Lana’s back hit the wall as Lancelot stalked toward her, his eyes filled with frustration and something else. Something more dangerous . "You don’t own me," she spat, lifting her chin. Lance smirked, the kind that sent a shiver down her spine. His hands slammed against the wall on each side of her head, caging her in. "I don’t?" His voice was low. "Then why do you look at me like you want me to take you right here?" She suddenly couldn’t breathe, and she cursed herself for the way her body betrayed her. "I don’t," she lied. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he leaned in just enough for her to feel his breath, his warmth. "Liar." She pressed her palms against his chest, intending to push him away but the second she touched him, her fingers curled, pulling him closer instead. Lancelot chuckled, tilting his head. "See? You talk like you hate me, but your body?" His knee nudged between her thighs, parting them slightly. "Your body tells a whole different story, sweetheart." Lana sucked in a breath, her heart slamming against her ribs. "You’re an arrogant bastard." “And you," he murmured, brushing his lips against her jaw, teasing her, ruining her, "are shaking." "I hate you," she whispered, but it came out breathless, weak. He finally lifted his head, his mouth inches from hers. "No, you don’t,” he said confidently. "You want me, Lana. You’ve always wanted me." Her pulse pounded in her ears as his fingers trailed down her arm, then lower, barely skimming the curve of her waist. "I should walk away," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "Then do it," he challenged, stepping even closer until his body was flush against hers. "Walk away, Lana. But if you don’t,” He exhaled slowly, his lips grazing hers so lightly it was almost a ghost of a kiss. "I am not stopping this time."