I narrow my eyes at her. Is she fucking with me? I don’t answer, just turn and walk away, hard again and completely thrown off balance. I settle heavily at a table that gives me a clear view into the kitchen and watch her.
She brings me a beer, swinging her hips as she walks away, like she’s enjoying this, like every degrading thing I just did to her was exactly what she wanted.
I pull out my phone and unlock it with a scowl, staring blindly at the screen. Fuck. I’m going to have to work a lot harder to get this woman to go running to daddy and complain.
Because right now it looks like she’d crawl through broken glass if I asked her to. And that smile she just gave me over her shoulder, sweet and knowing and completely unbroken, tells me everything I need to know: Sophia Bellamorte isn’t playing the long game. She’s playingme.
Which means I’m going to have to play her even harder.
20
Sophie
Iunlock the door, half-expecting to find Vin sprawled on my broken couch or standing shirtless in my kitchen, but there’s only silence. The apartment feels cavernous without him in it.
My body still hums from what happened at the restaurant. Every step sends aftershocks rippling through muscles I didn’t know could ache this way. The counter’s edge is branded into my hip bones. The wooden spoon’s sting burns across my ass. And deeper, in places I can’t name, there’s a sweet, bruising fullness that makes my thighs shaky.
Scopami, ti prego, scopami, signore.
The words replay in my mind, and heat floods my cheeks. I’d begged him. Begged him to take me harder, deeper, to own every inch of me. And oh my goodness, he did.
I press my palm against the door, steadying myself as I toe off my shoes. My apron is still at the restaurant, crumpled on the floor, a happy reminder of what we did when I go in tomorrow.
Was it a game? It had to be. Maybe he was jealous of Rocco? The thought alone sends a shot of excitement through my body. Vincent Demonio, possessive ofme. The way his eyes went flat and deadly when he walked in and saw Rocco’s hands on me.
Maybe he wanted to show me what I’ve been missing, whatrealdominance looks like. My pulse skitters at the thought. Hopefully he’ll get home soon and show me again.
I shower, letting scalding water fall over my aching muscles, the tender soreness in my ass and between my legs that makes me gasp and brace against the tile. Every ache feels just… delicious. There’s no other word. Better than the best cannoli.
Mmmm, I should make cannoli.
When I step out, wrapped in steam and a towel, I catch my reflection. My eyes look almost feverish and my lips are swollen from the wooden spoon’s handle and his punishing kisses. I look wrecked.
I look beautiful.
In my bedroom, I open the drawer where my neglected lingerie lives, lace and silk bought on optimistic shopping trips but never worn. My fingers hover over a black set, delicate and pretty, before I change my mind. Too obvious.
Instead, I pull on my favorite soft cotton sleep shorts and a thin white tank top with no bra or panties. Innocent with an edge. I wonder if he’ll like it. If he’ll come home and see me in this and lose that iron control again. My body flushes hot at the thought.
I climb into bed, still on the floor since we broke the frame, and pull the covers up to my chin. The sheets smell like him now.
I close my eyes, replaying everything from earlier. The way he’d grabbed my throat, the butter melting against my skin, hisfingers stretching my ass while his cock pounded into me. The harsh demands for me to beg in Italian, over and over.
Where is he?
Sleep tugs at me, heavy and insistent, and I fight it. I want to be awake when he comes back, but exhaustion wins. My eyes drift shut, and I dream of him.
**
I wake to pressure. Not gentle pressure but weighted pressure.
My eyes snap open to find Vin straddling my face, his thighs bracketing my head, his cock hard and insistent, pressing against my mouth.
“Wake up, princess.” His voice is rough gravel. “Put that tongue to work on my balls.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as adrenaline and arousal flood my system in a crazy cocktail. He’s still dressed in jeans, the denim rough against my cheeks, but his cock is out, thick and demanding.
“Vin—” I start, but he shifts forward, cutting me off.
