Reign of a King: Chapter 13

Damn it.

Damn. It.

How does he always make me feel as if I’ve overstepped a line or that I’m doing something wrong? He is in the wrong.

He’s the one who came up with this sordid deal. He’s the one who’s screwing up everything.

Jonathan watches me from across the table, his gaze going back and forth between my face and the arm I’m using to cover my scar and tattoo.

It’s like he’s intimidating me with his eyes alone to make me drop my hand and bare myself for him. Like it’s his right and I’ve been depriving him from it all along.

Damn the tyrant and how much he can communicate with a mere glance.

Crouching, I retrieve my dress and turn away from him to slide it back on. Despite my brave façade, my fingers tremble.

Jonathan King is a frightening man. I might not be willing to let him stomp all over me, but he has the ability to make you feel non-existent by a mere look from his piercing metal eyes.

By the time I zip up my dress and turn around, he’s still watching me with that unnerving focus. I could cut through the tension in the air with a knife if I had one.

He tips his stubborn chin at the chair beside him, repeating his order without having to say a word.

I snap my spine into a line as I walk in the most moderate manner I’m capable of before flopping on the seat at his left. There’s a plate of steak and salad and two types of clear soup. The entire setting is straight out of an elegant restaurant.

“Eat.” Jonathan’s voice disturbs the silence of the room. “It’s gotten cold, but since you’re the one who’s ten minutes late, you’ll bear the consequences. You’ll also pay for those ten minutes of tardiness.”

“I don’t want to eat.” I bunch my fists on my lap. “I want to get this over with.”

“You thought this would be a one-time thing?”

“No.”

He wraps his lips around a piece of meat. I gulp at the sensual way his mouth slides over the fork before he chews leisurely, like this is some eating porn show.

I internally shake my head. Did I just see Jonathan in an erotic way? What in the ever-loving hell?

“Why don’t you tell me what you think this will be, Aurora?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“All I know is that I want to get on with it instead of wasting time on food and nonsense.”

“If you don’t watch that mouth, I’ll fuck it right here, right now.”

My breathing shortens and I stare at him with wild eyes, my attention involuntarily slipping down…

Down…

I jerk my head back up, refusing to entertain that idea. Problem is, he’s painted that crude image in my head and now I can’t purge it out.

Not that I didn’t suspect Jonathan to be crude. His voice was created to command and say dirty things. However, I hadn’t thought it would be to this extent, and the sudden attack isn’t helping my bemused head.

“Now eat.” He fixes me with a blank stare as if he didn’t just spout those earlier words. “Or would you rather I fill your mouth with something else?”

My unsteady hand reaches for the fork and I inhale deeply to collect my bearings. I take the first bite of salad, trying to forget that a larger-than-life presence is watching my every move. It’s like he’s a scientist and I’m the rat in his lab.

I lift my head. “Now what?”

“Now, you eat.”

“And then what?”

“And then I decide. After all, you’re mine now and I get to do whatever I please.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not your toy.”

“Oh, but you are, wild one.”

A million profanities form in my head, but I don’t say them. My being agitated will only give him the upper hand, and I can’t give him more than he’s already confiscated.

I hate that I have to consider my every word when dealing with Jonathan. If I don’t, he’ll twist them up and either use them against me or throw them back in my face.

That’s why I need to be cool-headed about this.

“No other people,” I say my first condition in the calmest tone I can manage under the circumstances. I won’t be a side dish, and I sure as hell won’t be compared to anyone else.

He takes a moment to focus on cutting his food, and I’m ready to bet a limb that he’s doing it on purpose. It’s like he uses everything as a weapon – silence included. It takes long, infuriating beats before he nods.

“I also want a time limit.”

“Time limit?”

“Yes. If I’m going to agree to this, I need a time limit, after which you’ll let me go and give me the stocks back.”

He smiles, and this time, it’s neither sadistic nor genuine. It’s something different, almost like…pride? No, why would Jonathan ever be proud of me?

He chews slowly on his meat, intentionally keeping me on edge again, before he speaks, “I was wondering when you’d ask that. What did you have in mind?”

“A month. I’ll be yours for a month to do whatever you please, and then you’ll let me go and revert H&H’s ownership back to Layla and me.”

“A year.”

I meet his impenetrable gaze with mine. “Three months.”

“Six. My final offer.”

“Fine.”

It’s better than what I would’ve hoped for. At least it’s not a year in the company of this tyrant. This time will give me ample space to investigate Alicia’s life here and try to solve the mystery of who threatened to kill her.

“You’ll stay here.”

“I have a flat.”

“And I’m telling you that you won’t live in it anymore. At least for the next six months. I expect you to move in tomorrow.”

The arsehole. It’s like a dictator’s regime around here.

“Anything else, your majesty?”

“Yes. Lose the attitude. I don’t appreciate it.”

“You should’ve included that in the clauses. You want to keep me? This is me, Jonathan, attitude and all. I’m not the little girl who hid behind Alicia’s dress.”

He’s silent for a bit, watching me closely as if he’s meeting me for the first time. “I can see that.”

I stand up. “Can I go now?”

“Not so fast.” He motions at me to come to him.

I hesitate before I approach him until his woodsy scent is all I breathe in. He has the power to own everyone and everything in his immediate vicinity. It’s less about his last name and more about his presence.

“Lift your dress.”

“W-what?”

“Do it.”

“Didn’t you tell me to put it back on not two minutes ago?”

“And now I’m telling you to lift it.” His vicious gaze slides up to mine. “Do you have an objection, Aurora?”

I stare directly into his harsh eyes, refusing to cower down.

“If you do, the door is right there.”

“I don’t.”

“Then don’t make me repeat myself.”

My hands tremble as my fingers latch onto the cloth and I lift it up to my stomach. My bare thighs and cotton knickers are in his full, unnerving view. Unlike earlier, my sense of confidence is withering away. At least then, it was according to my plan. Now, it’s his playground.

The fact that I have no clue about his plots is messing with my head more than the state of my half-nakedness.

“Up.”

A shudder grips me at the authority in his tone. I slide the dress up one more inch, revealing my belly. Jonathan grabs my hand and yanks it up to my breasts.

The feel of his skin on mine sends electricity through my stomach, almost like he’s trying to shock me to death.

“Hold it there. Don’t move.”

I don’t know what he means by that until his fingers trace alongside my scar. A different type of bolt rushes through my skin and memories zap to my mind like lightning strikes.

Vacant eyes. Duct tape. Dirt. The crunching of a metal against bones.

There’s nothing I can do to stop the memories. They suddenly attack and ravish my conscience as if it’s an act of vengeance. The only way I know to deal with it is by hiding it and pretending, for the most part, that it doesn’t exist.

I’m about to cover the scar or push him away, but Jonathan pins me in place with a glare. “Do not move or I’ll lay you on my lap and spank your arse.”

A shudder snaps my spine upright and it’s different from the usual memories that assault me with no prior warning.

The promise in his words freeze me in place, my feet curling in my shoes as he continues his meticulous observation of my scar.

His fingers run across it with a softness that turns me breathless. His skin is not harsh, but not soft either – it’s firm and as hard as him. The more his hand glides over the skin, the more impossible standing becomes. For some reason, I’d imagined a man like Jonathan wasn’t capable of such tenderness.

My core pulses and I breathe harshly, almost like an animal who can’t keep its instinct down.

His finger runs up and down above my scar. “What does this tattoo mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You want to tell me you got a tattoo of a closed eye right above a knife scar for nothing?”

“What makes you think it’s a knife scar?”

“It looks like a scar caused by a sharp object, but since you’re stiffening at the knife part, then my guess was correct. What happened? How did you get stabbed?”

My hands quiver, but I manage to speak in a levelled tone. “That’s none of your business.”

“What did I say about that mouth? Maybe you do want me to fuck it.”

“I don’t care what you do to my body, Jonathan. This thing has been dead for eleven years.”

I don’t know why I freely offer that information. Maybe I wanted to figuratively flip Jonathan the finger by letting him know I’m useless in the sex department. That no matter what he does, he won’t be able to break me.

He can’t break what’s already broken.

His fingers trail down from my ribs to my stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then he cups me through my underwear.

I don’t stiffen. I don’t even try to wiggle free. It doesn’t matter, because he can’t get to me.

The few sexual encounters I’ve had were complete disasters. One of them even said, “You’re dry as a desert.” Then he soaked me in lube so he could get inside.

There’s nothing Jonathan could do to change that. Sexual pleasure was purged out of me when I saw those vacant eyes.

So, in a way, Jonathan got defective goods.

Good luck with all the lube.

“You’re telling me you’re dead here?” His grip tightens. “Maybe I should find out.”

“Show me your worst.”