Snippet from upcoming chapter of Fractured Reflections (Pagan Poetry sequel from Pagan's perspective)~
He had nearly broken his own rules before he left. Found himself outside her apartment at night, checking his phone to see if she was awake. She wasn’t, and that was that — only, he lingered. Thought of going in anyway.
The rattling of the aircon unit in her rundown kitchenette would cover his entry. She’d be in her narrow old bed, fast asleep. He would cover her mouth with his hand, bearing down on her, pinning her to the mattress before she knew what was going on. She’d panic briefly, perhaps fight a little. Then she’d realise who he was, and her panic would turn into arousal.
Though … perhaps not all of it. He would have crossed a line with her, and no matter how eagerly she had been throwing herself at his feet, some part of her would recognise this. She’d be reminded of who he was, truly, when he wasn’t taking her out on expensive dates and treating her like his sweet little princess (or his dirty slut).
She’d remember that the man in her bed was Pagan Min, the Tyrant, and that she was very much out of her depth.
Would he be able to see it in her eyes? Would it turn him off — or spur him on? Would he pull back and smile softly and say he just wanted to say a proper farewell after all, or would he wrap his fingers around that slender throat of hers in order to see her bare-faced fear?
And, when all was said and done, would she still come back for more?