You’re going to pay for that remark and for teasing me earlier, the look promised.Along with the hell you’ve put me through over the last few weeks.
Inside, Violet was on the phone, leaning against the counter, giggling when we came in. She jumped, hastily telling whomever she talked to that she had to go. Brando threw the Ferrari’s keys at her, she caught them with one hand, and before he left the kitchen, his shirt was already on the floor.
“Oh, shit,” she mouthed at me. “Wait! Let me get a few things—oh, and Maggie Beautiful!” She ran past, going up the stairs at breakneck pace.
I kicked off my heels, passing him in a daze. When I made it to the stair landing, I stopped, turning.
Here I am. Waiting. All yours.
The eyes were already on, but they didn’t intend to only smolder, they meant to turn to ash. He gazed down at me, putting his arm against the wall, next to my head. His muscles were taught with restraint.
Tension aside, it was hard to ignore his overwhelming presence. His muscles were gorgeous. Each one perfectly sculpted, the skin over them the most beautiful shade of bronze, and the tattoos on his wrist and forearm looked like he was born with them.
“Scarlett?” Violet’s voice was timid, questioning.
I hadn’t even realized she and Maggie Beautiful were standing a step or two above us, waiting.
“Fine,” I said, already feeling outside of myself. His eyes commanded, and I followed. “I’m fine.”
“Let’s go, Violet Wonderful,” Maggie Beautiful whispered.
The door shut with enough force that there was no denying they had left. A minute or two later, the Ferrari roared to life, tires flying with its hasty exit.
“Two men, ah? Tell me, is that whatmywife wants?”
In a movement so quick that it took me by surprise, he ripped the lace top clean down the center, disturbing the cross around my neck, and warm air drifted over my exposed breasts in a whispered caress.
I shook my head, my hair catching on the rugged texture of the wall. “No, only you.” But I knew he intended to make me feel the strength of him.Two men?Ha.He’s ten men bottled in one.I should’ve been hesitant of him, but all I could feel was intrigue, and I thrilled at the sheer power.
He removed the knife from his ankle, and I realized belatedly that the knife he used to cut Rocco was the knife that I had used to claim him in Paris.
How symbolic.
He slid it underneath the waistband of my skirt, cool and sharp, the thin lace giving away without protest, sluicing down. He set the steel on the windowsill, the reflection of it bleeding along the floor, climbing the stone steps.
“Please,” I pleaded, closing my eyes, trembling, and he hadn’t truly touched me, not yet. “Please, Brando. I needyou.”
“How.” I heard the fall of his pants as they hit the floor, felt his erection touch my belly from where he stood, scorching hot but as smooth as silk.
“Inside of me.”
I was lifted off my feet, my legs opening to him without will, the heat of his body scalding against the coolness of mine. He took me so fast and so hard that my head and back slammed against the rough stone, but all I felt was the power—all I felt was my husband. In one stroke he had me—mind, body, and soul.
I wasn't even coherent enough to know my own name—if he would have asked for it, his name would’ve slipped from my lips—yet the feeling could be described in crystal clarity.
It was as though molten lava consumed me, the pleasure so complete that an explosion was imminent, but then he would go so deep that it would hurt, like a frigid sharpness blocked the delicious warmth. It wasn't until I was denied the heat that I realized how much my body craved it.
The end result would be like ice water thrown on scalding hot glass. Soon, or perhaps not, I’d shatter into a million irrevocable pieces, all belonging to him alone.
He was skilled, hitting the same spot over and over, but he would bring me to the brink and then pull me back, until I could hardly breathe. He blurred two lines into one. Pleasure. Pain. Even more pleasure. Even more pain. Just to return to pleasure again.
“Brando! You’re hurting me!” I pushed against his chest, but he was solid, penetrating deeper and deeper. Taking more of me for his needs. But I needed him, so I brought him even closer. My nails sank into his flesh like claws. His madness made me delirious. “Oh God.I need to…mmmm…please!”
“Look at me,” he ordered. “Lookat me!”
His command was my master, and when I finally summoned the strength to meet his eyes, the crazed look, all of the possessiveness at the surface, shocked me to the core. He reminded me of a hunting animal that hadn’t eaten in months. He wasn’t giving me room to move, to wriggle, not an ounce of mercy.
That was not what he wanted, though, for me to look him in the eyes. He pushed my head down, forcing me to watch as he possessed me. Oh God. What he did to me, the sight of it. It turned me on, heightening every sensation.
