The Broken Puppet (The Elite King's Club 2)

He grunts. “Yeah, but I bet you could draw something better.”

That makes me smile. “I could.”

My eyes drop heavily, and I can slowly feel myself slipping into sleep.

“Will you draw one for me one day?” he asks in a tired voice. The sexiest sleepy voice I’ve ever heard. I sound like a man when I’m tired, so I clear my throat.

“Yes.”

He squeezes me into him softly, and just like that, I slip into a deep sleep.

Cool air drifts over my legs, goose bumps breaking out over my skin. I reach over blindly to grab the blanket when Bishop tosses and turns. “No!” he yells. I shoot up and look at him. Sweat is dripping over his skin, his arm thrown over his eyes. He starts punching his head. “No! Leave him alone. Leave her alone!”

“Bishop!” I grab onto his arm, wanting to stop his assault on himself. “Bishop? Shhhh….” Lava builds in my throat as tears threaten to surface. What’s he dreaming about?

“Bishop?”

“No! Leave him alone, leave him alone, leave her alone…!”

Rolling over, I straddle his waist, clearing the sweat from his chest. “Hey,” I whisper, leaning into his ear. “It’s me.”

His jaw clenches before he finally opens his eyes and looks straight at me.

“Hey,” I repeat, running my fingers down his cheeks and swiping away the sweat. “You okay?”

He stares at me, unmoving. It starts to get awkward, so I swing my leg off him but he clenches down on my thigh. I look back at him. “Bi—”

His fist comes to my hair and he wraps it around, pulling my face down to meet his.

“Well,” I mutter under my breath. “Good thing my graze in on my temple.”

I don’t say another word. I go with it. Something has happened, something inside his head, so I’ll do what I can to help. Kissing me, his tongue slips between my lips. I open my mouth wider, giving him more access. Gripping onto my thighs, he flips me onto my back and spreads my legs wide with his, pinning my arms above my head.

His eyes skim over the side of my head. “Are you good to go?” I know what he’s asking. He’s asking if I’m ready to fuck—fuck Bishop style.

“Yes,” I answer truthfully, because I am. Aside from a little headache, nothing else hurts, and if it does, whatever, I’ll pay for it in the morning, and I’m sure it’ll be worth it.

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice unrecognizable.

Looking over his face, his eyes slam closed as he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. “Yes, Bishop,” I repeat softly. “I promise—no limits. I can take it. I can handle it.” I’ll probably regret that,

I reach out to swipe the bead of sweat that’s about to drip off his chin, but he hits my hand away. “Don’t.”

“What?” I murmur.

“Not now.”

He pins my hands above my head, his palms gliding up my thighs until he gets to the waistband of my sweatpants then tugs them off. His fingertips glide over the lining of my underwear before slipping underneath to press inside me.

“Get up.”

“What?” I whisper, confused. He gets to his knees just as “Escalate” by Tsar B starts blasting from Nate’s room. The song has a heavy bass line, and it sounds so clear that it’s as if it’s playing in here.

Bishop pulls down his jeans, getting to his feet at the side of the bed and tossing off his boxer briefs. I stare down at his cock and watch as he slowly pumps it, his eyes locked on mine. Grinning, he nudges his head. “Get up, baby.”

Crawling, I tilt my head. “But why?”

“Because you’re going to do what I say.”

“Bu—”

His hand flies up to my neck, and he instantly squeezes, tugging my head up to look at him. His shoulders are square, his stance stiff, strong, and thick like always. This is Bishop, and always will be Bishop. He’s alpha out there; he has to be because of who he is. But in the bedroom, his alpha tendencies have no bounds. The song must be on repeat because it plays again.

I close my eyes, nodding. “What do you want me to do?”

His grip loosens and he steps backward, grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the chest of drawers, the moonlight sneaking through the cracks of my patio door, outlining him perfectly. His face, his profile, that body, that… dick. He’s perfection wrapped in a case of C4. He puts a cigarette between his lips, flicks his Zippo, and looks at me after lighting it, a grin on his face. Sucking on his cigarette, he tilts his head back to blow out the smoke, his neck straining at the movement. I look down at his hand, still holding his dick, slowly pumping it, and my mouth waters. Holy shit. I’ve never seen something so erotic in my life. Sweat beads on my flesh as my clit throbs between my thighs. I want him.