Page 30 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
Does he expect to keep me here naked? At least I have my trusty trench coat.
I think about the dress I was supposed to wear tonight, and for the first time, I wish I’d worn it. I leave the closet behind to inspect the contents of the bathroom drawers. Instead of being bare, they’re filled with expensive toiletries of every kind.
I make my way back through the series of rooms to the sitting area and stare at the locked door. Two dead bolts, but instead of knobs to turn on the inside, there are keyholes without the accompanying keys.
Even though I know it’s pointless because I heard the bolts slide home, I walk over to it and test the handle.
It pisses me off all over again, though.
“You asshole! You can’t keep me like a fucking pet!” I kick at the door with the delicate stilettos and succeed in leaving a tiny mark and stubbing my toe.
After limping to the center of the room, I spin in a circle with my arms outstretched. I can feel, down to the very marrow of my bones, that he is watching me from somewhere.
“Is this what you wanted? A pet? If I don’t show up for work tomorrow, everyone will notice. They’ll call the police. I don’t care how many cops you have on your payroll, there has to be someone you don’t own. They’ll find me and you’ll pay! You wanted me willing? Well, fuck you, Mount! This wasn’t part of the deal!”
My next instinct is to return to the door and beat on it until my fists are bruised and bloodied and my voice is raw from screaming for someone to let me out.
But I don’t. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break down. I’m stronger than this. Mount will not win. I harness the anger instead.
In a loud, clear voice, I tell the empty room, “You might get my body willingly, but that’s all you’ll ever get from me. I swear I will hate you through every single moment of this.”
After my speech, my brain slows, exhausted from the events of the last week, and all I want to do is slide between the decadent sheets and go to sleep. But something about that feels like I’m letting him win, and that’s one thing I won’t do without putting up a fight.
I faced the devil in his lair and came out unscathed. That’s something, right? A small victory.
Or mostly unscathed. My still-hard nipples and the heat between my legs remind me all too vividly of the fire he stoked within me.
“Lie to yourself all you want, Keira. But tell me the truth about one thing. When was the last time you were fucked 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 fuck yourself with your fingers after your limp-dick husband rolled over, just so you would get to come too?”
He’s fucking with my head. That’s all. He can’t know how right he is.
My eyes go to the bed as his final warning replays in my mind.
“Your orgasms belong to me. If you ever touch yourself without my permission, I will spank that pussy of yours until you’re begging to come.”
With the same defiance that carried me into a henna shop, and then on these extravagantly expensive stilettos into the presence of the most feared man in this city tonight, I make a decision. I may be almost out of ammunition, but I can still fire a parting shot. I stroll into the bedroom and unbelt my trench coat, dropping it on the bedroom floor.
I rip back the spread and study the black sheets. Black like the soul of the man who put me here. I sit and remove each of the exquisite heels and drop them carelessly on the floor before sliding to the center of the bed and spreading my legs.
“This pussy doesn’t belong to you yet, Mount.”
I reach between my legs, hating that I’m already wet, but grateful at the same time because this won’t take long at all.
Am I daring the devil to come bolting through the door to make good on his threat?
No. I’m calling his bluff.
When I come tonight, it’ll be a fuck you to the man who thinks he owns me. I’ll even make sure to use my middle finger.
Keira
When I wake, it’s not because of sunlight cutting through the cheap plastic blinds of my bedroom, but a nightmare that jerks me out of a dead sleep.
The room is pitch black, but my heart hammers as I reach for the bedside lamp. Instead of the rickety wooden nightstand I got at Ikea, my fingers graze cool marble.
Oh. Shit.
It wasn’t a nightmare.
