"Shhh! Do not make a sound.. or I won't refrain myself to tie you up!" His grip on my wrist tightens.
I need to get my book from him, in which I wrote all of my erotic fantasies.
Fantasies that he is slowly turning real in his evil ways.
It's like...
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Emara Stone
Ryan.
The evil prince of buttland walks in dressed up in royal attire and a sword. All the cattle and peasants in the area either run away or get scared and hide in their hut before the evil Prince chop off their butts.
I blink with my original lashes not believing my eyes.
Oh my my!
Like some dark magic, the maniac gets hotter and more handsome with every blink. I gulp feeling my confidence sinking into my bladder.
Ryan's dark copper hair falls on his eyes as a beautiful smirk spreads on his handsome face. My heart jumps excitedly and pokes in my chest painfully.
Ryan being hot fucking hurts me.
My lips curve up automatically in a smile as he approaches me. My intestines happily swim in my stomach as I stare at his stunning I-can-buy-your-hoes face. So pretty.
"Y-you look happy." And lickable. I compliment him as his long legs halt in front of me and I blush looking away.
"Oh yeah! I am going to break your brother's bones." Ryan maliciously sneers as he looks to his right and left. I gulped looking at the veins on his neck that begin from the base of his neck and disappears under his shirt's collar.
"Where is he?" He asks with a deep growl and I find myself being cautious of his presence. "Ethan? He didn't come today." I tell him looking down at his Adidas shoes that look bigger than my whole face.
My eyes slowly travel up to his jeans that are dominatingly clinging to his wide hips and hiding the real animal behind that denim. I hope I at least rode him three times.
"Amara."
I immediately look up. Ryan's honed gaze pierce through me as he waits for my answer. But his hooded eyes are covered with uncertainty and I feel illiterate to read them.
"Did you complete my reports?" Ryan asks with a deadpan serious face. His hungry eyes await for my answer, desperately waiting to hear about his dear reports.
Oh.
Why am I surprised?
I nod my head and hand him the fatass file that almost sprained my wrist. I bet this bitch's heart is the shape of his reports.
I feel the burn in my chest as I resentfully stare at that file. Those motherasses scripts.
A part of me feels jealous of how possessively Ryan is holding his reports like it is an integral part of his soul that he can't live without. His long finger delicately touches every page, his scrupulous eyes run through every line, checking it out from up to down.
