I hold her gaze as I peel off the gloves. My fingers ache with sensation. My sense of touch is coming back. I’ve never wanted to touch my toys before. But with her, I don’t just want it.
I need it.
If my hand shakes a little as I reach for her, it’s only from the force of holding myself back from leaping on her, ravaging her.
I bury my fingers in her hair and rub her scalp. The dyed strands slip over my fingers. I can’t feel the sensation, not really. I can’t feel things like other people do, not anymore. But I know the strands are soft. Her eyes half close like they did in the bath, and she’s practically purring.
I maneuver her to the bed and sit her down, then lay her out. She’s mine to touch, mine to torment. I set my hands on her shoulders, and they look large and rough compared to her small frame. All that unblemished skin, ready for my marks.
Tonight I’ll be gentle. I want to examine my prize. Her sweet little breasts with dark nipples. The small bumps of bone in her delicate spine. The soft, wet place between her legs.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” Her brown eyes search mine. Her scent rises between us, and I’m licking my lips, ready to suck the lemon icing flavor off her skin.
“Yes, little bride. I think you’re perfect.”
13
Bella
* * *
I’ve spent so many nights in this bed, alone, fantasizing about a giant man who would touch me all over.
And now it’s happening! He leans over me, covering my naked form with his shadow. The reality is scarier than the fantasy. I have no control over him. He’s invaded my bedroom, and he’s touching me like he has a right to.
Which, by his mafia man rules, he does.
I don’t even want to fight. I want to lie here and take it.
Yolo!
Up close, I’m reminded of how big he is. My bedroom feels smaller with him in it. He dominates the space.
But proximity is a two-edged sword because the closer he is to me, the more I learn about him. His strengths. His weaknesses. This is all homework for destroying Fraternitas. Big, beautiful homework.
He’s got scars all over him: under the tattoos, cleverly disguised by the swirls of ink. Also, his chest is perfectly smooth. No signs of razor rash, either. It’s like he has no chest hair.
I didn’t notice these details in the bathroom. I was too preoccupied with lust… and wondering if he was going to choke me out and drown me.
The fear gives my excitement such a delicious edge.
He runs his hands down my front, focused on my skin. My nipples pucker, and he explores them, lifting my slight breasts. I’m not super curvy and have always wished I was. But he doesn’t seem to care.
You’re perfect.
I let my head loll back on the pillow with a deep sigh. His shape blurs. His scent sharpens. There’s a growing tension deep in my belly, and I want him to stroke my clit the way I like, but I’m also afraid. He’s teased me so long that when it comes, my orgasm might break me.
I can’t take it anymore. I reach for him, and he catches my wrist. His grip is gentle, but it’s obvious he’s strong enough to break my arm. All that coiled power lies in wait. “No touching.”
He doesn’t want me touching him? Is it a control thing? It must be a control thing.
At least he took off the gloves. He’s touching me again like he did in my father’s office, firm strokes meant to calm me. It’s working. Maybe marriage to him wouldn’t be so bad… No, stop that thought. Bad Bella.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs and touches his fingers to my forehead again.
He’s right.
He grips my chin, turning my head this way and that. I let him. I can’t physically fight him, so I might as well want to relax and enjoy my fantasy.
