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I quicken my pace, making her features contort with ecstasy. The flush on her cheeks darkens, making her even more of a beautiful tableau. I could look at that face come apart every day and never get bored. There’s more than a small part of me that will miss her when she’s dead.
“Roman,” she cries.
Smirking at the way my name rolls off her tongue, I resolve to make her death painless. Maybe even a little pleasurable. It’s the least I can do for how she keeps me entertained.
“That’s it, baby,” I growl into her ear. “This is exactly what you wanted. Now, come for me.”
Her pussy clenches around my fingers. She shudders and wails, “You bastard?—”
I cut off her potential tirade with a crushing kiss. Her body quakes with the climax and I thrust harder, deeper, until her muscles trap my fingers in their grip.
My cock throbs, desperate to be encased in her tight heat. I’m about to unzip my pants and give into its demands when her nails scratch across my cheek.
Fuck.
I yank my fingers out of her pussy, grab her arm, and march her toward the door. She cries out, punches my arm, and tries to pull away, but I’m no longer playing.
Gianni Bossanova didn’t know a fucking thing about taming a feral little gorgon. Emberly is just as uncontrollable as ever and needs something more than sex to keep her subdued. It’s time to move onto Plan B.
“Where are you taking me?” she shrieks.
“Pool house,” I snarl.
TWENTY
EMBERLY
Wait.
What?
I’m still trembling from the aftershocks of that orgasm when Roman marches me across the debris strewn all over the room and into the hallway. There’s no sign of Tony or Dominic and I can only assume he told them to get lost after they failed to stop me from trashing his guest room.
But that’s the least of my worries.
I’m not going anywhere with Roman when he’s in this mood, let alone the place he and his brothers torture women sexually.
“Roman.” I slap at the hand encasing my bicep. “I’m sorry.”
He continues down the hall with the determination of the terminator.
“Don’t do this.” I dig my heels into the floor, but that only results in being dragged across the marble.
Shit.
He’s going to tear off my clothes, strap me to that contraption and then… My mind goes blank. I can’t wear that gag or endure chains and whips and confinement.
Sweat breaks out across my brow, under my arms, and down my back. I shouldn’t have scratched his face. Now, he’s going to put welts across my back or somewhere much worse.
“Roman, please.” My voice breaks.
Ignoring my pleas, he continues dragging me like luggage.
My knees buckle and my legs collapse. I throw my weight back, making him pause to stare down at me with eyes so cold that I shiver.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
He bares his teeth, already sick of dealing with my shit, scoops me off the floor, and slings me onto his shoulder like a sack of rice.
