Page 75 of Coveted
“Yet you’re still here.”
“Answer my question,” I say.
“Fine. Fine. Does my career path make me happy?” Lucan scrunches his eyes, like he’s trying to find the right way to explain. “I don’t have a career path. I have boundless expectations placed on me. A legacy to inherit. Happy doesn’t come into it.”
“But everyone deserves to be happy.”
“Even me?”
I suck my teeth. “I guess.”
“Go on then.”
Mystified, I shake my head. “What?”
He studies my mouth. “Make me happy, if you think you can.”
I roll my eyes. “Lucan, you are the most arrogant, insufferable—”
He must’ve been waiting for the second my focus was broken, because I’m caught off-balance when he puts his hand to the base of my skull and threads his fingers through my hair. His fingertips sweep firmly up my scalp, sending shots of electricity down my neck.
Unable to move my head, I gasp. “What are you—”
Lucan’s grip tightens. Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he tilts my head back to silence me. Something primal pours from him, like he’s a lion getting ready to eat.
I should pull away. I should return to my friends. My instincts scream at me to run from the man who calmly admitted he wants to own my world.
Lucan’s thumb brushes my jaw, like he’s memorizing me.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs.
“I’m not,” I say.
His wide mouth curves. “Liar.”
“Go to hell.”
He tips his face closer to mine. So close I can feel his warm breath on my mouth.
“Your pupils are so fucking dilated,” he says. “You can lie to me, but your eyes can’t. Neither could your pretty little cunt at Altar, blushing like a rose for me.”
His words make me want to curl up and die.
Why does he have to be so vile? Why can’t he leave me alone?
And why can’t I make him?
Lucan’s other hand slides downward over my hip, his firm touch making my stomach swoop. Before he can push his hand between my legs, I yank his wrist away, digging my fingernails into his flesh in warning.
He lets me, though his hold on my hair doesn’t loosen.
“Excuse me?” I ask. “Where do you think you’re putting this hand?”
“You’re right,” he says. “We should go slower. Where are my manners?”
He pulls me close, the world shrinking to just him and me.
When I release his wrist, he covers my throat with his hand. His touch is heavy and confident, completely without hesitation.
