Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
My hands stay gentle on her — always gentle with her — but my whole body has gone completely still. I can feel her chest rising and falling fast beneath my palms, her breath still ragged from what I was doing to her a few seconds ago. She doesn’t need to wonder why I stopped so suddenly. She knows.
My thumb brushes over the bruise lightly, feather-soft, tracing the exact places where his fingers dug in. Memorizing them. Burning them into my memory so I know exactly where to start when I deal with him.
My mind is already moving ahead with its dark, cold calculations. Exactly what I’m going to do to Mario for daring to put his hands on what belongs to me. How slow it will be. How permanent. But right now, I force the monster back down. I can’t let it break free in front of her. I don’t want her to fear me. Ever.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
VIOLA
Shame hits me like ice water.
I was completely lost in him. His mouth was hot and demanding on my breast, sending sharp, electric jolts straight between my legs. I’d arched into him with a broken moan, fingers tightening in his hair, desperate to have him closer. The pleasure was thick and overwhelming, flooding my body until I could barely think. Then he stopped.
When my eyes find his face, his gaze is fixed on the bruise on my arm, and his whiskey gold is almost black with fury.
“He did this to you today?” His voice is so cold it feels like I’m talking to a different person entirely.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “He just tried to get my attention… but I wouldn’t give it.”
I can feel the tension radiating off him, but he lifts his gaze to meet mine, those intense eyes searching my face.
“Does it hurt?”
I shake my head quickly. “No.”
He exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “I hate that you’re protecting him.”
“I’m not protecting him,” I say, the words coming out faster than I intend. My voice is still shaky with passion. “It’s just… I don’t—” I stop. The rest of the sentence feels too revealing. Too dangerous.
He waits, patient but unrelenting. His thumb brushes lightly over the bruise again, so gentle it almost breaks me. “You just don’t want what?”
My chest feels tight, like everything I’ve been holding back is pushing against my ribs. “I don’t want you to get hurt in the process. I know you can take care of yourself, but it only takes one second and… I just got into this arrangement with you, and I’m kinda liking it…”
“Ah…” he says softly and then he smiles.
The amusement softens the hard lines around his eyes. I’m so surprised I manage an unsure smile back, my lips trembling a little.
“You need me alive so you can taste my famous grilled cheese?” he teases.
“Yes,” I whisper. I’m amazed at how much of a sense of humor he has. For someone I once thought was colder than ice. At this moment, I realize I’m seeing a version of him that no one else ever gets to see. The real Ricci. The one who tenderly dries my hair, who offers to make me grilled cheese and tomato soup, who laughs with me.
He chuckles suddenly — a low, genuine sound that vibrates through his chest and into mine. The sound does something dangerous to my heart. Then he pulls me closer, one big hand sliding to the back of my neck, and he kisses me so hard it leaves me dizzy. His mouth claims mine, deep and possessive, tongue sliding against mine like he’s trying to taste every secret I’m still keeping. I melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt, a soft whimper escaping me.
When he finally pulls back enough to speak against my lips, his voice is a warm growl. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I stay alive long enough to make sure you never have to go back to your father’s house.”
Then he resumes undressing me, sliding my jeans down my legs, peeling my panties off expertly. He spreads my thighs wide on the kitchen counter, the marble chilling my skin and making me shiver. His eyes are locked on mine.
The intensity of his gaze alone makes my breath catch. When his gaze drops down to my sex, I feel exposed most deliciously. I’ve never been so completely opened and exposed to anybody’s gaze before. Heat floods my cheeks, but I can’t look away. Not when he’s watching me like that.
He puts his lips between my legs. He starts slow. So slow it feels like torture.
His hot tongue drags a long, deliberate wet stripe up my center, parting my folds with unhurried precision. The first full contact makes my hips jerk, and a sharp gasp tears from my throat. My eyes flutter shut as pleasure sparks through me like electricity. He doesn’t rush. He savors every bit of my flesh — licking lazily, exploring, learning exactly what makes me tremble.