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When she first walked into Crown and Black, I told her “I fucking own you”.
Now, I’m going to make good on that promise.
So when I kiss her, it’s not just a kiss. It’s punishment, laced with poison. It’s a venomous chemical addiction that I must sate.
It’s revenge, and it tastes fucking sweet.
Eloise moans like she might come apart at the seams when I kiss her. My tongue delves into her mouth, aggressively tasting and devouring her. When I grab her hips and shove her back against my desk, she whimpers and shudders like she hasn’t even been touched in ten goddamn years?—
Wait.
I tense and pull away, relishing the way she desperately tries to chase my lips with hers.
“What the fuck did you mean, he doesn’t touch you,” I snarl.
Her face heats as her teeth rake over her bottom lip.
“I…I mean he literally doesn’t touch me.”
“Massimo,” I growl, “your husband, doesn’t fuck you?”
She swallows, shaking her head.
What. The. Fuck.
It could be so many things—that Massimo is gay and closeted, or asexual, or who knows what. I don’t ask.
Because I don’t give a fuck.
Her scent in my nostrils and her taste on my lips are like delicious toxins seeping into my nervous system.
She’s fucking mine.
When that massive explosion went off in Beirut a few years ago, they later said it was the result of highly combustible fertilizer, TNT, and chemicals being kept cramped together in a warehouse for years. Then there was one spark, and half the seaport of a major city was leveled.
That’s basically what this is with Eloise and I.
I’m the TNT. She’s the chemicals slowly breaking down the last safety measure in place.
And then with one touch, one kiss, my whole goddamn world goes up in flames.
I snarl viciously as I kiss her hard, drowning in her moans as I swallow them down. One of my hands wraps around her throat, the other yanking the buttons of my shirt open. We go crashing backward against the wall behind my desk, a writhing, groaning tangle of limbs and lips.
Somehow, my shirt and jacket end up tossed clear across the room. Her blouse gets yanked half open, and my hands rediscover places on her skin I haven’t touched in ten years.
“The fuck do you mean, he doesn’t touch you,” I growl, groaning as she whimpers into my mouth.
“Exactly what I said,” she gasps, her breathing coming in heavy pants, her hands running greedily and eagerly over my chest.
“So that fuck has never touched you here…”
My hand slides from her neck, down her chest.
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head.
“Or here…”
I cup one of her full breasts, squeezing enough to elicit a deep, guttural moan from her throat.
