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“Mmm, you taste so sweet, my mariposa. Fuck, you’re so tight.”
My breathing turned to pants, his finger slowly, languidly thrusting in and out of my pussy.
“Cum for me, Julietta.”
It wasn’t his permission that sent me hurtling over the edge, but my name on his tongue. Always the way he said my name that had me screaming my pleasure to the ceiling, his name on my lips over and over in reverent prayer.
This man may as well have been a god with the way he commanded me. Yet it was me he worshipped one moment, while breaking me into a million jagged pieces the next.
But now I knew the truth.
We were irrevocable.
This man had marked me. I was his. I saw it in his eyes.
My heart had betrayed me before I’d realized it, giving itself over to this dark god that bestowed exquisite pleasure on my body.
Now there was just one last piece of me to give.
And somehow, it already belonged to him.
Chapter Eighteen
JULIETTA
“Fuck me,” I whispered, my breaths still coming in ragged bursts.
Romero’s expression slowly morphed, shuttering before my eyes: he’d locked me out and left me in the cold. He stalked across the room to a closet and came back with an oversized black T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that he tossed to me.
Shock reverberated through me. He was literally tossing me out after ruining my dress. Ruining my chance to be free of his never-ending mood swings.
“Put these on. I’ll have my driver take you home.”
I scoffed. “So that’s it? You make me cum and then send me away when your guilt comes back to haunt you? I’m not a fucking toy, Romero.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, and I noticed for the first time how tired he looked. Saw the dark circles under his eyes, the faint lines creasing at their corners.
“That’s exactly why I’m sending you home,” he answered flatly.
Tears burned my eyes, and the room swam as I fought to hold them back. I tugged the T-shirt over my head to give myself enough time to speak without my voice betraying the rising tide of desperation and sadness.
“What am I to you?” I asked.
His blank mask cracked for the briefest of moments before his back turned. “You’re my ex-wife’s daughter. A fact we both keep forgetting.”
I shook my head, a traitorous tear finally falling, scalding my cheek as if to remind me of my weakness. “You told me we were friends once.” His shoulders tensed. “You taught me to fight. I know this isn’t really normal but—”
“Enough,” he growled. “What did you think was going to happen? Huh?” His expression was contorted with a sudden fury. “Did you expect that I’d fuck you and then we’d what—date? A man twenty years your senior. Do you have any idea how that looks?”
My own anger bubbled up, a volatile concoction that swirled in my veins, hardening my heart. “Since when do you care?” I shot back. “You of all people? We get along. We like the same films and music. There’s obviously something between us, or you wouldn’t have just done what you did.”
He gripped handfuls of his hair, tugging on it. “It was wrong. This is fucking wrong, Julietta, and you know it.”
I pulled on the shorts, rolling the waistband to keep them from immediately falling off my slender hips. Stalking past him I started for the door, snagging my book bag from the floor. “Fuck you, Romero.”
“You can have the half million. I’ll have it transferred by tomorrow.”
His words halted me. They hurt more than anything else he’d done or said in the five years I’d known him. Because if he was willing to concede, then that meant he was truly done with me.
