Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
I’m wet just due to the vibrations of his deep, rough voice.
It’s ridiculous at this point.
“Or what?” I hear myself whisper as I steal a glance at him, then regret it immediately.
His gaze darkens to a sinful gray as he gathers both my wrists in one hand, holds them hostage at my back, and drops his other hand to my waist.
“Or…” His large palm slides up, squeezing my breast through the flimsy camisole, and my nipples harden under his touch as he lets his hand trail down, grabs my arse, and shoves me against him. “I’ll punish you, Mrs. King.”
A shaky whimper leaves me as his unmistakable hardness settles against the bottom of my stomach.
“How will you do that?” I murmur.
“Don’t play with fire.”
“Maybe I’m craving the burn.”
“Fuck, Ava.” He releases me and steps back slowly, almost as if he doesn’t want to. “Go get ready before I do something I can’t undo.”
The sizzling print of his skin on mine still burns, heat coils damp and warm between my legs, but I refuse to surrender to the whips of rejection.
Again.
What a fool.
I came here intent on giving him a piece of my mind and retreating, but I ended up like a mouse between the cat’s claws.
And I would’ve let him go further if he’d so much as kissed me.
Obviously, my pride packed up and left the building at some point.
I cross my arms over my chest. His eyes zoom in on my cleavage, and I will myself to breathe properly.
“If you want me to come with you, I have conditions.”
His brows rise as he focuses back on my face. “Conditions. Plural?”
“Two, actually.”
“And what makes you think you can dish out conditions?”
“A small fact called being your wife,” I throw his words back at him with a sweet smile.
“I don’t see the correlation.”
“You have to treat me like a queen, duh, and that means making me happy. Complying with my conditions makes me happy. As the saying goes, happy wife, happy life.”
He narrows his eyes and I can tell he’s so done with my shit and is losing patience faster than his receding morals. “Carry on. Let’s hear the conditions.”
“One, if you want me to go to a cocktail party or event or whatever, you have to give me ample time to prepare and ask me first.”
“You have an hour to prepare and I already had Sam ask you.”
“She didn’t ask me, she carried out your order. So it’s time for you to rectify that.”
“And how am I to do that?”
“Simple. Ask me.”
I know Eli is used to having his orders met. He single-handedly made our friend group, Cecy included, scared of his wrath because he ordered them that if I strayed off the crystal—also spelled boring—path he’d drawn for me, they’d regret it.
The only rebel is Lan, and Eli always makes him pay for it, whether by revealing his questionable actions to his parents, smashing a few of his precious statues (did it three times, one of them was prior to an important competition), or simply broadcasting his weaknesses to Mia after they became an item.
Eli is cold, merciless, and, above all, persistent. If he delivers a threat, he’ll act on it.
And he doesn’t, under any circumstances, take orders or compromise on things that don’t benefit him. If you see him compromising, it’s because he already has the upper hand and methodically planned out the situation to play in his favor.
So I fully expect the rearing of his monster horns and harden myself to stand my ground. This is the hill I choose to die on, thank you very much.
“Will you be my plus-one for the charity event, Mrs. King?”
My lips part. “You…asked.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” He sounds fully exasperated and on the verge of pulling away.
“Yeah, um. I will honor you with my presence.”
“I couldn’t be more thrilled,” he says with a complete poker face. “What’s the second condition?”
This one is tricky, but here goes nothing. I push my shoulders back. “You’ll spend time with me.”
“I am currently spending time with you.”
“I don’t mean like this.”
“Then?”
“Like I asked you that night.”
“I am not going to court you, Ava.”
“Then don’t. It’s not the Middle Ages anyway. But you must spend time with me.”
“Doing what exactly?”
“I don’t know. Talking?”
“Is that another word for fighting?”
“Reading books?”
“We don’t read the same books. Besides, do you expect me to sit there and watch you vandalize precious paperbacks?”
“I’m highlighting passages that stand out to me. No vandalizing happens. But you’re right, we’ll need to call the ambulance for your issues if you witness that for an extended period of time. Besides, no offense, but your taste in books sucks. How about we watch films?”
“I don’t watch films.”
“Who doesn’t watch films?”
“And who does for half a day every day?”
I shrug. “I’ll think of something, but you must promise to dedicate time, and I don’t mean after hours when you’re done being Machiavelli. I mean a proper afternoon.”