I tilt my head, my brows furrowing in surprise as I take in this new side of him.
With everything I've learned of him so far—particularly his unyielding intensity—I hadn't thought there was a more…leisurely side to him.
His sculpted chest is emphasized by the tight fit of the shirt, his pebbled abdominals almost peeking through.
"What are you looking at?" he barks, folding his hands over his chest and narrowing his eyes at me.
A smile pulls at my lips because for all his domineering attitude, there's also something soft about him. Something…rather innocent.
"Am I not allowed to look?" I shrug, taking a step forward.
"Not like that," he grumbles under his breath.
"Like what? You're a handsome man, JK. And you're my husband…" I trail off, amused at his scandalized expression. Especially as I bring my hand up, brushing my fingers lightly over his forearm.
He doesn't move, although his entire body is wound tightly as he keeps himself rooted to the spot.
Just when I think I have the upper hand, though, ready to play with him a little, he turns the cards on me.
My back connects with the hard wood of the door, the breath knocked out of me as I blink, staring up into his chilly eyes as he looks down at me with that mocking disdain I've come to associate with him.
His body is crowding mine, and I can feel all those hard planes pressed against me. That strength in his arms that makes me yearn for a place to nestle between them…
"Done playing the meek victim?" he asks spitefully, his face twisted in a scowl. "Let's see," he laughs drily. "Is this when you beg me to fuck you again?"
"I never begged," I grit out.
"Right. Why don't we remedy that?" His voice drops to a dangerous notch. "Get on your knees and beg me, and I might indulge you," he smirks.
"I'm not going to ever beg," I state confidently, meeting his stare head on.
He might intimidate me, and he might inspire uncomfortable feelings in me, but that doesn't mean that I'm simply going to sing to his tune.
"We'll see about that, little liar," he smiles at me, but he doesn't make to move.
We are at a standstill, our eyes locked in a vicious battle that neither wants to abandon.
I don't blink.
He doesn’t blink.
It's a battle of the wills as our breaths become labored, the air growing hotter with the intensity of our perseverance.
The heat emanating from his body seeps into mine, every spot he's touching inflamed by the impossibility of the situation.
His pupils grow larger, his nostrils flaring as his upper lip twitches. Yet he doesn't abandon his position. He keeps me locked in this arctic embrace —the ice in his eyes staying strong even in the face of infernal fires.
My mouth feels dry, my limbs heavy as I feel the press of his body to my core. My tongue slips out to wet my lips, and a shiver goes down my spine as his gaze dips to my mouth.
There's a striking intensity to the way he stares at me—as if he can't decide whether to kill me or fuck me. Alas, it's a conundrum I'm very familiar with and one that often keeps me up at night.
As he realizes the direction of his thoughts, and the fact that his desire is written all over his face, his gaze snaps back to mine. The corner of his mouth curls up in something akin to disgust as he continues to look at me— conflicted emotions visible in every micro-expression.
But as the stare down continues, a low sound erupts in the air, building up until it vibrates in the room.
My mouth pulls into an amused smile as I realize the source.
"Why don't you beg me?" I ask cheekily. "I might take pity on you and feed you." I barely keep myself from laughing out loud. Especially as his cheeks redden in a mix of embarrassment and anger, his hold on me tightening as he brings me even closer to his body.
"Beg me," I murmur, pushing my chin up in a defiant move as I close the distance between our faces.
On the tips of my toes, my lips are barely an inch away from his.
Inhaling, his breath transfers to me, the air filling my lungs and filling me.
The tension in his body doesn't abate. If anything the proximity is making his muscles coil, his strength palpable and enveloping me like a fine glove.
"As if anything coming from you could ever sate me," he jibes, arrogance dripping from his words, the double entendre an obvious taunt.
"It could," I whisper, my voice husky in an attempt to sound seductive. "It might be just what you need."
His jaw clenched, he breathes hard as if he's one step away from actually strangling me. Somehow I know I'm treading on thin ice, but I can't help myself when it comes to him. He brings out a side of me I long thought buried—a daring side that makes me wants to push his buttons. Make him feel what he makes me feel.
There's a pause where neither of us speaks, the wind howling through an open window and inviting a forlorn sound into the empty house.