“YOU TOLD ME you did make-up tutorials and shit,” I hiss.
“I like to broaden my horizons,” Felicity replies. “I’ll try anything once.”
This is bullshit.
What kind of girl humiliates a man who saved her life only three days ago? If this is payback because of what happened between us…
“Your fans love it,” she goes on, baiting me. “There are loads of comments expressing how much they love you. Love ‘The Tempest’. Is it really all that bad?”
I look at her, all peaches and cream. She is playing innocence. She is anything but innocent. My mind is telling me not to take the bait; other body parts are screaming something else.
“That’s not an angle you wanna see yourself doing. Nobody should see that. I don’t even wanna see me do that. And I definitely don’t want five million people watching me do that.”
“It’s amazing ... You wouldn’t think a man the size of a mountain could be that … flexible ... It’s impressive. You’re a real inspiration to the big guys.”
The smirk on her face is enough for me to blow my fuse, but I don’t short circuit. It’s what she wants. It’s why she did this.
Instead … I’ve got a better way to handle her.
“I’ve got no problem with nudity, Felicity.” My voice is like a serpent’s just before it strikes.
If she thinks she can humiliate me with her little stint, uploading an embarrassing video of me online — she’s got another thing coming. And I’m definitely coming hard for her.
I unbutton my jeans, and throwing it down to the floor I leave myself bare, giving her the full gun show. I don’t blink. I know I'm in better shape than I’ve ever been — arms that could bend damn steel with. And by the way she’s staring at me, I know I’ll walk out of her door as King.
I wrap my large hands around her tight tiny body. The same hands that are only used to fight — trained to hit flesh and bone. It’s been a long time, way too long, since they’ve wrapped around something soft, something meaningful, something good and sweet.
“This. Is. Me,” I tell her. “You can't take me down, Felicity. Because if anyone is doing the taking…” I pull her closer. “…it will be me.”
I can’t ignore the fact that she’s straight-up sexy-as-hell in all that red lace goodness, and I start to second-guess why I’m pussy-footing around this.
I’m like a shooting bullet from a gun. Fast. Powerful. Deadly. She’ll get her shot. But right now, I want her to know just who is bigger, who is stronger.
“Now, is there anything you want to say to me?”
The room is pin-drop silent. I’ve always preferred silence, it’s easier that way to block out the dark in my head, detach from the world. But the sound of her incomprehensible response to the slightest touch of my body drowns out everything else. The sound of her submission is the only thing I want to hear. I could easily give up my life for it; spend every waking hour making her cum, just so I could hear those sounds for eternity.
“I…” she says weakly, finally speaking up. It’s a blunt contrast from her usual smartarse mouth. “I—”
She gasps suddenly, covering her mouth in shock, then snaps around to face the computer behind her. I hear the mouse click. I hear her swear.
Well, that’s a little strange… What the hell’s going on?
I watch her turn back around. Slowly. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Grabbing my jeans, I put them on. I leave my chest exposed, riding high. “Now you know who’s in control, so don’t think you can humiliate me and get away—” I start to say, but she damn well cuts me off.
“I was live-streaming.”
What the hell’s she going on about?
I grunt, meet her eyes defiantly. “What do you mean ‘live-streaming’?”
“I mean … this whole love affair … was recorded live.” She hauls her thumb in the direction of a camera. “I was doing a live-streaming event when you broke through my door ... and … I thought it would be … entertaining …. to record us...”
What.
The.
Hell?
I pause, let the words sink in. “Is this some sick joke?” She shakes her head, and looks ready to provide some sympathy, some remorse, like a normal goddamn person. But then she laughs, like it’s the most hilarious thing to her. Like I am…
“Fresh meat to the slaughter?”
“Isn’t it always… between us? she replies, almost sinfully.
I feel my blood start to simmer with…
Bitterness. I hate that feeling of bitterness that wormed its way into my heart and festered away like so many maggots, consuming the dead flesh, leaving the tiny bit of good raw and painful. I tried to fight it, but nothing ever worked.
One girl and … boom.
Trying to take Felicity down is like being in the ring, except she makes me more breathless. It was an unfair match from the start. Boxing is the sport of kings or something. But this — her — is the damn opposite. She is the sport for the poor and the desperate, men willing to break their minds, hearts and souls. And she just stands there, laughing, raising the anticipation levels, probably hoping for a longer fight and baying for more blood — my blood.
Looking at her, I feel my heart pound harder against my ribcage, but it isn’t anger fuelling it. I didn’t think I’d care about anything ever again. Stuff people care about, like babies and kittens and rainbows and shit. But all that shit could make me smile — genuinely smile knowing she’s in the universe.
Twenty-nine’s not that old, but joining the Army at sixteen, spending my teenage years learning to blow shit up … and after what happened … all those years ago … after what I … the reasons I’ve been living a bitter, twisted life … it’s made me feel older than my actual years. But since meeting her, I feel young, dumb and full of … yeah … I feel alive.
I’m known to rip heads off for the slightest error, so what I do next surprises the hell out of me. My eyes meet the warm brown eyes of the girl who is my Achilles’ heel.
Felicity Saint James.
Ah, hell.
I’m all hers.