Page 38 of Midnight Sanctuary

“You need to eat.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

She’s left her hair loose. It tumbles down her shoulders in messy ways that are begging to be yanked up in my fist so I can expose the curve of her neck and pass my tongue over every inch of her.

She sighs. “I can smell your coffee from here.”

“Is it making you nauseous?” I drawl. “Because if that’s the case, the door’s right there.”

The asshole in me is in fine form today. Mostly because I masturbated to her twice last night and totaled about four hours of choppy sleep in between five cups of the strongest black coffee known to man.

“It doesn’t have to be this hard, you know,” she says softly.

I have to suppress a snort. We’re not playing Freudian mind games in this house. Not as long as I’m still in charge.

Well,I’mnot playing them.

Alyssa, it seems, wants to continue. “If you’re not gonna sleep, you can at least eat something substantial.”

She goes back to the fridge and bends low at the waist to grab something from the bottom drawer. Despite the fact that I’ve rubbed two out in the last twelve hours, I’m rock hard in five seconds flat.

She starts putting together a plate for me. To a neutral observer, it’d seem that she’s oblivious to how she’s practically naked in my kitchen. Ha—oblivious, my ass.

The woman knows exactly what she’s doing.

Mischa, one of the members of the gardening crew, walks past the French doors and does a double take when he sees Alyssa. He’s so engrossed in ogling her that he doesn’t even notice me sitting here.

If Alyssa notices her admirer, she pretends not to. She simply goes about the kitchen, putting together a plate I never asked for, pleading for attention in those invisible scraps she calls a bathing suit.

So much for the shy kitten I once thought she was.

I hold out for as long as I can, but the moment Miguel licks his lips, I snap. I jerk to my feet and that gets his attention. He goes beet red and then he pales just as fast. He trips twice in his hurry to get the fuck away from the window and away from the consequences of ogling my woman.

Mywoman?

Fuck.

I might be losing this morning’s battle.

“Here,” Alyssa says at last, pushing a plate of breakfast breads towards me. “Eat. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

I grab her arm and twist her towards me. “What will make me feel better is if you go and put on some actual fucking clothes. Do you really think I’m going to let my woman traipse around the house dressed like a whore?”

She flinches, leaning away from me as far as I’ll allow. “Except that I’m not your woman. You’ve made that pretty damn clear.”

I lean in so that she can’t escape my scowl. “You’re whatever I say you are.” Then I push her back so that her spine hits the kitchen island. She can probably feel the cold marble through that threadbare slip she’s wearing. It really doesn’t serve any purpose.

Apart from making me hard, that is.

“I’m onto you,narushitel. This siren act you’ve got going on is not—” I slip my hand down into her bikini bottoms and she gasps, pulsing hard against my hand. “—going to work.”

She bites her bottom lip, her starved eyes staring up at me as though she’s desperate for relief. Andfuck, do I know the feeling. She’s wet when I slip my finger inside her and start playing with her clit. She never takes her eyes off me as the moans start to drip off her tongue.

“You like that, don’t you?” Her eyes seem to quiver. “Answer me.” She pulls in a sharp breath and nods meekly. I shake my head. “Not good enough. I need to hear you.”

“I… I like that.”

“Been dreaming of my cock now, have you?”

---