Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Had turned me on.
Fuck.
“Well, printsessa, are you going to play nice? Or does this get ugly?”
“I—”
“Come now, don’t be shy. Tell me you’ll be sweet for me.”
Every time I pressed my palms to the desk, they slipped, sending more papers flying.
The Tiffany lamp tumbled and shattered, plunging the room into shadow, broken only by a sinister glow cast by the dim external security lighting.
He flipped me to face him then pinned me to the desk, massive hands clamped around my wrists.
“I’ll have your head for this!” I screamed, sending a knee upward.
He twisted just in time; my knee glanced off his thigh.
“Oh, feisty,” he laughed.
He leaned in, whispering against my skin, “I hoped you’d be feisty.”
“Get off me,” I growled, shoving against him with everything I had.
“Oh, printsessa. What do you think you can do to me like this? Open those pretty little thighs for me. That’s the only thing you can do.”
“I’ll scream and my men will—”
“They’ll what? Most of them are drunk or high.”
He had to be bluffing.
I paid for competent men. I paid well.
But deep down, I knew Los Infideles had sent me the ones they didn’t want. The ones they couldn’t control.
I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t.
“Keep rubbing against me and this is going to get more interesting,” he warned.
I froze.
Something thick and hard pressed against my core.
No, that had to be a weapon. A metal pipe. Anything.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I bit out, resisting the urge to melt into him.
A low, dark laugh rumbled from his chest.
He released my wrists and grabbed my jaw.
“Don’t play with me, little girl. I saw you eye-fucking me earlier. Maybe if you behave, I’ll give you a taste.”
Fire raced across my cheeks.
His gaze dropped to my lips, then my chest, then lower.
“Sorry, I don’t fuck the help.”
With my arms free, I grabbed for the nearest object that by some miracle hadn’t ended up on the floor—a cheap ceramic mug that read “Boss Bitch.”
I swung it hard.
He caught it, smashed it against the wall.
The distraction was enough. I shoved back.
He barely moved, but the desk scraped across the floor, giving me the room I needed to kick out and slip away.
I dashed for the other door.
My fingers grazed the brass knob—
His body slammed the door shut, pinning me again.
Being against him was suffocating—in the worst and best way.
“This won’t end well for you,” I warned. “Even if you kill me, my men will find you. You’ll be hunted like a dog. Let go now, and I’ll give you a thirty-minute head start before I send Mateo to gut you.”
His laugh was low, condescending.
“Do you think Mateo will do that for you? That he even can?”
“I do,” I snapped.
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Are you at least going to tell me who you work for before you force yourself on me?”
“Force myself on you? Is that what you think this is?”
“Isn’t it? There’s no way a woman would willingly open her legs for you, so I assume this is your only option.”
He laughed again.
“Don’t worry, printsessa. I don’t need to take what’s already mine. Your cunt’s already wet for me. You’ll beg me for it soon enough.”
“That’s never going to happen,” I spat, stomping on his foot.
He didn’t flinch.
My heart thundered. My cheeks burned. Still, I kept fighting.
This wasn’t about want or desire. This was survival.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he said, his voice unsteady for the first time.
Good.
That lit a new fire inside me.
“If you’re not here to rape me, then why are you here?” I snapped, yanking my wrists.
He tightened his grip.
“I came for information,” he said. “What I want to know is what Los Infideles were really after when they aligned themselves with you. Because it sure as hell wasn’t just your charm.”
I managed to free one wrist for all the good it did; he spun me around and slammed me back against the wall, knocking the wind out of me.
He pinned both wrists above my head with just one hand.
That shouldn’t have been possible.
It shouldn’t have turned me on.
But it did.
His other hand smoothed down over my arm, shivers rippling in its wake, until his fingers curled around my throat, tilting my head.
“You don’t have to fight me,” he said, voice full of dark promise.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Fuck, I’m going to regret this,” he muttered—then crushed his mouth to mine.
It was an explosion.
It blew apart every shred of my self-control.
His kiss was ravenous, primal—and I didn’t just allow it. I fought for it.
Not to stop him.
But to take control.
He let go of my wrists, his hands trailing downward, thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts before gripping my hips, pulling me up the wall so our bodies aligned.
I should have fought harder.
Should’ve slapped him.
Instead, my hands tangled in his hair. My legs wrapped around his waist.
I kissed him back like I hated him.