His finger traces the other strap, sliding it down too. "Or surrender to me tonight, and I'll make you feel things you've only imagined."
With one sharp movement, he tears the delicate fabric down the middle. My negligee falls open, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
I should be outraged, but instead, liquid heat pools between my thighs, my nipples hardening even more.
"Which will it be, Wife?" Alessandro asks, his palm hovering just above my bare breast, not quite touching.
The wordStopsits on my tongue. Yet it refuses to come.
Instead, my body arches, wanting to feel his palm on my breasts. "I..." How can I want this man who's shown me nothing but indifference until tonight?
Alessandro's eyes darken. "There she is.” His voice is triumphant. "My wife. Mine."
18
ALESSANDRO
I reward her submission by rubbing the palm of my hand over her nipple. She gasps, her eyes filled with desire and defiance. It’s fucking erotic and my dick is rock hard.
"You hate that you want this," I say, pinching her nipple. "You hate that your body betrays you."
She jerks against the restraints, and my blood runs hotter.
"I hate you," she says, but her body arches into my hand as I cup her breast.
"No." I brush my thumb across the sensitive peak. "You hate that I was cold to you. You hate that I made you feel unwanted."
I lower my head, letting my breath waft over her nipple. She trembles beneath me.
"But you've never been unwanted, Isabella."
“You fooled me?—"
When my lips close around her nipple, she moans, her back arching off the bed. I savor her taste. My hand slides lower, across her stomach, feeling the muscles there contract.
"Tell me to stop," I challenge, my fingers dipping lower.
Her eyes meet mine, glowing with heat that is both passion and anger. For a moment, I think she might actually refuse me.
Instead, she spreads her legs slightly. An invitation. Another surrender.
Power surges through me as I touch her, finding her slick with need. Her head falls back, exposing the graceful column of her throat, and I'm overcome with the urge to mark her there.
I take my time, something I didn’t have on the rooftop terrace. I take in every curve, every softness of her skin. My lips taste her, my fingers caress her flesh, and each time, I record what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her writhe.
"Alessandro." Her voice catches as I drag my teeth along the tender skin of her inner thigh. “What are you?—”
“I’m pleasuring my wife.” I look up at her from between her legs, enjoying the flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her eyes have gone hazy with desire.
"I still hate you," she manages, but her body betrays her as my tongue finds her center and her hips rock up, begging for my mouth.
The taste of her is intoxicating. I lose myself in the wet heat of her, circling and teasing until her hips buck against my mouth. When I slide a finger inside her, she clenches around me, a strangled cry escaping her lips.
"But you don’t hate this, do you?" I murmur against her sensitive flesh.
She responds with a moan. I tease her sweet pussy with my mouth, my tongue, my fingers until she’s sitting on the edge. And then I stop.
Her frustrated moan fills the roam.
