Page 208 of King of Pain

The TV isn’t even on.

My heart stutters. Something’s off.

I stand, letting my bag drop onto one of the bar stools and slowly walk toward him.

“Hey,” I say quietly, stepping up behind the couch.

He doesn’t move.

No glance. No reaction. Not even a muscle twitch. Just… staring.

Okay, this is weird.

I lean over, gently sliding my hands down his chest, tucking my face into the curve of his neck, breathing himin. The familiarity of his scent—cologne, sweat, and something uniquelyhim—grounds me.

Softly, I whisper, “Fuck, I missed you,” and press a long, lingering kiss to his neck.

He finally turns his head, blinking like he’s coming out of a fog. “Oh. Hey.”

He leans in and kisses me, gentle. Sweet. But something’s still off—like he’s present physically, but not all the way in it.

“You okay?” I murmur; my palm still pressed to his chest.

Chance shifts, gets up on his knees on the couch, now facing me fully. “Yeah,” he says, tone firmer this time. “I am now.”

He grabs a fistful of my shirt and yanks me down into a kiss that’s the exact opposite of the one before—this one is filthy, greedy, full of tongue and teeth and want. He breaks it just long enough to pant, “Much better now.”

I barely have a chance to smirk before he starts unbuttoning my shirt like a man possessed.

“I fucking love you in a white dress shirt,” he growls, eyes trailing down my chest like he’s starving. “The way it accents that tan Italian skin…”

His fingers tug the fabric free from where it’s tucked into my slacks, undoing the last button with a flourish.

“But,” he continues, sliding the shirt down my arms and letting it drop to the floor, “I like it a hell of a lot better when it’s crumpled in a corner after I’ve had my way with you.”

I raise a brow. “In a rush, are we?”

He nods, eyes hooded and dark. “Desperate,” he breathes, and then presses his mouth to mine in another scorching kiss.

“Going through withdrawals,” he mutters as he unzips my pants and hooks his fingers in both my slacks and boxer briefs, dragging them down in one motion past the bottom of my ass.

He kisses me again.

Once. Twice. A third time—each kiss punctuated by a word.

“I.”

kiss

“Need.”

kiss

“Your.”

kiss

“Cock.”