“That’s it,” I murmur, moving over her to kiss her again, my free hand coming up to cup her face. Even as I drive a second finger into her. “Let go. Let me have this.”
I increase the pressure, my thumb finding that perfect spot, and I can tell by the way her breathing changes, the way her thighs clench, the way she’s making desperate sounds against my lips that she’s close.
That’s when I hear it. Footsteps echoing down the stairs.
We both freeze.
My hand still between her legs, my body still pressed against hers, my breathing harsh.
A door opens upstairs. Closes. The footsteps move across the floor above us.
“Basili,” Chloe whispers urgently, “he’s awake.”
“I know.” But I can’t in good conscience leave her like this. Quickly, I calculate my odds of pushing her over the edge before my son makes it down the stairs and into the kitchen. A grin breaks across my face, and I whisper in her ear, “Don’t think, just let go.”
Then I bite down hard over the pulse point on her neck, simultaneously pushing a third finger into her, stretching her tight, untouched heat further, pressing my thumb harder against her clit. She arches beneath me, and I place my free hand over her mouth, muffling her cry of surprise.
“Trust me, tesoro. Let go.” I curve the three fingers inside her to perfectly position against her G-spot, and that’s all it takes. In the next second, she’s soaring high, her whole body tensing and quivering with the pleasure of it.
Only then do I pull away, reaching up to untie her wrists. Then, removing the blindfold, she blinks against the sudden onslaught of light.
I help her up, kissing her one more time. “Good girl.”
Then, with reluctance, I move away from her, giving her room to straighten her clothes. I return the tie to the pocket of my jacket,rolling the belt up and placing it in the other pocket. Adjusting my own pants before returning to stir the pasta.
I glance at her, she’s flushed, hair tousled, looking bashful. I can’t help but smile at her. “Chloe?”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t over,” I tell her. “Next time, we won’t be in the kitchen where my son can walk in on us. I’m going to have you in my bed with the door locked and all the time in the world.”
Her eyes go wide.
“You're saying —” she stutters, “you want —”
“I don’t just want to. I need it.” I tell her, and I know my eyes are dark, reflecting exactly what I need for all to see. I put the spoon aside and walk over to her, near but not quite touching, moving to growl in her ear, “Before this month is over, I’ll have you in my bed beneath me, crying out my name. I will have all of you. I promise you that.”
“But?” She glances at me sideways.
“But not until you’re ready. I’m a monster, but I’m not that sort of monster,” I admit. “Not until you trust me enough to give me your secrets along with your body.”
Before she can respond, footsteps sound on the stairs. We step apart just as Emmanuel appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up in all directions.
“Hey buddy, how was your nap?”
Chapter Eleven
Chloe
“You landed on Boardwalk. I own it already.” I point to the property card with its little plastic hotel sitting proudly on top. “You owe me… a lot of money.”
Emmanuel studies the board with serious concentration, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He’s been quieter than usual today. Not in the way he was when I first found him, just thoughtful. Like he’s working through something in his head.
We’re sprawling on the floor of the TV room, the Monopoly board spread between us on the plush carpet. It’s been two hours, and somehow, Emmanuel is absolutely destroying me at this game. The kid is a ruthless real estate mogul.
He counts out the fake money carefully, signing, “Maybe you can catch up now.”
I gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me? You’re suspiciously good at this game. Have you been secretly studying monopoly strategies?”
