Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

“If you alert her that I’m here in your bedroom, she’ll be angrier at you than me,” he tells me with confidence, gesturing with his chin toward the door. I know he’s right. Gran’s already warned me against this asshole. If she walks in here now, I’ll be grounded, even though I’m almost nineteen. She would probably lock me in the house to keep me out of trouble.

“What do you want? Didn’t you toy with me enough earlier?” I bite out, crossing my arms in front of my chest to cover up the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. But it’s useless because those honey-colored eyes lock on my hardened nipples. His lips curl into a dark, sinister smirk.

“Well, I’ll happily oblige you and your pretty breasts,” Ares says, rising like a predator, slow and meticulous. He quickly closes the distance between us with a few long strides, and the moment my back hits the wall beside my desk, I’m caged in.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I bite out, placing my palms against his chest—which I realize the moment I make contact with his body—was a mistake. Electricity shoots through me, turning my body molten. Why the hell do I have such an innate response to him?

“I thought you were already convinced I was,” he says, tipping his head to the side as he regards me. A flash of amusement passes across his handsome features, and I have to focus on what happened earlier to stop myself from leaning into him.

His sharp, angular jaw with a light dusting of stubble makes my fingers tingle to touch him. His chiseled cheekbones give way to full lips and a sharp nose. His eyes are almost luminous in the dim light of my room with the green flecks turning dark and foreboding.

He’s so close I have to tip my head back to look at him. Lean muscles, broad shoulders, and tapered hips are the only evidence that he’s clearly defined with dips and peaks of toned muscle under the tight shirt he’s wearing.

Shaking out of my stupor, I retort, “I am. I was giving you a chance to be nice to me. To explain why you hate me.” My voice cracks on the last few words, which causes me to cringe, because I don’t want him to know his dislike for me means more than it should.

“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone, especially the likes of you.” The sneer that turns his face into a cruel mask makes my chest ache as his words hit me deep. He leans into me, his body looming over mine. Both his palms are flat against the wall on either side of my head, and his mouth is inches from mine. I can’t stop my gaze from tracking the curl of his lips or from realizing how full the bottom one is compared to the top.

Lifting my stare to meet his, I note how the green flecks that are almost invisible with how dark they are, turning the hazel a deep caramel as he watches me through his thick lashes.

“Then it’s best you leave,” I manage to croak out. My throat feels thick, while my heart beats a harsh rhythm against my ribs. His cologne envelops me, and I’m almost intoxicated by the fragrance. My hands are still on his chest, the heat searing me as if he’s trying to either burn me off him or melt me into him.

“What if I don’t want to leave?” His question stills me for a second, causing me to frown. The glint in his gaze lights a fire in my gut, the flames lick my insides, turning them molten with equal amounts of fear and desire. “I enjoy seeing your eyes fill with fear and trepidation.”

“I’m not scared of you,” I bite out, pushing against him harder this time, and he allows me room to breathe. “I’ve grown up with danger surrounding me — you’re nothing compared to what I have been through.”

“Oh?” Ares seems intrigued by this. “And what sort of danger have you been in, little flower?” he questions, arching a dark brow at me. He folds his arms in front of his chest, and his gaze narrows, focusing on me like a predator to his prey. And every part of my body, from the tips of my toes to the roots of my long dark hair, feels his stare.

“I’ve lived with the threat of losing not only my mother but my father and myself to criminals. My father has put away a lot of bad men, and I was always a target when they learned who my dad was,” I retort, unsure of why I’m explaining myself to him. He doesn’t deserve it, but I don’t like the fact that he thinks he can scare me.