Page 13

"Go to hell." I hiss like an angry kitten.

"That's not the word I asked for." His tone is teasing and amused.

He kneels between my legs. Slowly. Deliberately. The way he does everything, like a man who has never once been rushed in his life. His palms slide up my thighs, pushing the ruined silk higher, baring me to the cool air and his hot stare. I try to close my knees. He pins them open with his shoulders and clicks his tongue.

"No. You wanted to be dangerous in my hall. You wanted every capo looking at you. Now you let me look." The low command in his voice has my body freezing and betraying what it does to me as my stomach clenches.

His eyes drop. Stay there. The weight of that gaze is worse than any touch, and I feel my cunt clench around nothing, a slick pulse that I know he can see.

"You're dripping," he says quietly. "On my sheets. Already."

"You did that," I say breathlessly.

"I know." He drags one knuckle through my folds, feather-light, barely there. "I want to do it again."

He does not use his mouth yet. Two fingers push into me, thick, curling, while his thumb sits on my clit. "Hear that?" he says. You're soaked, and I haven't even put my cock in you yet. Open your mouth. Tell me whose pussy this is."

"Talk to me, Kitten." He demands it like everything else he does in life.

"About what?" I can ask, hardly thinking straight.

"Anything. I want to hear your voice break."

I try to hold his stare. I fail. My eyes flutter shut as his thumb begins to move, slow drags that make my hips lift off the bed.

"Look at me," he growls.

"I can't," I whimper, shaking my head.

"You can. Open your eyes and tell me what you feel." That tone, that deep command, has my pussy so wet you can hear it with each withdrawal of his fingers.

The demand in his voice pulls me back. I force my lids up, which is a struggle as everything feels too good, and I never want it to end. His face is inches from mine, jaw tight, pupils swallowing all that dark brown. He is so beautiful it makes me furious.

"Full," I whisper. "I feel full."

"Not yet." A third finger presses against my entrance. "Now you're full."

The stretch pulls a sound out of me that I don't recognize. He works all three into the knuckle, twisting his wrist, fucking me in a slow, grinding rhythm that has my heels digging into the duvet. His thumb never leaves my clit. Every pass sends a jolt up my spine.

"Come on my hand," he says. "Then I'm putting you on your knees, spanking that attitude out of you, and fucking you from behind until the only name in your mouth is mine. Gianna doesn't get to live in this bed."

"That's a lot of promises," I rasp.

"I keep every one." He promises with a dark grin.

His fingers curl. That spot. The one that makes my vision go white out at the edges. I am close, so close, and he knows it because he slows down. Cruel. Deliberate. He pulls his hand away entirely, and I actually snarl at him.

"Romeo."

"Hands and knees." He slaps my thigh. "Ass up. I want you open."

"What?" I breathe out.

"You heard me. On your stomach. Now."

I could fight him. I want to fight him. But the ache between my legs is a living thing, and the command in his voice has a gravity I cannot resist. I roll onto my stomach, face pressed into the sheets, the ruined gown bunched around my waist. The silk smells like my perfume and his cologne and sex.

He grips my hips and drags me back until my knees slide off the edge of the mattress. My feet touch the floor. My ass is in the air. My face is buried in cotton.