The Wedding Debt (Underworld Kings)

His father hit him? That asshole!

“I’m sorry,” I reply, approaching him, but he swats my hand away when I try to touch him.

“I don’t want your pity,” he scoffs. “I just want … Fuck!”

He walks off, breaking the spell I was under.

Only now can I breathe, but only for a little while because he’s still strolling around my room, headed straight for my bookcase. He picks up the crown lying next to my books, the same crown my sister and I were playing with all those years ago, and puts it on his head, then turns to look at me.

“A crown fit for a prince who will never be king. Ironic.”

“I don’t understand. You bullied me, said I was ugly,” I say.

His brows twitch, and he stalks back to me, crown wobbling on his head while his clothes continue to drip onto my floor. “Sometimes, I lie.”

“Why?” I say, as he backs me into the wall again.

“To make it easier for you to hate me.”

“But I don’t …” I say, almost swallowing the words. “Hate you.”

His nostrils flare as he looks up and down between my eyes and my lips, almost like he’s contemplating whether to kiss me again.

“You should,” he says. “I’m not fucking good for you.”

Suddenly, he pulls out that knife again, and my heart rate shoots up to what feels like a million beats per minute. He points the blade at my chest.

“All I do is hurt people. It’s what I’ve been taught. But sometimes, I play with them for fun,” he says. “Do you even know how much blood this blade has seen?”

I shake my head.

“Does it scare you?”

Sweat drops roll across my forehead. “You won’t hurt me.”

He cocks his head, a vicious smirk forming on his face. “No … but something inside me makes me want to do this.”

His hand slams into the wall beside my face, still holding the knife. I jolt up and down from the shock, only to freeze the second his other hand slides between my thighs and parts them.

“I want what I can’t fucking have,” he says, inching up underneath my towel.

Until he hits that spot.

“And it makes me want to kill to have it,” he murmurs, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my skin.

His fingers start to move up and down my pussy, sliding along my clit and opening like he intends to spread my wetness all over. Because one thing is certain … I am as wet as a goddamn pool. And I don’t understand why.

I’m not supposed to like a dangerous guy like him. I’m not supposed to like any of this.

Yet … I can’t help but let the moan fall out as my lips part, and my eyes almost roll into the back of my head the second he presses his thumb onto my clit.

“You’re so wet for me, Jill,” he whispers. “Have you ever been this wet for anyone?”

I shake my head, delirious with need as he keeps circling my most sensitive bits like he knows exactly what he’s doing and where he needs to go to make me beg for more.

“Did you ever dream about me the way I dreamed about you?” he murmurs into my ear. “Did you ever come just thinking about me?” His dark eyes slide over to mine, looking straight at me while he toys with my pussy. “Like I’ve done so many times when thinking about you?”

The shock makes me gasp, but no sound escapes as he covers my mouth with his.

And I can’t even fucking move as he claims my mouth and my pussy like they’ve always belonged to him.

When his lips unlatch from mine, I feel bereft. “I think your pussy is telling me all I need to know.”

He shoves a finger inside, making my mouth form an o-shape.

My legs wobble, but when I try to move, he holds the knife out in front of my throat.

“Don’t move,” he says. “And don’t make a sound. Don’t want to alert your parents.”

I swallow away my anxiety as he toys with me while wearing a vicious, gleeful smile on his face.

“So tight … so perfect,” he murmurs, thrusting in and out until I’m moaning and bucking my hips against his fingers. “So desperate for me.”

“Don’t,” I murmur.

“Say it like you mean it,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel him smile against my skin. “You can’t, can you?”

No. I can’t. And I hate it.

I hate that I can’t say no to him. That I want whatever it is he’s willing to give like a beggar looking for scraps.

But what I hate most of all is that he enjoys it.

He presses his bulge against my body, and I can feel it throb through the fabric of his pants.

Slowly, he slides the knife down my neck, and I quiver from the feel of the cold blade on my skin. He moves it down across the towel and slides it between my crevice. My eyes widen, my veins pumping adrenaline through my body as he traces my pussy with the tip of his knife.