“No, I’m not! I don’t want you to touch me or watch me. At all. I don’t want you anywhere near me, Enzio.”
“Well, your nipple is as hard as a bullet. It’s either you’re full of shit or the little cazzone is one hell of a tit sucker.”
Her jaw fell again. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, waving a confused hand. “You’re sick.”
If I got a buck for each time I heard that.
When it came from pricks I loved to torture for their mistakes, it was music to my ears. It meant I was doing my job right. When it came from my brother, I welcomed it. He never meant it as a bad thing. He was probably the only person who understood and accepted me without judgment.
When it came from my family…it made me tick like a bomb.
Strangely, I felt the same when it came from Bianca. She might have been my sister-in-law and now my wife, but I didn’t consider her my family. She was an outsider and my enemy. I should be happy she knew I was fucked up. She’d fear me like how it was supposed to be. But I wasn’t happy. It agitated me, the need to piss her off more than I intended, to punish her hard, rumbling.
She was staring at me now. Without breaking our stare, I reached for my belt and started to unbuckle.
“What are you doing?” she rasped.
I tossed the belt on the floor and unzipped my pants. “I’ll show you a tiny bit of how sick I am.”
Chapter12
Bianca
My fingers tightened to the point of pain as I held my baby and watched Enzio unzip his pants. “I don’t care if you cut my toe, tongue or tit off. You’re not going to touch me.”
“Don’t think too highly of your pussy, contessa. You can keep your stinky gash to yourself. I won’t fuck you unless I have to…or unless you beg me.” He removed his cuff links and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow with a smirk. “Maybe not even then.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?”
He pierced me with his intense stare, unbuttoning his shirt. As the tattoos on his chest muscles and abs unraveled, I averted my gaze. He had the same—awfully sexy—build as Cosimo, even some of the tattoos are similar. I didn’t need to add more to theconfusionthrobbing through me exactly where it shouldn’t.
Then he stood, the shirt open, hanging loose, his forearms and torso bare, towering over me as I breastfed my baby, both my boobs on display. I looked away again. My eyes accidentally hit the bulge in his crotch. Shit.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
“I don’t want to.”
He gripped my jaw roughly and made me look. “You will do as I say.”
My jaw twisted in his hand. I darted a glance up, avoiding the erection at my eye level, wishing whatever power play that was over.
“Brava.” His fist left my jaw. Then his arms moved down, and there was a familiar swoosh of fabric touching the floor. Did he take his pants off? I didn’t dare look.
“Gonna tell me what you’re doing?”
“You’ll see for yourself. Look down.”
My head jerked in small shakes. He inched a brow in warning. Fine. He wanted obedience? I’d give it to him. I skipped his body and looked straight down at my feet. Fuck. His pantswereon the floor.
“I got myself a brat, didn’t I? Va bene. Look at my cock, Bianca.”
Pain sliced through my nerve endings, my heartbeat a violent rhythm in my ears. I dragged my gaze up his endless, rippling-with-muscle legs. Then I landed on his briefs.
My body betrayed me for the millionth time. I could feel my mouth salivating and my nipples pebbling. From that level, without seeing his face or tats, he was Cosimo. The huge length that trained my pussy to stretch just the right size to take it all. The satisfying girth that dragged scandalous pleasurable screams out of my throat. The same tilt direction. They even wore the same brand of underwear.
For one sick moment, I desired to do to the cock before me all the things I did with Cosimo’s. Because this was my only chance to have something as close as feeling my husband again.
Except that fucker wasn’t Cosimo, and this resemblance was a cruel irony to torture me, and I’d never ever see or touch my husband as long as I was alive.
