She buries her face against my neck, clearly overwhelmed by what just happened. I let her hide there while I stroke her back in circles.
After several moments, she pushes herself back up, her pale blue eyes finding my green ones. “You’re still… I mean, you didn’t…” Her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of red.
Grasping her hips, I drag her pussy along the length of my hard dick. “Yes,” I growl. “My dick’s still hard. And I’d love nothing more than to claim your innocence tonight. Feel it break and have your virginal blood coat my dick.”
Her breath comes out in a shocked puff. Whether at the picture I’m painting or want, I’m not sure. At least not until her blue eyes meet mine. “I-I…” Trailing off, she licks her lips.
“Non sei pronta per me, Piccola,” I murmur. “You’re not ready for me, Little One.”
With those words, I stand up, easily taking her with me.
“Wrap your arms around my neck,” I instruct. “And your legs around my waist. Now.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, but she complies, winding her limbs around me as ordered. The position presses her core directly against my hardness, and I have to grit my teeth against the pleasure that shoots through me.
“You think you’re too heavy?” I growl against her ear as I walk us out of the library and toward the staircase. “You think your weight is anything I can’t handle?”
Her only answer is a small shake of her head, her face buried against my neck again. I can feel the heat of her embarrassment radiating from her.
I carry her up the stairs with ease, my hands supporting her ass, occasionally squeezing the plump flesh just to feel hergasp against my neck. The t-shirt she’s wearing—my t-shirt—has ridden up to her waist, leaving only her panties covering her.
“Your curves,” I tell her as we reach the top of the staircase. “Are fucking perfect. Every inch of you.” I emphasize my point by sliding one hand higher, trailing up her side to just below her breast.
I can feel her heart racing against my chest, her breath warm and quick against my neck. She says nothing, but the way her thighs tighten around my waist tells me my words are affecting her.
When we reach the door to her bedroom, I set her down carefully but keep her caged between my body and the wall. Her pale blue eyes are wide and dark with desire, her lips parted slightly as she looks up at me.
“Your weight is nothing,” I tell her firmly. “And your body is sexy as hell.”
To prove my point, I reach down and cup her ass with both hands, squeezing the globes as I press her against the wall. Her gasp of surprise turns into a moan when I capture her mouth again, this kiss harder and more demanding than before.
I press my entire body against hers, letting her feel every inch of my arousal, making it impossible for her to misunderstand just how much I want her. My tongue plunders her mouth, claiming and possessing as my hands continue to explore the curves she tried to hide.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard, our bodies still pressed together from chest to thigh. I can feel her trembling against me, see the dazed look of lust in her eyes.
“Go inside,” I order, my voice rough and strained with the effort of restraint. “Unless you’re planning to lose your virginity right here and now, walk your fine ass into that bedroom and go to sleep.”
Her lips part as if she might say something, but then she just nods, reaching behind her to open the door with shaking fingers.
I step back, giving her space to enter, my cock throbbing painfully at the sight of her—disheveled, aroused, wearing nothing but panties and my shirt that barely covers the tops of her thighs.
As she slips inside the room, casting one final glance at me over her shoulder, I know with absolute certainty that the next game will be to make her my wife. It might be a marriage of convenience and nothing else, but that’s all I ever expected, anyway. It doesn’t hurt that my future wife’s hot as sin, though.
Now I just need to make it happen. I want to see her choose me—beg for my ring, my name, my claim.
Fear might work, but it would hollow out what I need from her. I don’t force women the way lesser men do. I prefer to own their minds first, their bodies second, until they’re offering themselves to me like a sacrifice to a god they’ve chosen to worship. And she will worship me—on her knees, in my bed, at my altar.
I’ve seen my dad murder my mom’s spirit a thousand different ways. With his fists, with his words, with his lovers and neglect—until the light behind her eyes guttered out like a candle drowning in its own wax.
Thanks to Andrea Russo, I know the exact moment a woman’s soul collapses. I’ve memorized that vacant stare that means she’s still breathing but has stopped living.
I refuse to be the man who creates that particular kind of corpse.
Chapter 14
Alina
Knocking jolts me awake, my body jerking before my mind catches up. For a split second, I don’t know where I am. Just that something feels wrong. No, not wrong. Different.
