Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

This morning, I see no one, and it’s a relief. I shift, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and out from under the covers. Muscles I don’t recall having twinge in protest. I try focusing on my sore hand instead, but fail miserably because all I can think about is the ache between my legs. I still feel him pounding into me.

I’ve only had one sexual encounter in my life that remotely approached what happened last night, and that was the first time Brett and I were together. It was never that good again. Probably because I married him within twenty-four hours, and he didn’t feel the need to expend the effort.

I push that thought aside, but the one that follows doesn’t make me feel much better.

I don’t know how last night happened. As I stumble into the massive bathroom, I feel taken. Owned. Used. But not in a bad way. Or maybe just not the bad way I expected.

I move toward the shower and reach inside to flip the handle to hot. I spent a half hour in there last night, determined to scrub his touch from my body, but it didn’t work.

I still feel him on every inch of me.

While I wait for the water to heat, I brush out my tangled mass of hair. I’m beginning to get used to my nakedness, something I’ve never been comfortable with before. I suppose it’s because I have no clothes and, therefore, no other option.

I put that item on my agenda for today. This one-outfit-at-a-time bullshit has to end.

When I lower the brush to the countertop, I catch a glimpse of something in my reflection. My hip. And around the sides of my ass.

I spin, craning my neck over my shoulder to look behind me, and I see it.

Or rather them. Light bruises in the shape of fingerprints.

That ass*ole marked me. I wait for the expected fury to burn in my gut, and it does, right on schedule. In my head, I’m already calling him every foul name I can come up with as I step into the shower.

I can’t scrub these off, and I can’t block out the memories either.

I hate that they pummel me like the hot spray.

My anger drains away and shame replaces it when I realize I can’t even stay pissed about the marks, because under no circumstances can I say I was unwilling last night. I urged him on as he gripped my hips and f*cked me harder.

That ass*ole got his wish.

He manipulated me. Messed with my head. But there’s no doubt that I begged him for it in the end.

Shame burns down my face in two hot streams that I refuse to admit are tears. I’m getting better and better at lying to myself.

I slap my palms against the shower wall and hang my head between them, letting the water pour over me. Wash me clean. Absolve me of the sins I’ve committed.

After several long minutes, I let loose a final sniffle and stand straight with my new mantra for the day pounding in my head with the same intensity I still feel between my thighs.

Lachlan Mount will not break me. He might f*ck me. He might f*ck with my head. But he will never break me.

I use the back of my hands to wipe at my eyes and swear to myself that he will never earn another one of my tears. He’s not worth it. I hate him.

The intensity of my feelings hasn’t faded. It grows stronger each time my body turns against me. It’s humiliating that I find so much pleasure in what he does to me. I’m sure he’s plenty amused by it.

A spine of steel won’t help me with Mount. Titanium is required.

The only person who can decide who and what humiliates me is me, and I won’t give him that power ever again.

f*ck him.

Which I know I’ll do, even though everything in me wants to deny it.

Magnolia said there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it, but she’s never dealt with Mount before. Or has she?

I remember my purse in the bedroom. Scar didn’t take it from me last night, but I was too furious to even think to use my phone.

The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of this shower is text Magnolia. She might not get up before noon, but a late-afternoon lunch with her just became imperative. I have to know if there’s anything else she’s managed to uncover since this whole disaster began.

I need more ammunition against Mount if I’m going to win this battle, not to mention anything possible to armor myself against him. Magnolia told me not to let him get into my head, and I’m failing at that task about as spectacularly as America’s war on drugs.

Magnolia will help me. She’ll have wisdom to impart. If nothing else, talking to her will be another piece of normalcy I can reclaim.

When I turn off the shower fifteen minutes later and wrap myself in one of the luxuriously thick and fluffy towels hanging on the warmer, tucking one end between my breasts, my entire body stills as I reach for a second one to dry my hair.

I’m no longer alone.

Mount leans indolently against the door frame that leads to the bedroom.

My first thought is one of utter invasion. “Now I don’t even get to shower in private?”

“You get what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I force my limbs to break free from their paralysis and grab the second towel like nothing is amiss and wrap it turban-style around my head. “Can you lay off the clichés? It’s too early for that crap.”

I turn toward the mirror, determined to ignore his presence, but fail. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear he’s fighting off a smile.

“What? Not going to throw in it’s nothing you haven’t seen before? That I’m nothing special?” I don’t know why I’m taunting him. Probably because he’s making me absolutely crazy.

I peer into the glass, pretending to look at my pores as I reach down for the high-end skin-care products I was provided, but my hand misses the bottle because I’m too distracted by his face and the constantly changing expressions on it. They’re too swift to get a lock on, and I wish I could read his mind as easily as he seems to read mine.

“The steam was too thick to see through the glass. I wasn’t sure you were ever going to get out of the damned shower. Still feel me?”

One of the bottles goes flying as I spin around. “Go f*ck yourself.”

This time, the smile that forms is harsh and forbidding. “I did that last night in my own shower, and I won’t f*cking do it again, because I’ve got you here to take care of my every need.”

I can only imagine how I would have spit and clawed if he’d summoned me after our last confrontation to give him a handy in the shower.

“In your dreams.”

His smile shifts, now baring his teeth. “Hurry up. You’ve got a meeting with your banker this morning to discuss how close you are to tripping your loan covenants and being handed off to the workout department as one of the bank’s troubled assets.”

My mouth falls open. “How do you know that?”

He scoffs. “I find the fact that you think I wouldn’t even more insulting.”

“What time is it?” I glance around but it’s pointless because there’s not a single clock in this damn cell. It’s like being in a casino but without all the fun and a hell of a lot more risk.

“You have less than an hour to make it on time. So, I suggest you hurry.”