Reign of a King (Kingdom Duet 1)

“Now, eat,” he orders, his ferocious gaze never leaving my face.

There’s something about the way Jonathan speaks that gets to me. All the way to my bones. His voice is that of a ruler, a warlord, or anyone who’s out for destruction.

But at the same time, his authoritative tone causes my thighs to clench. The strength in it creeps under my skin and grips me by the throat.

Not making eye contact, I motion at the plate. When I speak, my voice is still in that foreign breathy range. “I don’t have my utensils.”

“Use mine.”

“But —”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I do not like it and neither would you.” The rumble of his voice so close to my ear tempts me to close my eyes so that I can get lost in it for a moment.

Instead, I grab the fork, thankful my hand doesn’t shake as I twirl spaghetti around it and take a bite. Although I’m chewing, I barely taste anything.

It’s impossible to.

All my senses are homed in on the warmth radiating off Jonathan’s chest at my back and his thighs underneath my arse. The burn from last night revives, pulsing with the need for…what? More? What the hell is wrong with me?

“Eat,” he enunciates. “And don’t stop.”

I take another forkful, trying to ignore him by focusing on the food.

Jonathan’s fingers latch on the buttons of my blouse and he undoes them until he reveals the skin below my bra. He runs his long fingers across my pale skin with cruel gentleness.

“Lace today,” he muses. “No ugly purple this time?”

“What are you doing?” I hate the neediness and the confusion in my tone.

“Keep eating.”

“I-I’m already eating.”

“You’re not doing it enough.”

“How about you? Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Who said I’m not? I’m having you for dinner.”

The chilling tone sends zaps of a foreign sensation down my back. Before I can focus on that, Jonathan wraps his hand around my throat, his long index finger pressing on the hollow skin. It’s not hard, but it’s firm enough to confiscate my attention.

My pulse skyrockets under his touch and

something utterly strange happens as he glides his thumb on my pulse point, threatening to choke me, but not exactly going that far.

My underwear.

It feels slick.

Holy. Shit.

He didn’t even inflict pain, right? And yet here I am, already delirious with a pleasure I can’t wrap my mind around.

“Every time you make me repeat myself, you’ll be punished. Every time you show attitude, you’ll also be punished. I have no tolerance for disobedience.” His free hand reaches to my bra and yanks it down, exposing my breasts. He pinches my already taut nipple. “But I already told you that, didn’t I?”

I gasp, nearly dropping my fork.

As if my reaction falls on deaf ears, he runs his finger over the assaulted nipple before twisting it again.