Page 94 of One Shattered Crown
Then he stops.
My eyes focus. “What are you doing?”
He cocks his head to the side, fulling embedded in me. “Waiting for your agreement.”
“Ha. Like you need agreement. What if I don’t give it?”
“Then you don’t come.”
My mouth gapes open. That isn’t what I expected. I tighten around him, enjoying the flare in his eyes. “The police are waiting.”
“I’m waiting.” He slowly, torturously, pulls out of me and slides back in. He grasps my wrists in his much larger hand and lifts them above my head, trapping them against the floor. “I’ll make you scream until you agree. One time, two times, it doesn’t matter.”
My abdomen turns over, and wetness spills from me. “The police will hear.”
“Good. They can come watch.” His expression turns wicked.
I know not to challenge him, because he’ll accept. My body feels strung tight. I wrap my legs around his waist. “Let me get this straight.” I’m panting but I can’t stop. “You’ve gone from wanting to fuck me out of your system to fucking me into submission.”
His nips along my jawline. “Close enough.” He pulls out, shoving back in, making me arch again because it’s just too delicious. Tortuous. Determined. His gaze captures mine. “I won’t hurt you, Ella. More importantly, I’ll never let anybody else hurt you. Mercy isn’t in me. I’ll never hesitate. I promise.”
My heart stutters. Actually pauses in my chest. “I don’t know if I can trust like that.”
He bites my earlobe.
I shudder.
“I’m not giving you a choice.” With that, he startshammering inside me, pushing me up, holding me when I detonate. I cry out his name, my eyelids closing as sparks fly behind them. He locks inside me, his body tightening as he joins me.
I blink my eyelids open.
He grins. “I could’ve gone a couple more times for you, but the cops are here.”
I’d forgotten. Just for a second.
He withdraws and pulls us both to our feet, carrying me into the main room to toss on the bed. “Get dressed.”
“Stop being so bossy.” I roll off and hurriedly go through the stack of clothing he’s bought for me. I yank out a pair of jeans and a soft white-and-pink-checkered flannel. Girl cut. My fingers tremble as I button it up. I have no clue how he knows my size, but every piece fits perfectly. Socks follow, then brown boots that feel right. When meeting the police, one should wear boots. “Do cops usually show up here?”
“Never. The fact that my men let them up to the apartment says something.” He runs his hands through his thick, dark hair, brushing it away from his face. The gesture is rough, impatient, and Lord help me, I notice the lines of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. He’s handsome. Strikingly so. If he ever lost Malice Media, he could probably model.
Then I really study him. No. Probably not. Models lean boyish with a hint of edge. Justice is all edge, all dangerous weight. There’s nothing boyish about him.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, breaking free of the thought. “Let’s go.”
He’s already pulled on jeans and a dark gray T-shirt that stretches across his chest in a way that makes me want to curse. He pads barefoot toward the repaired hall.Barefoot. I swear it’s a power move to meet the police in his own living room without shoes, as if to prove he doesn’t need them.
Me? I’ll take the boots. Just in case somebody needs kicking. Or I need to run.
We almost reach the living room when he grabs my hand. His grip is solid, immovable. I try to pull free, and he just tightens, dragging me with him.
“Why the fuck are you in my apartment?” Justice asks without preamble.
Two people stare at us. One is an oversized man, trench coat straining across his gut. The other is a slimmer woman in a fitted black suit. It’s sharp, expensive, and she wears it like armor.
“Sorry to bother you,” the woman says. “I’m Detective Caldwell, and this is Detective Ashner.” Her eyes flick from my wet hair to Justice’s damp mess and then back to me.
