Page 6 of Deviant Knight (Knight's Ridge Empire 4)

THEO

“What’s wro— Ohh,” Stella sings as I storm toward where she and Seb are sitting in the common room.

Both of them are on laptops, probably still desperately trying to catch up on all the shit they missed over the past couple of months.

“What did you do?” Seb asks, his eyes following someone else across the room. It doesn’t take a genius to work out who.

“Why do you immediately assume that I did something?”

They both focus back on me, raising matching brows.

“You two spend too much fucking time together,” I hiss, taking off in the direction of the coffee machine.

I only make it two steps before I realise that she beat me to it.

Sensing me approaching, she glances back.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?”

“Keep dreaming, Ramsey.”

I close the space between us, crowding her against the machine as it prepares her coffee.

It’s dangerous. One day she’s going to whip a knife out and sink it right into my chest, I’m sure, but I can’t deny my desire to make her squirm.

She tries so hard to appear unaffected by me. And to others, it might look like she’s not. But I know differently. I see it. Her dark chocolate eyes almost turn black when I’m close. The corner of her right one twitches and she breathes that little bit harder.

It’s fucking addictive to watch.

Unlike usual, though, her eyes break from mine at my words.

“Wait,” I say, possibly jumping to conclusions but running with it anyway. “You did, didn’t you?”

“I did what?” she hisses, turning her attention back to her almost full mug.

“Dream of me.”

“Fucking hell,” she breathes, reaching for her mug and taking it from the little stand. “You really do think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” But as she says the words, it’s impossible to miss the slight reddening of her cheeks.

Oh yeah, I hit the nail right on the head.

“So do you, if your reaction is anything to go by. Wanna tell me about it, sweetheart?”

“Don’t fucking sweetheart me. The only dreams I’ve ever had of you involve me holding a gun to your fucking head.”

“Kinky, I like it.”

“Jesus. It’s too early for this shit. Move, unless you want to wear this.”

“I’m sure I could handle it.”

Her eyes roll so far back in her head I can’t help but wonder how much it hurts before I take a step back, allowing her to flee—although as she moves, all I really achieve is getting a noseful of her scent.

A shot of desire hits me like a fucking lighting strike.

Reaching for a mug, I start the machine once more and wait not so patiently for it, a series of curious eyes drilling into my back.

That’s only confirmed when I turn around and discover just how big my audience is.