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My skin beneath his touch turned into gooseflesh.
How on earth did this man annoy me and turn me on at the same time? Damn.
Focus on how annoying he is. Incredibly annoying.
The only problem was my mind was focused solely on how his touch felt on my body and the direction he moved his hand in.
A moan escaped my lips, which I promptly hid with a hiss.
I clamped my hand over his to stop him. “I…I can’t wait to hear what that brain of yours came up with now. But I’m pretty sure I have to decline that option also.”
Because no matter the situation, being close to Alessandro Falcone was increasingly dangerous, especially when he looked at me, touched me, or turned up that charm of his.
“You can be my full-time sub.”
My head shot up, stunned, and then I laughed in his face. “You think that’s a third option between fake-dating you and being locked up? Are you delusional?”
He cocked his head and locked his eyes on mine.
Holy shit.
Another shiver ran down my spine, and I pressed his hand against my thigh.
What the hell was wrong with me?
How could I be turned on by him giving me outrageous ultimatums while having me on his lap with his hand dangerously close to…
“Thinking about it, it’s actually the amalgamation of the best of both choices.”
I glared at him. “If those were my only choices, I sure as hell would choose to be locked up and as far away from you as humanly possible. But the only true choice here—and the one I’m choosing—is leaving the island and getting as far away from you as possible.”
He clicked his tongue. “I don’t think that’s quite accurate.”
He inched his hand upwards again, and I clawed my nails into his hand while alarm bells started ringing in my head and sexual flutters took over my belly.
“Why not?”
He grinned. “Because I have your passport, phone, wallet. My brother told me to take care of you, not drive you off the island. And honestly.” He gave me a wink. “You’re entertaining, and I’m having more fun than I’ve had in a long time, so I think I’ll keep you for a while.”
And despite my nails clawing into his skin, he moved his hand under my skirt and dangerously near my panties—which by now I couldn’t guarantee weren’t at least a little bit wet. And how mortifying would it be if he found out.
“Alex?”
“What, princess?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“But?”
“But?”
“You don’t even like me.”
He stared at me, gave me a noncommital “hmm,” then his finger reached the apex of my thighs, and he laid his hand over my panty-clad pussy at the same time as I squirmed and squeezed my thighs together—to increase the pressure, or shut him out, I didn’t exactly know anymore. “Alex!”
“Yes, Fee.” He cupped my sex, then held my gaze, the unspoken “Gotcha,” clearly visible in the way his eyes shimmered and the skin crinkled.
