Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

He steps out from behind my desk. “Wrong. You don’t see it. You’re totally f*cking clueless about what men think when they look at you. Except today. Today, you felt it.”

I don’t know how to respond, but Mount doesn’t need anything from me to continue.

“But none of them can have you because you belong to me. Get over here.”

When I don’t move, he slips a hand into his pocket and the toy buzzes to life, this time at a new, more intense setting.

My hands clench into fists, and I hold back a whimper as pleasure courses through me. Spending the entire morning being teased and on the verge of coming has me sliding closer and closer to the edge.

“Don’t you f*cking come.” His voice takes on a growling tone with his command.

“I can’t stop—” It’s there. Almost within my grasp as I clench my thighs together and wait for ecstasy to burst through me.

And then it stops.

“You bastard!”

He closes the distance between us in three strides and clamps a hand around my hip.

“You shouldn’t get to f*cking come until I do, and you already owe me. How many more debts do you want to rack up?”

I tell myself the light-headedness hitting me is because I’m about to hyperventilate, and not because of him. I barely manage a response. “I don’t want to owe you another goddamned thing.”

“Too late. Now I just have to decide how you’re going to get me off first. Hands, mouth, tits, p*ssy, or ass.”

I try to cover my involuntary thigh clench, but he doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t miss anything.

Mount’s nostrils flare, and his gaze burns into me. “I could get you off in less than a minute. One touch to your clit, another pulse of the vibrator, and you’ll be moaning my name. I own your orgasms. I decide when you come. Not you. Learn it. Live it. Because you’re going to f*cking love it by the time I’m done with you.”

“Never.” I emphasize both syllables of the word, realizing that apparently my new strategy has morphed into me standing my ground or dying while I try. And with Mount, dying might be a very real possibility.

With one swift motion, he has my back pressed against the door, the hand at my hip gripping tighter and the other up my skirt.

I expect him to go straight for my p*ssy, but all he does is slide a finger up along my inner thighs.

“You’re dripping because of me.”

His finger finds the loop on the end of the toy and he tugs. The unexpected movement tears a moan from my throat. He pulls it partway out and pushes it back in, f*cking me slowly with each stroke.

He’s trying to kill me by keeping me on edge. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Don’t be a coward. Open your f*cking eyes.”

I do, and I meet his black gaze. It’s filled with triumph.

“All you have to do is ask for it.” It’s like the devil offering up your deepest desire for the low, low price of your soul.

“f*ck. You.” There’s no power behind the words because my body teeters on the edge of detonation.

“No, Keira. I’m f*cking you. I’m the only one f*cking you.”

His thumb sweeps across my clit, and I’m done. The orgasm crashes through my body like a hurricane. Uncontrollable. Wild. Untamed.

I try to stifle my moan, but I can’t. I come apart, staring into the soulless black eyes of a man I hate, but one who plays my body like he’s been given an owner’s manual I didn’t know existed.

He presses harder against my clit, and I ride the storm for all it’s worth. I can’t help it. It’s too good not to wring every drop I can steal from it.

When he yanks the toy free, I’m not ready. My mouth drops open as he lifts it from beneath my skirt.

My first thought is so jacked up, I don’t even want to voice it.

Put it back. I want it back.

He holds the black-and-gold vibrator between us, coated in my slickness, and I’m forced to face my shame.

How can I let him do this to me?

“This should be covering my cock right now. But you have to earn that privilege.”

His infuriating words roar through me. Earn it? He should be so lucky.

Mount reaches for my hand and closes my fingers around the slippery toy. “This better be in your p*ssy when you’re delivered to me.”

He steps back, and I stumble away from the door. With one flip of the lock and a creak of the wood, Mount disappears, and I’m left holding a sex toy and have no idea what the hell just happened.

I legitimately think I could kill him with my bare hands. But I also want him more than I’ve ever wanted any man in my life.

It’s visceral. Primal. Uncontrollable.

Magnolia warned me, but I didn’t understand the full magnitude of that warning. Or maybe I didn’t understand how badly I need what he gives me.

Everything about this situation is f*cked up beyond belief. I want to fight him to my last breath, but at the same time, I want to dig my nails into his back as he pounds into me until I scream in ecstasy.

My hand clenches around the toy, and I quiver at the thought of putting it back in.

Mount claims he owns my orgasms.

I’m starting to believe he’s right.





Keira





I don’t know why I even bother attempting to work for the rest of the day. I can’t concentrate on anything except the sex toy that I washed in my small connected private bathroom, wrapped in a paper towel, and shoved in my purse—after I spent nearly an hour removing the henna.

Five o’clock comes and goes, but I don’t leave the office. The longer I stay here, the longer I can put off following another one of his orders.

It’s after seven when someone knocks on my office door. My shoulders tense immediately, and I squeeze the edges of my desk.

It’s not him, I tell myself as I force my body to relax. Mount would never knock.

I call out for whoever it is to enter, and Temperance pokes her head in.

“I thought I saw your light still on. I figured after our victory today, you’d be out celebrating.”

Out celebrating. Something I no longer have the freedom to do . . . or do I?

“You know me, workaholic to the core.”

“That’s the truth. Which is why I brought the celebration to you.” She produces a bottle of champagne from behind her back.

I stare at the bottle in surprise. “I didn’t think you drank. You never try the whiskey.”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and she looks at me with a sheepish expression. “This might get me fired, but . . . I just don’t like whiskey.”

I pretend to cross myself like I’m a priest and she sinned in my presence. “Are you serious?”

She nods and her smile returns. “I’m sure Seven Sinners is the best there is, which is why I can market the hell out of it. But after this one night, freshman year of college, where my brand-new roommate ended up holding the garbage can while I puked from the top bunk in our dorm room, I haven’t been able to touch the stuff again.”

I bring my hands together in a steeple, with my index fingers pressing against the bridge of my nose, and picture it with a laugh. “Fair enough. I have a similar aversion to gin. It tastes way too much like those pine-tree air fresheners when you puke it up. Or, at least, the cheap gin I drank in college did. Now I stick to good whiskey.”