Page 48 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
I’ve never been given a more implacable order in my life, and I’ve also never quite regretted a decision so much as I do the one I made only minutes ago when I decided not to reinsert the toy.
Determined, I swallow my fear. I was willing to accept my punishment only minutes ago, and I’m not going to lose my nerve now.
Giving him my back, I bend over, lifting my skirt at the same time. It takes him less than a second to see what’s missing.
“I gave you an order, a simple fucking order, and you won’t even comply with that.” He yanks down my skirt. “Stand up.”
I do and spin around to face him, not trusting him at my back. “I’m sorry slashing my hand open while I was on my way to follow your damn orders stopped me from playing your little fucking games with my life!”
His expression goes blank as he grabs my wrist again, holding it palm out. “You said it was nothing.”
“To you, it’s not. That would probably take a severed limb. Or maybe decapitation?”
He drags me by the wrist as he yanks open the closet door and pulls me into the bathroom. He doesn’t release me as he digs through the drawers.
“Let go.” I jerk my hand, but his grip is like a shackle.
“Not until I see if you’re lying to me.”
Mount finally produces what look like nail scissors and cuts through the tape and gauze on the back side of my hand. He then peels the bandage free before flipping my hand palm-side up.
His nostrils flare as he surveys the cut, and I have no idea what to expect from him when his dark gaze meets mine.
“How did this happen? No bullshit, Keira. I want the truth.”
Saliva pools in my mouth and I swallow it before I explain. “I knocked over the champagne bottle my assistant brought to celebrate our new contract, and it broke on the bathroom floor. When I went to pick it up, I sliced myself on the edge.”
His grip on my wrist loosens, and he tilts my hand from side to side in the light. “It doesn’t need stitches.”
I open my mouth to tell him I already know that, but snap it shut when he runs the pad of his thumb along the same angle as the cut, but a half inch away, careful not to touch it.
“It might leave a scar, though.”
I feel his touch like it’s bathed in fire, leaving a scorching trail in its wake. My fingers curl inward instinctively, but he stops the motion by covering them with his own.
“Don’t. You’ll start the bleeding again. Hold still.”
When he releases my wrist, I’m confused enough to actually obey. He crouches down and pulls a first aid kit from beneath the sink.
“Just like my father. Always prepared.” The words pop out of their own volition.
Mount rises slowly, his dark gaze pinning me in place. “Don’t assume I’m anything like your father. You couldn’t be any more wrong if you tried.”
As he pulls something from the first aid kit, my response flies from my lips. “You’re right. My father is a good man, and as far as I can tell, there’s not a damn good thing about you.”
“Now you’re catching on,” he says, his wicked smirk intact.
And then something burns like actual fire along my cut, and I try to yank my wrist out of his grip. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he uses his free hand to fan the searing cut.
“What the hell did you do to me?”
“Calm down. It’s liquid Band-Aid. It’s more effective on your palm than your hack job with the gauze and tape. It’ll stop burning in a second.” He continues directing air toward the cut to soothe the pain.
“You could’ve warned me! That shit hurts!”
Mount’s expression goes blank. “I’ve given you more warnings than I have anyone before. It doesn’t seem to be working, though, because you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. And if you think that hurts, you’ve never known real pain.”
He releases my wrist and replaces the first aid kit while the burning subsides to a manageable sting.
