His breath was hot on my lips. “What,mi locura?”
I fell apart. Shattered into a tiny, million pieces of pure pleasure as the nickname slid across my skin.
“Please.” I scored my nails into his neck. “Please, Grim.Please.”
I heard myself as if from underwater.Gemma Crowne didn’t beg, but whoever was speaking had no shame. She begged and pleaded with Grim, scythed nails into his neck and repeated it over and over again:please, please, please.
Fuck me.
Please.
I need you inside me.
I was scorching. Heated. Twisted.
So maybe that was why I didn’t notice the change in Grim until it was too late.
His mask was back. Eyes cold and iron, mouth a solid line. But he gently swiped his thumb down my cheek, almost as ifpettingme.
“Do you think your pussy is so magic I’ll forget why I’m here?” His words settled icy on my hot skin. “I’ve already been inside you, Rich Girl—it’s not.”
Any lingering warmth vanished.
Whatever spell had been cast shattered like glass at our feet. Grim stepped back, adjusting his cock with a casual indifference that made my throat dry.
As he adjusted, he flashed the fresh tattoo.Myfucking teeth. My nails were inked into his chest, my mouth on his hand. Why? Why thefuckwould he do that?
I still gripped the knife, maintaining some facsimile of control. He eyed it and laughed.
I don’t understand what changed, why he went from whispering beautiful things against my skin tothis. At the same time, I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Everything was a game to Grim.
So this was worse than anything we’d done over the years, because for a moment I’d let him back inside, into my fucking soul again.
White-hot anger slid inside my veins. I focused on that, on the tightness in my skin and the scream lodged in my throat like a broken tortilla chip, rather than the dull, bruising ache in my heart.
“You ripped me out of the ocean,” I said. “Have held me hostage for five fucking years. You can’t just?—”
He spun, slamming my back against the sink before I could blink, caging me. “What? I can’twhat?”
“I didn’t want this contract.” With two hands I shoved his chest, but he barely moved. “You put those lines on your chest without my consent.”
“What contract was that again?”
My lips parted, but I said nothing—tongue-tied.
“Right…” He dragged the word out, lips twisting up—fucking cocky. “Because you can’t fuckingsayit. Nah, you’ll do what Gemma Crowne does best, pretend you’re just like everyone else.”
He stepped off like he’d won.
“You promised to kill me, Santos,” I said. “You can’t put a line on your chest without putting a bullet through my skull.”
TWENTY-NINE
GEMMA
Instantly, Grim tensed.
