“It can wait.”

“Did you just say work can wait? Isn’t that like blasphemy in your work god manual?”

He raises a brow, probably because of my sarcastic tone, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I own the work. It’s not the other way around.”

“Are you telling me that you could stop working tomorrow if you choose to?”

“I could, but I won’t. There’s no fun in hanging around when you can use those hours to be productive.”

“More like destructive,” I mutter to myself.

“If you have something to say, say it out loud. Hiding makes you seem like a coward, and you’re no coward, Aurora.”

His words send a tingle of pride down my spine. Not that I need Jonathan to tell me I’m no coward, but the fact that he’s probably always thought that way about me says something. No idea what, but it does.

He reaches a hand to my face and I stiffen. Is he going to stroke my cheek?

Now that I think about it, Jonathan hardly touches my face — if ever. The only time he’s done so was earlier when he checked my temperature. He’s never attempted to kiss me either. Not that I would peg Jonathan as the emotional type who would do that, but —

Why am I even thinking about it? First, the tightness in my chest because he left last night. And now, the fact that he didn’t touch my face or kiss me?

Instead of touching me, Jonathan reaches behind me and shuts the tap. My stomach sinks in with something different to relief.

He removes his jacket and lays it on the towel hanger, then undoes his shirt’s cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to expose his taut arms with masculine veins.

By the time he crouches beside me, I’m watching him as if he’s an alien. “What are you doing?”

He flops a hand in the bubbly water, right between my legs like he knows exactly where that is.

His strong fingers grab my aching thigh and rub long circles with a tenderness that I never thought Jonathan was capable of.

My muscles loosen with every passing second and his touch turns more soothing, pleasurable even. My head lies against the edge of the tub and my eyes flutter closed.

My legs open of their own accord the more Jonathan massages my inner thighs, his fingers inching towards my sensitive core, but not touching.

A low moan fills the air and it’s with utter horror that I realise it’s mine. I sink my teeth into the cushion of my bottom lip to keep any further sound from escaping.

Jonathan's pace slows, but he doesn’t stop. “You like this.”

I remain silent, refusing to admit my depraved thoughts.

He grips me by my sex, making my eyes shoot open. The intensity that greets me in his darkened features turns me breathless.

“If you like something I do to you, I expect you to say it. You don’t get to deny it while still enjoying it. We’ve already established that you belong to me.”

“You’ve established that. I never agreed to it.”

“Yes, you did. Not with words, but it was written in big capital letters when you screamed my name as your cunt strangled my dick. It’s right here with the way your folds are inviting me inside even when sore.”

My cheeks redden at the explicit image he paints in my head. Damn him and how easily he can rile me up.

When I say nothing, Jonathan removes his hand from between my legs and stands up. He pulls out a towel and dries his hands on it with sure, firm movements.

“T-that’s it?” I don’t know why the words escape my mouth. I was supposed to ask that to myself.

“That’s it. You don’t deserve something you don’t admit to enjoying.” He throws me an indecipherable glance. “I expect you in the dining room in fifteen minutes. Every minute you’re late will be taken out on your arse.”

And with that, he leaves the bathroom.

A frustrated scream bubbles up in my throat, but I trap it inside and flop under the water, letting it cover me whole. Not that it does anything to cool the flames he left behind.

Damn Jonathan King to the darkest pit of hell.

And because I want to strangle him — not in a sexy kind of way — I waltz to the dining room five minutes late.

The bath actually helped. My muscles are less sore, but they still ache and I feel him inside me with every step I take.

I’m dressed in my light pink sleeveless dress, my hair is loose, and I put on red lipstick. I need all my confidence today. And maybe I want to get on Jonathan’s nerves as much as he gets on mine. After all, he does stop and stare whenever I paint my lips red.

By the time I join Jonathan, he doesn’t appear in a good mood. He watches me with that furrowed expression that usually means disapproval.

“You’re five minutes late.”

“I had to get ready.”

“Excuses only make your case worse, not better, wild one.”

I lift a shoulder and pull my seat. Jonathan tuts and I sigh. Of course.

Making a detour, I go straight to him and sit on his lap. I hate how familiar — and dare I say, comfortable — this seat has become.

“Why do you always call me that?” I murmur in an effortless attempt to not focus on his presence at my back.

“What?”

“Wild one.”

“You’ve been wild since you were a child.”

“I was not.”

His lips twitch in that almost-smile of his, but he returns to a neutral expression soon after.

Jonathan grabs a small piece of bread and places it at my mouth. “Now, eat.”

I wrap my lips around it, but when they brush against his finger, a jolt of electricity blooms between us.

Our gazes bind and it’s like they can’t get unlocked. Jonathan’s dark grey eyes almost turn black as I keep my lips on his finger for a second too long.

Heat spreads beneath my clothes, forming goosebumps over my skin and ending straight between my thighs.

“Careful, Aurora. You’re tempting me to fuck you right here and now. After I punish you for those five minutes of tardiness, of course.” The raspiness of his voice and the words he says turn me into a bundle of inexplicable emotions.

I don’t remove my lips.

Shit. It’s like I’m opening my legs for him all over again. The fact that I’m still sore doesn’t even matter anymore.

Jonathan’s lips turn up into a seductive smile that worsens the state of my ruined knickers. “Is that an invitation, wild one?”