King’s Rule

by Ashenden, Jackie

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Poppy?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Poppy

  XANDER’S VOICE WAS HARSH, his black eyes boring into mine. He was bending over me, six foot three of broad-shouldered furious male, his hands on the arms of my chair, caging me in.

  I couldn’t speak, shock still ringing through me, my heartbeat wild and out of control.

  I’d been so absorbed in drawing I hadn’t heard him come up behind me. But then that was what happened when I was designing—I tended not to be aware of what was going on around me.

  It was stupid to have taken out my sketchbook, but I’d finished most of the tasks he’d set me and thought I’d take a little time out to finish sketching the roofline on my house.

  It was the only way I could stop thinking about him and that kiss, and the feel of his warm fingers around my throat; about his mouth on mine, hard, demanding and hot; about the taste of him, rich and dark, like the spiced rum I’d stolen from Augustus’s liquor cabinet one night during a party.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, fury pouring off him. ‘Explain to me why you’re drawing on company time.’

  I wanted to say something snarky, but my brain had temporarily short-circuited. He was so close, those long-fingered hands that had been around my throat now wrapped around the arms of the chair.

  His face was inches away, the planes and angles of it strong and powerful, fitting together so beautifully. A perfect structure.

  I wanted to touch it, run my fingers over his cheekbones and nose, his forehead and jaw, the deceptively soft curve of his bottom lip.

  Stupid. He was furious with me and I wasn’t sure why. Sure, I’d been drawing, but only for about five minutes, not long.

  Nothing to do with kissing him in his office, nope.

  But why would that have made him so angry? I shouldn’t have done it, responding blindly to the challenge he’d thrown at me, but it was just a kiss. A kiss that had shaken me down to my bones, yet surely not a big deal for him.

  Except the glitter in his eyes now... It couldn’t be just because I was sketching, surely?

  I forced myself to answer calmly. ‘I’ve done most of that list you gave me so I thought it wouldn’t matter if I finished something personal. I’ve only been doing it for five minutes.’

  His gaze went to the desktop where my sketchbook was and instantly I wanted to reach for it, to hide it from him.

  It was deeply personal that book, my collection of favourite buildings and the designs for a house I’d been dreaming of since I was a teenager. A house that I’d designed just for me.

  It was based a little on the Kings’ family home, where I’d gone to live at age ten and had loved because it was built on a clifftop and looked out over the sea. But it wasn’t mine and I’d never got over the feeling that I didn’t belong there.

  I’d never belonged anywhere.

  There had only been one occasion where I’d felt at home and that had been one morning when the Kings had all been out and I’d been at home alone. So I’d gone for a swim in the pool—naked since there wasn’t anyone around—and imagined that the house was mine. That I’d belonged there.

  It had been such a good feeling that afterwards I’d gone out and got myself a sketchbook and I’d started designing a house that one day I would build for myself.

  That house was in that book now and if there was one person I didn’t want to show it to, it was Xander King.

  I couldn’t stop myself, reaching for the book before he did, but he was too fast, snatching it off the desktop before I could get hold of it.

  Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

  ‘It’s just a few sketches,’ I forced out, trying to sound calm and not claw the book from his hands. ‘No big deal.’

  The book was open but he didn’t look at it, his dark eyes on mine instead, gauging my reaction.

  I couldn’t let on how much that book meant to me. I couldn’t let him see my dream home, all laid out on the pages like the innermost parts of my soul.

  But I must have looked too desperate because he snapped it shut suddenly and said, ‘Get into my office. I want you to explain to me why drawing in this book is so much more important than doing the tasks you are paid to do.’

  Anger sank its claws into me, sharp and painful.

  ‘Why are you being such a bastard?’ I burst out, unable to help myself. ‘Like I said, I’ve done most of what you told me to do. And I’ve only been sketching for five minutes.’

  His eyes glittered coldly. ‘If you want to see this book again you’ll get your ass into my office now.’

  The word ‘now’ was like an electrical current, shocking me, and I could almost feel the pressure of his fingers around my throat again, pressing lightly against my skin. Stealing my breath.

  I found myself getting to my feet and heading towards his office without a single protest, barely even aware of what I was doing until I was stepping inside.

  God, why was I obeying him?

  My anger gathered tighter, not so much claws now as a hot ember burning a hole right through me and I turned, only to find him standing right behind me, the look on his face fierce, intent.

  He began to walk forward, making me stumble back, my heart beating fast and getting faster at the gathering darkness in his eyes.

  Energy was crackling off him, an electricity I could feel pushing against my skin, heating me up from the inside and making me burn.

  ‘Do you know what you’ve done, Poppy Valentine?’ His voice was soft and cold and dark as he stalked towards me. ‘Do you have any idea at all?’

  ‘What?’ I always seemed to be retreating before him and I didn’t want to. Yet something inside me wouldn’t let me stand my ground and I found myself continuing to back away. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Give me my book, dammit.’

  ‘No.’ He kept on coming. ‘Not until you understand exactly what game you’ve been playing.’

  ‘I haven’t been playing any damn game.’ The edge of his desk pressed hard against the backs of my thighs, stopping me from going any further. ‘Stop being a tool, Xander.’

  He closed the distance between us until he was standing right in front of me. Then he slammed my sketchbook down on the desk and put his palms down on either side of my hips, making me lean back to avoid being pressed against his lean, hard body.

  I fought for breath, the force of that furious gaze making something inside me go weak.

  He wasn’t so cool and stern now. No, now he was staring at me as if nothing else in the entire world existed for him but me. And I hadn’t known how badly I’d wanted him to look at me like that until now.

  ‘You delicious little bitch.’ Rough heat threaded through his deep, cold voice. ‘Where do you get off kissing me like that? Without even asking? Do you know how long I’ve spent fighting the urge to do just that? How long I’ve spent fighting the urge to simply push you against the nearest wall and fuck you till we both can’t breathe?’ He leaned in a bit more, his obsidian eyes inches away, his beautiful mouth nearly brushing mine. ‘I’ve wanted you for years,’ he breathed. ‘Fucking years.’

  There was a roaring in my ears. He’d wanted to...fuck me?

  But I didn’t get a chance to process what he was saying because he kept on going.

  ‘I tried to do the right thing, to be good and not touch you, because you were my stepsister and I knew you hated me. But that didn’t stop me from wanting you.’ His gaze searched mine, not cold any longer but hot with anger and something else... Desire. ‘I held out against it. Avoided you when I could. Ignored you when I couldn’t avoid you. And it worked. It fucking worked. Until you waltzed in with your perky little tits in a see-through blouse and you grabbed my tie, and you kissed me. You kissed me.’ The look on his face burned with intensity, with fury. ‘That’s not how it’s supposed to go. That’s
not how it’s supposed to go at all. You destroyed years of self-control, and for what? To get one over on me? To make a point?’

  My brain reeled. I still couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. He’d wanted me for years? But he hated me... Didn’t he?

  ‘You crossed the line.’ He leaned forward even more, his body mere millimetres from mine. ‘You did, not me. Remember that, Poppy. Because now you have some consequences to face.’

  My heartbeat was loud in my head, my brain struggling to keep up with all the stuff he was throwing at me. But thinking was difficult with him being so close and so hot, his mouth within kissing distance.

  I knew I should try to shove him back, but I couldn’t look away from him. He held me mesmerised and when he gripped my hips and lifted me onto the desktop I didn’t make a sound. Not even when his hands settled on my thighs and he pushed my skirt up and spread my knees, forcing his lean hips between them.

  I was shaking all of a sudden, my heart in my throat, achingly conscious of his hands on my thighs, his fingers resting on the hem of my skirt while his thumbs brushed against my bare skin.

  It burned where he touched, like being brushed with a naked flame.

  He said nothing, did nothing. Simply stood there and looked at me, his midnight eyes full of fire. Demanding something from me that I wasn’t sure how to give.

  My breathing became ragged and embarrassingly loud in the silence of the office, and I felt like I was falling somehow. Like the world was spinning out of control and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded at last. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

  ‘I don’t... I mean, I c-can’t...’

  ‘You kissed me.’ His thumbs had begun to trace small circles on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending goosebumps everywhere, making me break out into a sweat. ‘Did you really think I was going to do nothing about it? That it didn’t matter to me?’

  ‘I didn’t know. It was just a s-stupid kiss.’

  Those flames in his eyes leapt high. ‘No,’ he murmured, a harsh note of warning in his voice. ‘It wasn’t just a stupid kiss. You took what wasn’t yours and you thought you could get away with it, but you can’t. I’m not going to let you.’ He slid one hand higher, his fingers trailing along my inner thigh, watching me all the while. ‘You’ve been a bad girl and I’ve spent years wanting to teach you a lesson. Now I’m going to. Are you ready?’

  I should have told him no and shoved him away, but I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  I was trembling, my breathing getting faster and faster, unable to hide my response to his touch this time. And he knew. It was probably written all over my face.

  I’d never forget the first time I realised that the emotional pull I felt towards him had become sexual.

  It was so stupid that even now I cringed to think about it.

  One Christmas, a friend of his father’s had come over and he’d brought his little dog. The dog had been anxious and had started barking and being aggressive. But Xander had simply given it a stern look and told it to sit down and be quiet. And there had been something in his voice, a note of quiet authority that had made my knees go weak. The dog had done exactly what he’d said and then he’d sat down beside the animal, stroking it gently, telling it what a good dog it was. And the dog had simply slumped against his feet like he’d found a new master.

  I’d wanted to be that animal in that moment. I’d wanted to be the one he told to sit down and be quiet. So I could stop fighting, stop trying to be someone different and just be me. To rest against him and have him stroke me, tell me what a good girl I was. Be at peace with myself.

  Have his hand on my skin. Do whatever he said. Please him.

  I’d never had those thoughts about anyone else. Just him.

  And right now, sitting on the desk, staring into his demanding dark eyes with his hands on my skin, I felt it again. The need to show him I could be good. To have his attention and his praise. To stop fighting the desperate pull I had towards him and simply accept it.

  ‘Yes,’ I said thickly, helplessly. ‘I’m ready.’

  His gaze flared and he didn’t hesitate, sliding his hand all the way up between my thighs until his fingers brushed over the front of my knickers.

  I gasped. The touch was electric, making me shudder, the expression on his face turning feral with satisfaction.

  ‘You’re wet.’ His voice was gravelly and so deep I could feel the vibration of it in my chest. ‘You want me, don’t you?’ His fingers began to trace the folds of my sex through the lace of my underwear, his touch light in sharp contrast to the ferocity burning in his eyes.

  I shuddered again as sharp bolts of pleasure scattered through me. ‘I...’

  ‘Tell me, bad girl,’ he demanded. ‘Tell me how much you want me.’

  ‘B-Bad girl?’ I tried for my usual snark, desperate for any kind of barrier to hide behind. ‘Seriously?’

  The dark flames in his gaze blazed, his fingers moving higher, finding my clit and circling.

  I groaned and lifted my hands, wanting to touch him, hang on to him because the desk was tilting, I was sure of it, and if I wasn’t careful I was going to slide right off.

  ‘Hands on the desk.’ The order was hard and flat as he continued that maddening touch between my thighs. ‘And keep them there. You don’t get to touch me yet. Not until you give me what I want.’

  I put my hands down, helpless to resist the command. ‘Xander,’ I panted. ‘I... I...’

  ‘You what?’ The last word was vicious as his fingers hooked into the lace of my knickers and jerked them aside. ‘You’re hot and wet and desperate for my cock?’ He touched my slick, bare flesh and I couldn’t hold back the desperate moan as raw pleasure licked up inside me. ‘Is that what you meant to say?’

  I swayed, gripping onto the edge of the desk so tightly my knuckles went white. I didn’t want to give in, I so didn’t, but he was driving me insane. How many times had I imagined him touching me? How many times had I lain by myself in the darkness of my bedroom, imagining him giving me orders and me obeying them?

  Hundreds of times. Thousands. Countless.

  ‘No,’ I forced out, trying to resist the urge to open my thighs wider, lift my hips against his hand. ‘That’s not wh-what I meant to say.’

  ‘You’re such a liar, Poppy.’ His fingers slid through my folds, a firm, deliberate pressure. ‘Why are you lying? When I can feel how much you want me?’

  ‘I’m...not...l-lying,’ I said through my teeth, even as my pussy throbbed and ached, desperate for more of his touch.

  Gently he took a fistful of my hair and drew my head back, forcing me to look at him. And I didn’t protest. I needed to look into those mesmerising black eyes, to ground myself. Because the pleasure was eating me alive and I didn’t know what to do with it.

  ‘You want me,’ he said relentlessly. ‘You’re desperate for me. I can feel it. You’re practically coming all over my fingers already.’

  My face flamed. There was no way I could deny it, not now. And when one of those long, clever fingers pushed gently into me, I jerked, a low, animal sound of pleasure escaping my throat.

  ‘How long?’ His voice was guttural, his fingers in my hair winding tighter, pulling my head back even further. ‘How long have you wanted me?’

  There was no resisting his authority, no resisting him.

  ‘S-Since...’ When had it been? That Christmas? My brain wasn’t working and then his finger eased deeper, pushing against the walls of my sex and I lost my train of thought entirely. I was so wet there was no resistance. My thighs trembled and it was all I could do not to shift against his hand.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Christmas,’ I gasped. ‘Five, six years ago.’

  ‘Why Christmas?’ His fingers curled inside me, his
thumb stroking over my clit.

  I groaned, looking up into his dark eyes, the truth spilling out of me even though I didn’t want it to. ‘Your dad’s friend had a dog. And it was jumping up. You told it to sit down and be quiet, and then you stroked it.’ I couldn’t stop the words; they kept coming. ‘I wanted you to do that to me. I wanted you to tell me to sit down and be quiet. And then I wanted you to stroke me.’

  Shit, why had I told him that? It was the most embarrassing thing on earth.

  Yet there was no surprise in his face. It was as if he’d been expecting that explanation all along. ‘Why did you want that?’

  ‘Because I wanted your attention.’ I don’t know why I kept going. Then again, I’d told him everything else. What was one more humiliation? ‘I wanted you to l-look at me. To touch me.’

  He was all dark, magnetic fury and burning heat. ‘You know that seals it, don’t you? Knowing that you wanted me. Because now I’m going to punish you for that kiss and for holding out on me.’ His thumb began a slow back and forth, stroking my clit. ‘If you want my cock you’re going to have to beg for it. That’s your punishment, Poppy.’

  I shuddered at the hot shock of pleasure that went through me at the rough, dirty words. At the demand in them. At the thought of begging him for what I wanted.

  And I did want it. I’d wanted it for so long I couldn’t even remember what it felt like not to want it.

  Thoughts went through my head, vague warning thoughts about how this was a slippery slope. And how if I started begging Xander for what I wanted now, and started taking his orders, then there was nothing to separate me from my mother.

  But his fingers were moving between my legs and the thoughts vanished like smoke.

  ‘Well?’ His thumb moved tantalisingly over me, the look on his face utterly compelling. ‘Beg me to fuck you, Poppy. Beg me for it.’

  And I saw at last what lay underneath his fury: desperation.

  He needed this as badly as I did.

  All the remaining breath left my lungs as the things he’d been saying all this time finally hit.