Page 87 of His Prince

I take a step closer to him and Bane grins up at me. “You can’t scoop my eyeballs out. I did save your life.”

I hesitate and then reach out and grab him around his throat, walking him back until he’s up against the wall. He giggles and gasps as I lift him up off his feet, his toes dangling off the ground.

“You won’t fucking look at him again, do you understand?”

“Mikhail!” Angel cries out, but I ignore him.

“Oh, I understand,” Bane wheezes, his hands clutching my wrists. I choke him a little longer, until Angel stumbles over, a blanket around his shoulders, his cold fingers against my warm skin.

“Let him go, please.”

My fingers slacken and Bane slides against the wall, holding onto his throat.

His eyes are glimmering and his lips are turned up ina small smile.

“That was so hot. Anytime you want to choke me, I’m game.”

I stare at him in disbelief, and Angel tugs me toward the bed.

“Go on, Bane. Get out of here and stop going through the tunnels. Someone bad is down there.”

“Not anyone I’ve seen. It seems the ghost only wants Mikhail dead. Not me.”

“Bane, please,” Angel pleads, probably seeing the way my body is tensing, the way I want to grab on to his limbs and rip him apart.

Luckily for him, Bane disappears out the bedroom door and I’m left to close the secret passageway and push the chest of drawers over it once more.

“That man is a pest.”

“He’s a good one though,” Angel replies, and I stare at him, looking rumpled and flushed. I prowl toward him and that blanket falls to the ground, his body scrambling backward as he tries to make a run for it. But I grab him around the middle and hold him to me, my teeth sinking into his neck.

He cries out, bucking against me, but I hold him still.

“He’s not good enough for you,” I hiss, glancing down at the marks I’ve left on his porcelain skin.

“I know. He doesn’t want me anyway.”

“But if he did, would you want him?”

The thought makes me incredibly angry.

“No. No, I’ve only ever wanted you.”

The anger dissipates, replaced with something far more feral, unhinged. He’s only ever wanted me.

“Me?” I nearly growl as he falls back onto the mattress, his cock bobbing against his stomach, that pretty flush moving up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Yes. You.”

He scrambles back, but I grab on to his ankles, tugging him toward me as my name slips from his lips with a squeal.

“Say it. Say you only want to fuck me.”

“Just you,” he murmurs, and I pull him right to the edge of the bed and flip him over.

I won’t touch him or kiss him, won’t make him feel more than he should for me. It was selfish to ever ask. I can’t give him more than this.

“Spread. Them.”