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Defiant Queen

Defiant Queen

Page 35

“Thank you. For all of this. It means a lot to me.” I lift my lips to press a kiss to his square jaw, now dark with stubble. When I lower myself on my heels to back away, Mount snakes an arm around my waist, yanking me against his chest.

“So that’s what it takes. A trip to Ireland. Duly noted.”

I don’t have time to process his statement before his lips crash down on mine, his tongue stealing inside and taking over.

When he lifts me off my feet, my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He carries me into the bedroom, and we land on the bed with a hard bounce. Mount’s weight presses against me as I bury my hands in his hair.

I tell myself it’s gratitude fueling my actions, but I refuse to look deeper.

Mount tears the blouse from my body, sending buttons flying. He has my skirt shoved up around my waist when a knock comes at the outer door of the suite.

“Shit. The food,” I say on a harsh breath.

“Fuck the food.”

“That works for me.”

We both ignore the continued knocking, and the subsequent phone ringing, in favor of devouring each other.

For the first time, the power struggle doesn’t take precedence. This is something different. Something . . . more daunting.

I push the disturbing thought away as Mount frees his cock and shoves my panties to the side, finding me already wet. He never breaks my stare as he pushes inside, slowly this time, burying himself inch by inch. When he’s fully seated, he growls a single word in my ear.

“Mine.”

It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard him say, because I’m starting to believe him.

 

 

Mount

 

 

Keira missed registration. Mostly due to the fact that we fell asleep and I woke her up with my head between her legs, teasing her clit with her new jewelry.

I sent a request down to the hotel staff to retrieve any necessary information from registration, and that gave us a few more hours, during which I didn’t let her out of bed. At least, not until both of us decided that food was imperative.

When Keira walks into the cocktail party that evening, I follow a half step behind her, using my height to survey the crowd for threats while keeping my face impassive. My little hellion took my words to heart and shows no hesitation or uncertainty, holding herself like a queen in this male-dominated room.

Heads swivel as she strolls through the crowd, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the designer dress she’s wearing. She’s magnetic. Vibrating with energy.

“They’re all wondering who you are,” I tell her as we order drinks at the bar. Whiskey neat for both of us, made by the company with the biggest share of the whiskey market.

“More like they’re wondering who you are,” she whispers.

“Care to make a wager?”

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