Page 17 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

His breath catches, and I swoop down before he recovers.

“But what if she’s a little sassy, a little bratty, and decides to act on her impulses?

” I swirl a hand in the tiny space between our bodies.

“A touch you don’t command,” my breath collides close, too close, on his lips, “a kiss you don’t initiate.

” I drag my stare from his mouth to his eyes, and I see it, the exact moment his careful facade cracks, the last inch of the tactical territory he’d die before he’d surrender falls.

“Are you going to run like a scared little boy again?”

A gasp rips out of my throat as his fist chokes me.

He squeezes, a warning, a promise, a surrender all at once.

The counter edge digs into my lower back as he crowds me against it.

Then he yanks me up and places me on top of it, my back to the wall.

He’s so close I can count his eyelashes, see the ring of gold around his blown pupils, smell the raw desperation in the way he holds me, a man who’s been starving himself finally faced with a feast.

Feel the sharp tip of the kitchen knife on my chest.

“I warned you.” He spreads my legs with his weight, his body finally, finally closing that careful distance he’s maintained from day one, his cock, stiff as a rock against me. “I fucking warned you.”

When you knock on hell’s door, who do you think will open?

His thumb traces my pulse point. Can he feel how fast my heart is racing under his palm?

How wet and hot my pussy is? Does he know that for all my brave words, he’s not the only one terrified of what happens next.

“I won’t run. Not this time.” He slides the knife down the line between my breasts. “But you should.”

The wolf is out now. The devil. No. I thought I saw his devil that day in the shower, but this… This is what he’s promised. Hell’s doors have opened wide like he warned, and all the demons are out to play.

The knife’s path down my chest leaves fire in its wake, but it’s nothing compared to the inferno in his eyes, the throbbing of his erection against my flesh, the gushes of arousal soaking my panties.

His warning should terrify me. The barely contained violence, the fear, the threat, the way he’s pinning me like prey should send me running.

Instead, each thundering heartbeat under his palm screams closer .

“Should I?” My voice comes out breathless, and I arch into the blade.

“You forget, Tristan. I wrote the devil. So many devils and demons they’ve become all I know, all I crave.

” My legs tighten around his hips, and his hard cock is practically digging a hole in my stomach.

“I’ve been imagining what this devil tastes like for weeks. ”

A growl erupts from him. His fingers tighten against my throat. One demand. That’s all it would take to shatter him completely. Just three words to unleash whatever darkness he’s been caging inside.

“Kiss me, Tristan.” My lips part, the invitation hovering between us like a lit fuse. “I know you want to.”

His answer is a chuckle so dark, almost cruel. The knife traces up my neck, gentler than the hand around my throat leaving only to fist my hair and yank my head back until my pulse strains against the blade.

“Want to?” His voice is gravel and sin. His breath fans hot across my exposed skin.

“I’ve wanted to devour you since the first time I laid eyes on you.

” He rolls his hips, grinding his cock against me in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes the knife quiver against my skin.

“But you don’t get to make demands. Not anymore. ”

The flat of the blade slides along my jaw as his teeth graze my ear—not quite a bite, just a taste of what he’s holding back.

“You crossed this line. You pushed until I broke.” His grip in my hair tightens, sending sparks down my spine.

“So if you want my kiss, you’re going to have to beg for it.

Let me hear how badly you want to taste this devil. ”

An attempt to dominate the situation, to put himself back in charge. There’s a tremor in his hands that betrays him. The knife dances against my skin. Need wars with his last grasp for control. I feel it, how close he is to coming undone.

“Beg me to kiss you, Birdie. Fucking beg me to kiss you, Reagan.”

“Please.” My body arches into the blade with the pleading whimper. “Please kiss me, Tristan. I need it. Need you. Please . I beg you.”

The knife clatters to the counter. Victory blazes in his eyes as he leans in, his lips just a breath away from mine.

But before they connect, I move faster than he expects.

My hand finds the knife, and in one fluid motion, I press the tip against his groin and pierce my teeth into the soft flesh of his lower lip.

His entire body goes rigid. The grip in my hair loosens as shock replaces triumph on his face.

Rolling my hips against him while the knife keeps him frozen in place, I let go of his lip, but not until the taste of blood fills our mouths.

“You thought you had me, didn’t you? Thought you could make me your good little girl?

” I trace the knife higher, letting it drag along the bulge in his pants.

“But you forgot something important,” I purr, “I create the monsters. I don’t submit to them. ”

“You,” his breaths, tinged with blood, rumble, “will pay for this.”

“Is that a promise?” I lean forward until my lips brush his ear. “When will you learn, Tristan? In this game, I’ll always win.”

An awkward cough echoes over our breaths. I glance over Tristan’s shoulders. Brandon is standing, eyes unsettled where to land. “I…I’m sorry.”

I smile at the boy. “Sorry for what? Tristan was showing me a couple of self-defense moves. After that night, he thought I needed it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Abel, I mean…Birdie, ma’am.”

Sliding off the counter, I can’t resist throwing another smirk at Tristan, and then I walk over to Brandon. “Where are you from?”

“Texas.”

Texas and the military, it explains a lot. “And how old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

My brow cocks at Tristan, who is still facing the wall.

It won’t be a nice look if Brandon sees his boss so messed up with a hard-on the size of Texas .

“And he sends you out in the freezing cold to chop wood. It’s a shame that a grown-a—” I swallow the bad word around the boy, “—man huddles in the kitchen and lets the youngest member of his team do all the hard labor for him.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I’m a soldier and a fully trained security detail. I’m capable of doing any task my boss assigns me.”

“I’m sorry, Brandon. I didn’t mean that in any offensive way to you. I have no doubt you’re more than capable, and that’s why you’re off wood chopping duty. Instead, you will train me. Maybe I’ll learn something I don’t already know.”

Brandon, flustered, shoots a look between me and Tristan, who, at last, stares back in our direction.

“Oh, don’t look at him. He’s your boss, but I’m his .” I flash a full smile at my fuming bodyguard. “By the way, Tristan, I need the internet.”

“What for?”

“What everyone uses it for, silly. Social media, of course.”