My hand starts playing with the hem of her dress, slowly sliding it up her legs. Her eyes fixed on me, she's waiting to see my next move. She's not even struggling when her dress is bunched up over her hips to reveal her pink panties. I push it even higher until her stomach is exposed too.
"Done fighting?" I arch an eyebrow, and she narrows her eyes at me.
"You asked me if I'd rather have married Franzè," her voice is steady, her gaze unflinching, "but how could I have a preference when I'm still a prisoner, regardless of my jailer? Does it really matter who puts me in a cage? I'm still locked away."
My fingers dig into the flesh of her thighs, her words irritating me.
"I'm not Franzè," I say through gritted teeth.
"Really? I hadn't noticed," she adds dryly, a bored expression painted on her features.
"You're wrong to toy with me like this, Allegra," I say as my hands move over her ass. "And it makes me want to show you even more who you belong to."
"I belong to no one but myself," she huffs and pushes at my shoulders.
"That's where you're wrong, little tigress. You're mine." I lower my lips to her abdomen, right below her belly button. Using my bloodied tongue, I swirl it around her virgin flesh, writing the initial of my name. Branding her. Her skin is my canvas, and the red contrasts perfectly with the creamy white of her belly. I drag my tongue lower, skirting just above the material of her panties.
"What are you doing?" Her cry of outrage is followed by yet another shove, trying to get me off of her.
"You're mine, Allegra. The sooner you get used to it, the easier it's going to be for you."
She chuckles, almost forcefully.
"For me, or for you? What do you want, Enzo? You want meto get on my knees and submit to you? Because that'snevergoing to happen."
"We'll see."
The car stops and I straighten, righting my clothes. Turning to her, I give her my most charming smile.
"Shall we?"
Because this has just begun.
23
ENZO
We'reboth tense as we make our way to the box and seeing her so upset has me second-guessing my actions for a brief moment.
This was all to make her happy. And all I did was make her sad.
But as I see other men's eyes slowly rove over her body, my decision is solidified. She needs to know there's no one else for her; that there canneverbe anyone else for her.
If I were a normal man, maybe this obsession, this addiction to her, would have had me questioning my sanity.
But I'm not.
And I find that I'm losing patience with this strategic approach.
What if she never trusts me?
As we take our seats in the box, I try to push those thoughts out of my mind.
The opera starts, and while everyone is focused on the stage, I have eyes for one person only.
Allegra's expressions are far more entertaining than a show I've already watched plenty of times before. I watch intently as she leans forward, her eyes widening at whatever's happeningon the stage. She's entirely in tune with the performance—laughing, crying, and cheering.
And I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful sight.
