“Do you trust me?”
I’m nodding before I can stop myself.
His smile is self-satisfied. He reaches over to a bedside cabinet, and I’m confused about what he’s doing, until he’s returned and the silver of a blade glints.
Fear spikes in me.
“Blake!” I squeak.
“My sweet little Bunny the Killer,” he croons. “Let me kill…”
I’m frozen with horror as he runs the sharp tip of the blade down my top.
I’m going to die.
The mafia boss is…
With a flick of his wrist, he has the fabric stretched taut, away from my skin, and slices through it. There’s a rip that wrenches through the air, then a release, as the remnants of my top fall onto my chest.
“Anything that stops me from worshipping your beautiful body,” he concludes with an evil smile.
The relief sends a high washing over me, so strong I can barely focus as he cuts off my bra and finishes removing my top, discarding the tattered fabric.
“Fuck, I’ve been dreaming of your luscious tits, Nina,” he says hoarsely as he tosses the knife away and drops his mouth to my cleavage.
He’s not slow or gentle. Nope. He takes one of my nipples between his teeth, and I scream as he bites down on it. Then, all over again as he releases me, and the pleasure strikes right at my core.
“See?” He lifts his head and smirks, the arrogant bastard. “You’re going to love it as I take you apart piece by piece, and make youmine.”
Then he brackets my chest with his arms, leaning on his elbows and angling his forearms so he can cup both of my breasts.
“I want to eat you up,” he mutters as he latches his mouth to one nipple. I cry out, the pleasure enhanced by the adrenaline coursing through me from when he scared me—no doubt deliberately. But it’s sweet and sharp, and within seconds I’m writhing under him. I’m naked to the waist and handcuffed to his bed, at his mercy. He’s almost fully dressed, and completely feral.
He makes sounds of hunger and desire as he teases and worships my breasts, not letting up for a moment.
I’m desperate. I sob.
“Beautiful, and so responsive to me.” He murmurs the praise roughly against my skin. “My perfect girl.”
It’s a blessed relief when he finally reaches down and cups my aching pussy with his big hand. I jolt and lean into him, and the restraint on my wrists, my arms over my head, just makes it hotter.
Then he sits up, towering above me, and brings both hands to my waist.
“Lift your hips for me,” he commands as he undoes my jeans.
I’m so eager, I’m practically panting. My breasts are bared and still wet from his mouth, and I’m not even embarrassed about how big my bottom is because when my hips are angled up, my feet pressed to the bed, he purrs and runs his hands over my curves, his expression—and the huge tent in his trousers—leaving no question about his opinions on my body.
He drags my jeans and knickers off and shoves them aside before looking at me greedily, as though he’d like to feast on my generous thighs and soft belly. I squirm under his gaze.
“So fucking pretty,” he mutters. “Now let me see you properly.”
He grips my ankle, and slowly pushes it to the side. I try to keep my thighs together, awkwardly turning on the bed, and he makes a low sound of disapproval.
“What are you doing?” But it’s obvious. He’ll look right at my pussy, which feels even cruder than having my breasts naked.
“I want you open for me.” His voice is almost harsh.
“But…” Panic flares. I’m blushing. “I can’t…” Can I?
