“I love you too,” she replies, and I hit the end button, turning my screen off.
Setting the phone next to my head, I roll over on my side, tuck my hands between my thighs and close my eyes. If it’s cold enough, then this is my favorite way to sleep. I can still smell him, the leather and spice that seems ingrained into his skin. It smells amazing. And mint, from his mouthwash, it was all deliciously overwhelming to my senses.
I must doze off for a few minutes because I swear I can hear myself snoring, but that’s not what startles me, it’s the pounding on my front door. Someone’s knocking so loudly, you’d swear the place was on fire or something.
Keeping my eyes closed, I pull the covers off my face and sniff the air a few times.No fire.Taking a few deep inhales, I attempt to get my mind back to nothing when the door lashing begins again.
Jumping up in a furious rush, I storm toward the front door. “Whoever the fuck this is, better be dying if they’re hitting my door like that!” I huff to myself and the random houseplant placed next to my couch. I’m not a morning person, in general, and this lack of sleep is liable to make me scratch someone’s eyes out.
Wrenching the door open in a flourish, I shout in a tired fit of rage, “What?”
On the other side, my eyes meet with a muscular chest covered in black leather.
My gaze flutters over the different patches decorating the front, one, in particular, drawing a swift gasp as I read over each letter.-Viking-
Fuck, shit fuck, fuckity, fuck! How many times has Brently warned me to check the peephole before opening the door? I’ve no doubt learned my lesson; you better believe I’ll be using it from now on. How did he find me? What’s he even doing here?
He stands so stagnant; he could be a statue. Clenching my fists, I meet Viking’s intense stare.
I expect to find heat or the cocky confidence from last night, but instead, it’s turmoil swirling in the colorful depths. He’s confused like he’s questioning something, maybe wondering if he should’ve come here.
Lacing my voice with venom, I ask the million-dollar question, “What’re you doing here?”
His nostrils flare like an irate bull, ready to charge. “You left,” he rasps, making it sound more like an accusation rather than a declaration.
“We fucked, it was obviously done.” Shrugging my shoulders slightly, I continue, ready to drive it home and piss him off enough to leave. Anger and words have always been my defense I go to when someone can hurt me. “Besides, I always want a shower right away after a one-night stand. Don’t you?”
A deep rumble shakes his chest as anger consumes his handsome face; suddenly his hands fly forward, each one grabbing my upper arms tightly enough to leave finger marks. Viking prowls forward, lifting me off the floor, and driving me backward into my living room. He kicks out behind him, effectively slamming my front door so hard there’s a good possibility it could be broken.
A whimper bubbles up, leaving me, shocked at the sudden movement and the ferocity overcoming Viking’s entire being. I’ve never been manhandled before; no one that I know would’ve dared to touch me like this. There wasn’t a man that I dated brave enough to stand up to me or fight with me. If they had, my brother would’ve beaten him to a pulp if I hadn’t already.
My back meets the wall next to the hall leading to my bedroom, and my head hits the solid surface with a small thump, momentarily dazing me. My stomach twists with a rush of adrenaline as the flight or fight reflex starts to kick in, commanding my body to survive. I want to struggle against his hold, to fight him, but my heart pleads for me to just stop this nonsense and apologize to him.
He releases one of my arms, bringing his hand between my legs. On reflex, I slam them closed around his palm.
“Open your legs, Princess,” he demands sternly.
“Fuck. You.”
“God, you’re one mouthy bitch; of course, you’d be the one I’d find.”
It takes everything inside to hold back from dropping my father’s name. I refuse to let him win this battle for me. I can stand up for myself. I have to.
Viking releases my other arm to peel my thighs apart. I’m in pretty decent shape, but in no way am I strong enough to fight off the mountain of a man in front of me. Slapping my hands over his pecs, I drive my fingernails in as harshly as possible.
I’ll make him feel something.
I’m expecting him to cry out in pain or surprise—anything. His gaze, simmering with rage, meets mine, and he smiles. The motherfucker grins like it feels good, exactly the opposite of what I wanted.
Two of his thick fingers drive inside me, stretching my tender flesh, going as far as my body will allow them. Every piece of me is wracked in confusion. I gave myself freely to him last night. Why is he here, why’s he doing this?
A cry escapes me at the intrusion, while my pussy excitedly milks his fingers. The trader bitch has already been broken by him and is ready to do what he commands.
“Why?” I whisper brokenly, as a tear falls, cascading over my cheek until it drops from my jaw.
He stares into my eyes intently; breathing deeply as if he's just running a race and pumps his fingers into me a few times. “Because I made you mine,” he murmurs.
Another tear drops as I attempt to speak, “I-I…”