I slide my tongue inside, deep and searching, and the sound she makes is wrecked. It’s a low, needy whimpering from the back of her throat.
My tongue brushes against hers, slick and hot, and a jolt of pure fire shoots straight to my gut. I lose track of the debt, the bakery, and the rules.
All I can feel is the wet heat of her mouth and the way she’s starting to tremble against me.
Pulling back, I groan her name. “Alina.”
Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils blown wide. And her lush lips are swollen from the rough kiss. Fucking perfect.
Turning her head to the side, she refuses to look at me. “So much for your precious choices,” she snips.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t have kissed me if I’d asked you to?” I ask, amused.
She shrugs one shoulder. “You’ll never know now, will you?”
I can feel her anger, the one she’s swallowing down instead of letting loose. “Say what’s on your mind,” I order, curious.
“You keep lecturing me about choices, but all I see is you taking and doing whatever you want. That’s it, Raffaele. We both know I’m your puppet on a string, but you still seem to think my limbs are moving on their own even when you’re pulling those strings. I think power has corrupted you so much that you’ve forgotten what choice feels like.”
Anger rolls off her in thick, suffocating waves as she continues to berate me. Not once does she swear or raise her voice. Her tone’s sharp, sure. But that’s as aggressive as she lets herself become. Even in anger, she’s gentle.
All her outburst does is remind me why I carried her up here in the first place. And it wasn’t to satisfy a craving. I brought her up here to enforce the rules.Myrules.
“Take your clothes off,” I command, taking a step back to give her space.
That stops her angry tirade and causes her to look at me as if I’m insane. “What? No.”
“Strip,” I repeat, “or I’ll do it for you.”
Her eyes narrow, arms crossing over her chest. “I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you.”
“Everything in this house belongs to me,” I inform her, my voice low and laced with danger. “They’remyclothes. And you’ve made it clear you don’t want what I’ve provided. So, you can go without.”
When she doesn’t move, just places her shaking hands on her hips, I step forward.
“I see you’ve made your choice,” I state.
Her eyes widen as I reach for her, but she doesn’t retreat. My fingers find the hem of her shirt, and I slowly lift it.
“Stop it,” she hisses, her hands coming up to push at my chest. They might as well be butterfly wings for all the effect they have.
She’s so predictable. I knew her defiance would only last until she saw how serious I am. “You had your chance.” I let go of the hem and grab the collar.
I pull until the fabric gives, tearing down the middle in jagged rips, revealing glimpses of pale skin and the black lace of her bra beneath.
She tries to slap my hands away, but I simply smirk at her before tearing the ruined shirt from her body. Of course, I could have done that from the beginning. But I want her to know just how seriously I’m taking this.
Her breathing quickens, chest rising and falling rapidly as more skin is exposed. “You can’t do this,” she insists, but her voice has lost its edge, fear creeping in.
“I can,” I counter, throwing the shirt to the floor, leaving her in just her bra, jeans, and socks. “And I just did.”
Her breasts strain against the bra, nipples visibly hardening beneath the fabric. My mouth waters at the sight.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
With the shirt gone, I unbutton her jeans, and she immediately tries to cover herself, arms crossing over her chest. With one hand, I push them away.
“Don’t,” I growl.
