Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

“You have eleven minutes to get ready if you want to go to work today.” His gaze lifts to mine and a hint of a smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “I suggest you hurry, unless you’d prefer to spend the day wearing less than you are now.”

Again, the phrase f*cking bastard floats through my head, but this time I keep it in. I spin and rush into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, not even thinking until I’m midway through brushing my teeth that maybe slamming a door in Mount’s face might not be the best idea I’ve ever had.

Even so, I scrub my face in a hurry and rush to the closet to find exactly one outfit hanging in it. A black pencil skirt and an iridescent gold blouse that looks nearly transparent. A matching sheer gold bra lies on the center island next to a strand of white pearls.

Black, gold, and white.

I don’t have time to wonder again about the significance of those colors as I drop the sheet and get dressed. I’m not the least bit surprised when everything fits perfectly. The clothes are all higher quality than I’ve even allowed myself to dream of owning, and my employees are certainly going to have questions.

But I’m getting out. I get to go to work. I focus on that because it’s the only thing that matters right now.

Then I remember the black-and-gold device I left on the bathroom counter as I leave the closet.

I don’t need instructions to know where it goes, or the significance of the fact that I wasn’t provided any panties.

The door to the bathroom opens without invitation.

“Three minutes, Ms. Kilgore.” His gaze darts to the item I’ve just been contemplating. Again, one corner of his mouth tugs up. “I see you’re not finished preparing yourself.”

Our gazes clash and I stand straight, my chin lifted with pride as our battle of wills plays out in silence. We both know I’m going to lose.

“Are you going to do the honors, or am I?” he asks.

The question sends a bolt of heat straight to my core, even though the opposite should be true. I wish that dark stare turned me ice cold, but it does nothing but spark a firestorm.

“I was just getting to that. If you’ll please excuse me for another moment.”

My request is overly polite, and apparently amuses him because both corners of Mount’s lips tug upward. Instead of leaving, he leans one broad shoulder against the doorway.

“You’re forgetting who gives the orders here. Pull up your skirt, bend over, and fill your p*ssy with that toy or I’ll gladly do it myself.” He pauses, his grin turning wicked. “Actually, f*ck that. If you don’t do it right now, the next thing filling your cunt will be my cock as I f*ck you across that countertop and watch you come in the mirror.”

Sweet Jesus. I cover my mouth with both hands to silence the shocked breath I suck in. The filthy words that fall from his lips go straight to my core as wetness gathers, already threatening to drip down my thighs.

I reach for the toy with one hand and pull the front of my skirt up as discreetly as possible with the other, keeping my bare ass pointing in the direction of the closet and away from his view.

I should have known better.

He shakes his head. “Face the mirror. Bend over.”

The fear that filled me last night when he told me to bend over is absent this morning, and in its place is the rage I harnessed. But something else burns just as brightly. It’s like he’s tapped into a need I didn’t know existed. Like I actually want someone to tell me to do these dirty things to myself.

I force that thought from my mind as I follow his command, bringing the toy to my entrance.

“I’m willing to bet you don’t even need lube.”

I squeeze my eyes shut because he’s not wrong. The latex of the toy slides against my slickness.

“f*ck yourself with it first.”

I heave in a breath and do as he says, pushing the toy in and pulling it out, teasing myself almost to the brink. I shove it in harder, needing only the tiniest bit of stimulation on my clit to push me over the edge. My other hand sneaks around, but he growls another command.

“Stop.”

With the toy fully seated inside me, I freeze.

What the hell am I doing? About to get myself off in front of a man I hate?

I stand straight, almost quickly enough to lose my balance, and smooth the skirt down. When I turn to face him, I pretend none of this ever happened.

At least, until one hand disappears into his pocket and the toy comes to life, vibrating inside me.

My knees go weak at the shock, and I fumble for the edge of the countertop to stay upright.

“Oh my God . . .” It’s a breathy whisper, and I hope to hell he can’t hear it.

I’m not that lucky.

He stalks toward me, meeting my gaze. “That’s not what you said last night when you made yourself come.”

The punishment he promised me flashes through my brain, and he must read it in my expression. My orgasm is just within reach . . . and the vibrations stop.

“I don’t have time to deal with your naughty little cunt and fingers this morning, but I will. In my world, no one gets away with breaking my rules. I have a feeling you’ll learn quickly.”

My fingertips clutch the edge of the counter to keep myself from slapping the smug look off his face. Instead, I stand silently in front of him. Apparently, Mount doesn’t need or want words from me.

“Get out of my sight while I’m still inclined to let you. Other than using the bathroom, don’t you dare take it out without my approval. I promise you won’t enjoy the punishment if you do.”

I suck in a breath and bolt for the door to the bedroom. I round the side of the bed, grab the stilettos from last night and my trench coat, and practically run for the sitting room door that’s cracked open the barest inch.

Outside, Scar is waiting. Hood in hand.

I hate that f*cking hood.

But right now, I hate Mount even more.

I rip the hood from Scar’s hand and put it over my head myself, and let him carry my rigid body out of my gilded cage.





Keira





As soon as we pull in the parking lot across the street from the distillery, Scar grunts for me to remove the hood. I ask him to wait and rummage through my purse, which thankfully was still in the car from last night. Surprisingly, he complies while I pull out my emergency makeup stash and bring some semblance of normalcy to my face.

The stilettos I have on from last night are f*ck-me shoes of the finest—the most expensive shoes I’ve ever worn—and there is no way any of this outfit will go unnoticed. The fitted gold shirt hugs my curves and tucks into the pencil skirt that emphasizes my hips and ass way more than I’m comfortable with. The white string of pearls lies against my throat like a collar.

I will f*cking kill him if he ever tries to put a leash on me.

I snap my compact closed once I determine I’m as good as I’m going to get, and too pissed off to do any better of a job on my makeup.

Plus, there’s the distraction of the high-tech version of Ben Wa balls inside me, and the knowledge that Mount holds the remote has my thighs practically slipping together from my body’s response.

The two warring parts of my brain can’t reconcile what’s happening to me.