Because King was alive.
And I was married.
“Got fucking married,” King finished for me. His nostrils flared. He turned around with clenched fists like he was looking for something to punch. He placed his hands on his head in frustration. “I watched the entire fucking car crash out there. I know everything.”
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed.
King snarled. “You seem to have forgotten who the fuck I am, Pup. So I’m going to remind you.” He pressed his hips against mine. “I’m the man who took you against your will and handcuffed you to my fucking bed. I’m the man who wanted you, so I fucking kept you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you really think you have a choice when it comes to being mine?”
King lifted me onto the dresser and pushed himself between my legs, forcing my legs apart. He held my wrists behind my back forcing my shoulders backwards and pushing my chest into his. My dress rode up to the tops of my thighs. King pushed a strand of hair behind my ears and leaned in to me, his lips just a breath away from mine. The room was getting hot. I couldn’t breathe. I needed…I don’t know what I needed. “No more questions.”
I opened my mouth to argue. “Stop fucking talking,” he snapped.
King lifted me off the dresser and carried me and set me down in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door. He stood behind me. A head taller than me and outweighing me by a hundred pounds, our differences had never been more obvious. His dark jeans and dark tank top were a stark contrast to my little white eyelet sundress. My pale skin next to his tanned. My white hair to his black. It was a sight that made my knees weak. Because although the reflection in the mirror made our differences obvious, it also made me see how well the two fit together.
“You see this?” King said, his arms wrapped around my waist, speaking to my reflection. “You see how this fucking works? How we fit?” He pushed my cardigan off my shoulders and it fell to the floor. He spun me around and grabbed a hand mirror off the desk and held it in front of me, the same way he did when he was showing a client their new tattoo.
“Do you see this? What does this shit fucking say?” he asked. Pointing to the tattoo he’d given me. The one I just put on full display to spite my father and Tanner.
“It says, I don’t want to repeat my innocence, I want the pleasure of losing it all over again. It’s an F. Scott Fitzgerald quote,” I answered.
“No.” He pushed on my head, shifting my perspective to a slightly sideways view. “Tell me again. Look in the crown, in the vines. What the fuck does that shit say?”
“King,” I whispered. “It says…King.”
King
“You are mine. You always have been,” I said unapologetically.
Pup looked in the mirror with wide eyes, still staring at the tattoo bearing my name. “You tattooed your name on me,” she said in disbelief.
My gaze met hers in the mirror. “Marked you the first fucking chance I got. My only regret is not making it bigger, because maybe then that kid would’ve known better than to put his fucking lips on you.”
“It’s not his fault,” she said, glaring daggers at me.
It pissed me off that she was defending the little fuck. He could call himself her husband all he wanted ’cause I found out all I needed to know when her breath quickened at my nearness, when she darted her tongue out and wet her lips in anticipation, the way her nipples hardened against the fabric of the little sexy as fuck conservative dress she was wearing. It wasn’t just physical though, because the air around us crackled with our almost palpable connection. I could practically taste it on my tongue.
I wanted to taste her on my tongue. I wanted to put my face between her thighs and feel her squirm under my mouth while she scraped the top of my head with her fingernails until she came.
I was so fucking hard, it took every bit of self-control I had not to bend her over the dresser, flip that dress over her ass, and fuck some sense into my girl.
I ran my hand over her mouth and her lips parted. Those beautiful pink lips of hers would’ve made my cock instantly hard if it wasn’t already an iron rod straining against my jeans. “I already wanted to slit the senator’s throat for the stunt he pulled with Max, but when I saw him standing up there, wearing his better-than-everyone-suit, and his member-of-the-club ridiculous gold watch, and heard him telling people you’d got fucking married, to someone who isn’t me, I wanted to unload my gun into his skull then reload it for the kid.”