Page 45

The silence between us stretches so tight it feels like a drawn bowstring. I hold my breath until my lungs burn, my hands clenching my knees.

"Not in the library," he muses aloud, his voice dropping into that deep, husky register that vibrates straight into my belly. "Not in the conservatory. You went low, didn't you, my clever little pet? You went down into the darkest part of the house."

A hand reaches out into the darkness, the rough pads of his calloused fingers grazing the curve of the barrel mere inches from my shoulder.

My pulse roars like a freight train in my ears.

"Come out, Donna," he whispers, so close I can feel the heat of his chest radiating into the alcove. "Surrender your forfeit, and I'll make it so good for you."

I don't move. I stay frozen like a statue.

Then, a sudden, deliberate rustle of cloth comes from his direction, followed by the soft clink of his heavy platinum wedding band against a glass bottle on the tasting table.

He’s turning his back to me. He thinks the alcove is empty.

This is my chance.

I drop my feet to the floor, ready to dart past his muscular ass and sprint up the spiral staircase into the main hall.

The moment my bare foot touches the flagstones, my trap is sprung.

Before my weight can even settle, two massive, unbreakable hands shoot out of the black void, clamping around my waist like iron bands.

A startled shriek rips from my throat as Romeo yanks me forward out of the alcove, lifting my feet completely off the ground and slamming my back flush against the curved oak of the wine barrel.

"Got you," he growls against my lips, his chest heaving, his mouth crashing down onto mine in a hard, breathless kiss.

He tastes of dark tobacco and pure, smug triumph. His tongue sweeps deep into my mouth, claiming my gasp, devouring my breathless curses until my head spins with dizziness. His heavy, muscular body presses me flat against the barrel, his thighs slotting between my parted legs, pinning my hips with ruthless dominance.

I reach up, my hands finding his neck, digging my fingernails into him until I hope I draw blood as my anger and arousal collide in a blinding storm.

"You cheated," I pant against his jaw, my teeth grazing his rough stubble. "You knew I was behind the barrel the entire time."

"I knew the second I reached the bottom of the stairs, Iris," he chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up my side to cup the fullness of my breast through the thin silk, his thumb sliding back and forth over my hard nipple. "Your heat gives you away in the cold. You glow like a furnace in the dark."

He rolls his hips forward, grinding the heavy, rigid length of his cock against my pussy through his sweatpants.

The friction sends a gasp tearing through my parted lips. I’m already drenched. The anticipation of the hunt and the thrill of him stalking me through the blackness have turned me into liquid heat.

"Remember the wager, kitten?" he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly command in my ear.

His large hands grip my hips, lifting me off the barrel and spinning me around in the dark until my chest is pressed flat against the smooth, curved wood.

"Hands on the barrel," he orders, swatting my left ass cheek with a sharp, stinging crack of his open palm.

"Next time change your perfume if you want to win," he adds, almost conversational, while I grab the iron hoops and push back into his warm, strong body. "You hide well. You still glow. In this house, when I have you like this, you can call me what the rest of Sicily is afraid to say out loud."

"Don Messina," I whisper.

He throbs against me, a slow, warning drag of hard heat. "Beg nicely."

"Please." I whimper, almost dizzy with desire.

I hear him drawl in a deep breath, his sweatpants hitting the floor before I’m even finished begging. He pushes into me from behind in one unforgiving stroke, and I cry out against the oak, the suddenness taking me by surprise.

The barrel is cold against my breasts as he shoves his shirt off my body, letting it pool at our feet. He fucks me in the dark like he hunted me for this exact angle, one hand in my hair, the other reaching around to rub my clit in tight, fast circles. Every thrust slaps skin against skin, the sound very wet and sloppy. When I push back to meet his next stroke inside me, he spanks me again and again until my ass is hot and I am dripping down my thighs.

"Who caught you?" He growls, digging his fingers into my hips and picking up the speed of his thrusts.