room. Black, of course. But there is a cream cushion.

She probably likes that.

And the matching soft cream rug, which lies in the middle of the room over the polished wooden floors.

Everything is hard and masculine. Like me.

Even the artwork hanging on the far wall.

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