Chapter 110 - 112
My head tilts up challengingly. "I don’t believe you."
His brows leap questioningly.
"You are a carbon copy of your father. And when you stole Landen’s position at our wedding. You proved there is no line you wouldn’t cross for what you want—just like Landen. Morally flexible. You are definitely your father’s son..." my eyes glide down to his groan teasingly. "Except in some areas."
Outrage tightens his features.
"I’m surprised none of you were aware of my night with your father," I provoke, only stoking his anger. "With him... I screamed a lot louder."
"Let’s test that theory."
He lunges at me and I defend with raised hands. He seizes my wrists to pin them above my head. When he comes too close, impulse jerks my face to the side but I force myself to look him dead in the eyes.
"Let me tell you the difference between him and me. He was probably giving you all he had. Whereas I held back because I didn’t want to hurt you. But now I want to hurt you, really badly," he says achingly, a toxic blend of dangerous desire, passion and punishment. "I want you to cry, scream, beg and make whatever savagery my brother has done to you—to look like things of saints."
A harsh note of regret sends a quivering through my veins. "You wouldn’t dare," I say too low, betraying the fear I try to hide.
He cocks his head mockingly. "I am my father’s son," he proclaims.
I try his grip but his hold is a steel latch. "You wouldn’t hurt like that. You wouldn’t."
He flashes an ominous smile before his face comes to the hollow of my collarbone, so his lips can claim the column of my neck. Restraining my tears, I slant my head away to spare him more rein as I yank out conjured moans, strained as if I’m trying to stifle them. When in truth, disgust and distraught twist my insides in countless knots. Feigning pleasure, slightly exaggerating my moans so he will release me sooner and it works soon enough. And I’m quick to curl my arms around him, my hands roaming the hard planes of his torso until I reach his rear. I squeeze one butt cheek—hard, whereas my other slips out the listening device from his back pocket.