“But not with me? You’re going to marry someone else and have my baby? Sophia—”
“Vincenzo, this is not your choice,” I say firmly.
He slams his fists into the counter and grabs me around the waist, yanking me to him. The sandwich and knife fly out of my hands and into the sink with a clatter.
“No way am I letting my son be raised by another man.”
“But women don’t matter as much as men so if it’s a daughter then it’s fine?” I snipe. This is the problem. This right here.
“No, it’s fucking worse!” He covers my belly with both hands and closes his eyes, his voice getting quiet. “You have to let me protect her, Sophia.”
“Your little boy would require protection, too, Vin. Women are not objects that you own and men your partners.” I shove his hands off me, and go to the refrigerator looking for leftovers. Pure rage has wiped out my exhaustion and replaced it with starvation.
“Fuck, why are you saying that? You think I hate women?” He sounds incredulous, but he can’t be serious. This cannot possibly be the first time he’s heard this. Siena alone must have said it 100 times.
“Yes, Vin. You are the textbook definition of a misogynist. You treat women badly. You think they should be relegated to the kitchen and the bedroom, and you view them as disposable.”
“But you—”
“I like the kitchen.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I roll my eyes.
“Andthe bedroom, but I don’t want my daughter raised by someone who believes that women are not as good as men. And I don’t want my son raised to believe that women are something to be used.”
“To be used,” he growls. “I seem to recall this woman, my woman, enjoying it when I used her. Your pussy got awfully fucking wet for someone who says she hates being demeaned. In fact, you initiated things that I never even considered: crawling to me with a rag hanging out of your mouth, undoing my belt with your teeth and laying down with your head hanging over the counter so I could fuck your throat.”
“That was my choice. But you didn’t like that, did you, Vin? You had to have control. You had to be in charge. You didn’t like it when I tried to direct things or shift the narrative.”
“I believe the last time I was inside you, you were the one in control. Or are you conveniently forgetting that.” He tries to calm down, takes a deep breath in. “If you want to be in control, all you have to do is ask.”
“Do I? On my hands and knees?” I practically bare my teeth, all my emotions, so much pent up rage and anger coming out. Freaking men! This is how men have treated me my whole life. “Is that howyouaskmefor freaking anything?”
He sneers at me. “You want me on my hands and knees, Sophia?”
I flash my eyes at him. “Don’t worry, Vin. I know you would never debase yourself for a woman, though you expect every woman in your life on her knees looking up at you.”
Before the sentence is out of my mouth, he drops to his knees in front of me, his hands on my hips. “Now what.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t mock me. I’m being very freaking serious.”
“I’m not mocking you. You want me on my knees, then I’m on my knees. Now tell me what you want.”
Suddenly a wave of nerves washes over me. I asked for this but it never occurred to me that he would do it. I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to relieve the pain from the heels.
Then I get an idea that I know without a doubt will end this conversation right now.
I lift my foot and push it into his chest, the high heel spiking into his skin. “There’s a scuff on my shoe,” I say drily. “Clean it.”
He looks at me for what feels like a full minute. I almost smirk, waiting for the outrage, the indignation, the evidence that he is about to deliver that proves me right about who he is.
But that’s not what he provides.
His eyes locked on mine, he kisses my shoe gently. Then he licks the leather, his hands roaming up my calf, massaging my muscles. Oh my God, it feels so amazing I have to reach back andgrab the counter to hold myself up. Being pregnant in heels is a fool’s game but this… I can’t take my eyes off him.
“Take the shoe off me,” I whisper.
He slips the shoe off my foot slowly, pushing his thumbs into my arches and kissing my toes. Fuck, it feels so good I can barely produce a coherent thought. I clear my throat. “Other one.”
