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Murder, probably.
So I pull my knife out.
“That’s rude,” Kento says, looking down at it. “You want to stab me again?”
“If I have to defend myself, I will.”
“Defend yourself against what?”
“You.”
He takes another step, and I raise the knife a little higher. “One more and I’ll remind you how easily your skin opens.”
His gaze drifts to the blade, then returns to my face. “Careful with that blade my prince it might end up where it isn’t supposed to”
“If you say one more insufferable thing, I’ll carve your tongue out.”
He smiles and takes the knife from my hand. He slides it out of my grip while I’m busy trying not to combust under his gaze and sets it on the desk beside me.
“How dare you—”
He cuts me off by grabbing my jaw. His fingers settle firm against my face, turning my head the way he likes. “You have such pretty lips, you know that?”
“What th—”
He kisses me.
Again.
My hands hit his chest, ready to shove, but he steps in before I can, pressing me more firmly against the desk, one hand still on my jaw, the other sliding to my waist like he has every right in the world to put it there.
I make a furious sound against his mouth.
He swallows it.
I try to turn my head. He doesn’t let me. His thumb presses lightly under my chin, keeping me where he wants me, and the authority in the gesture sends heat racing down my spine.
His lips part, and he kisses me dirtier. My hands fail to decide whether they belong around his throat or in his hair. I hate the noise I make when his mouth drags over my lower lip and he bites down, which I think is becoming a habit at this point.
“Kento—” I get out, wrecked and angry, but he kisses me again before I can finish the threat.
This time his hand slides higher at my waist, fingers splaying against my side, and my whole body jerks at the contact. When he finally pulls back, it’s barely an inch. “See?” he says softly.
I stare at him, dazed with fury. “See what?”
His thumb brushes once over my lower lip, where he bit me. “That you missed me too.”
“I’d rather miss a kidney than miss you.”
And the bastard smiles like that’s the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.
“You look very pleased with yourself.”
His mouth curves. “Shouldn’t I?”
“No.”
“You kissed me back again.”
