Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

When Magnolia described the power, the presence, and his charisma to me, I didn’t understand what she was talking about. I’m starting to now.

Don’t show fear. Don’t show fear. It becomes my mantra as I wait for him to speak.

After what seems like an eternity, he utters two words in a deep, gravelly voice. “Turn around.”

When I deliberately flashed my backside to the camera in the corner and then flipped it the double bird, I figured there was maybe a fifty-fifty shot he was watching. Again, that insane stunt was fueled by adrenaline, which has deserted me.

I want to dredge up the remains of my rebellion, but I can’t.

I spin on the stilettos, the only items of clothing he sent that I deigned to wear, and give him my back. I hold my shoulders stiffly and with pride.

Don’t show fear, I repeat to myself.

The wooden floor creaks as he takes a step toward me, coming close enough that his body heat radiates against my skin.

“You don’t follow instructions well.”

The words ghost along my skin as his fingers spear into my hair and close around it. He tugs just hard enough to turn my head to the side, forcing me to meet his dark gaze.

It’s like looking into the eyes of the devil.

How such a cruel man can be so brutally beautiful, I have no idea. My heart slams as his eyes narrow on me.

What seemed like such a bold and defiant act now seems like a childish prank, and my inner self-talk takes a 180-degree turn. Screw not showing fear; now’s the time to beg. He’s going to kill me.

But my mouth doesn’t receive the orders sent by my brain and it opens, spilling out words I didn’t plan to say. “You didn’t give me any instructions. The note said a driver would collect me at nine. That was it.”

His dark eyes flash. “You don’t strike me as stupid enough to miss the implication of thirty grand worth of clothes on top of the note.”

Thirty grand. Holy shit.

Again, words fly from my mouth without my permission. “That better not get added to the debt.”

One corner of his full lips quirks up in what would appear to be a smirk from anyone else, but from him, I don’t know what to call it except chilling.

He releases my hair and takes a single step back. “Bend over. Fingertips to your toes.”

“What?” I blurt out the question, my shock evident in my tone.

Mount’s expression hardens. “I don’t repeat myself for anyone.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to break his stare. What did I think was going to happen? He’d whisk me from this gorgeous library to a bed where he’d make love to me and make sure I came? Something my ass*ole of a husband didn’t bother to worry about 98 percent of the time.

“Do not make me wait.” The words come slowly but still carry the crack of a bullwhip.

I swallow any reply and bend over, touching my fingertips to my blood-red toenails.

Blood red. It reminds me of the woman he made dance on glass.

Instead of fingers or some other appendage being jammed inside me, a callused fingertip drags along every letter I had inked onto my back.

“Property of no man. Is this permanent?”

“No,” I whisper. “It’s henna.”

“Good, because we both know your ass belongs to me, and I’d hate to have to remove each letter from your back.”

The implication that he’d carve them off with a knife is there, but he doesn’t voice that piece.

Thank you, Delilah and Giant Man from Voodoo Ink. I probably owe you my life right now.

On that ridiculous thought, I start to rise, but Mount’s wide palm flattens on the small of my back with enough tension to push me back into position.

“I didn’t tell you to move. The faster you learn that you do what I say, the easier this will be for you.” Wry humor enters his tone. “Hell, you might even enjoy it.”

Rage, like the kind that pushed me in my every action before he entered the room, fills me again. “Rape? Who enjoys that?”

His touch is gone from my skin as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but the heat from his skin.

“Stand up. Face me.”

He barks out the orders and I follow them, finding the courage to meet his gaze. If I thought I felt rage, the same emotion is mirrored in his eyes.

“I’m going to f*ck you like you’ve been begging a man to f*ck you your entire life. And I guarantee while I’m buried inside you, there won’t be a single second when you feel like it’s against your will.”

“Not a chance in hell. I’ll never be willing.”

The challenge I throw out hangs in the air between us as he reaches for me again. I flinch as a fingertip skims along my jawline, following the line of my throat, stopping between my breasts. My nipples peak despite my resolve.

“Your body betrays you.”

“It’s cold in here.”

“Lie to yourself all you want, Keira. But tell me the truth about one thing. When was the last time you were f*cked by a real man? Someone who knows what you need. Someone who’ll take control from you and give you what you’ve been dying for. How many times did you have to f*ck yourself with your fingers after your limp-dick husband rolled over, just so you would get to come too?”

I hate that he knows that. “Leave him out of this.”

Mount’s eyebrows go up. “He’s why we’re here, isn’t he? He couldn’t satisfy his debt, and he sure as hell couldn’t satisfy his wife.”

One finger flicks my hard nipple, and I suck in a harsh breath. He cups one breast and drags his thumb across the center, sending flames streaking through me. I want to hate it. I want to hate it more than I’ve wanted to hate anything in my entire life, but he’s right. Magnolia was right too.

My body is betraying me.

Heat burns around us, from his hand where he touches me, from his gaze where he pins mine, and from the inferno building inside me. His thumb and forefinger close around my nipple and squeeze, tighter and tighter, until the line between pleasure and pain blurs and my thighs clench together.

He releases me in an instant and steps away like he hasn’t almost just made me come from that simple touch. His head tilts to the left as he surveys me.

“You know what else power is, Keira? An aphrodisiac. You can fear me and still want me at the same time. It will heighten every experience.”

My jaw clenches. I hate that there’s a possibility he could be right. “I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this, and I will never submit willingly. I swear it on everything that’s holy.”

His lips twist into an expression I can’t read. Fascination? Intrigue? Challenge?

“Then you sign over one hundred percent of Seven Sinners to me right now.” He steps away and reaches into the breast pocket of his dark suit and produces a single sheet of folded paper.

I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling every inch of my nakedness. “No. That company is mine. My family’s legacy. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted for as long as I can remember. And if you believe I’m dumb enough to think it’s only worth half a million, you’ve misjudged me completely.”