Description
I shoved him against the wall, a hot mix of anger and lust blurring my sense of control - my sense of judgement. I placed a hand against his chest, my fingers dancing over the rubbery texture of the leather jacket he wore. He was nothing more than a sheep in lion skin. He wore it like a mask; a costume. My lips neared his and I couldn't help but growl at our proximity. He was a coward, but he could be so much more. "C'mon. Make me beg for it, make me weep for it. You say you're my soulmate, my mate. So come on mate of mine - King of mine - make me your bitch." Grasping onto his collar, I attempted to reign in the confidence I had worked so hard to achieve. The confidence that was slowly starting to slip. "Or does the pompous bastard with a tiara have cold feet?" - • - He was a man of power. I was a woman of freedom. He was the king of the Rebellion. I was a mere spy for the Royals. I played with the fire that was Cal Holland and got burned; ruthlessly. For I fear there is no escape from the Rebellion's clutches, from Cal, from myself. Because everyone knew, no blood was stronger than Royal Blood.
Copyright
