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He crossed the room and opened the wardrobe, pulled a white dress shirt from the hanger, stalked toward me, and helped me slip in, first one arm, then the other arm.
Then he rolled up the sleeves and looked me straight in the eyes.
His intensity should’ve been intimidating; instead it felt nice, protective, safe. He cupped my cheek. “From now on, I’m the only one who gets to see you.”
I stared at him, my mouth gaping.
And here he was back, the chauvinistic pig.
“I will wear whatever the fuck I want.”
He clenched his jaw, but his hand cupping my cheek remained soft. “You can wear whatever the fuck you want. But there will be consequences.”
“Consequences?” I held his stare, refusing to back down.
He leaned forward until his lips touched the edge of my ear. “Try me, and you’ll see.” He nipped my earlobe, which sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
Traitorous body.
“You think I’m scared?” I whispered, my voice hoarse.
Damn.
I did not want him to witness the effects he had on my body.
He stepped closer until he was flush against me; his hand moved to my throat, and his lips still touched my earlobe. “I really hope you’re not because nothing would make me happier than doling out those consequences. You, bent over my knee, your sweet naked ass sticking out into the air, waiting for my hand,” he whispered.
And I melted.
Melted.
What the hell? I was a submissive—in bed, I liked my men dominant—while having sex.
But spanking? Punishment? Being turned on by being told the consequences of me wearing what I wanted? That was a new one.
And an insult to my inner feminist.
I could feel the vibrations of his chuckle against my skin. “Welcome to the dark side.”
I scoffed. No way in hell would I show Alessandro Falcone how much he affected me. “Well, Lord of Darkness.” I leaned back and locked my eyes with his. “You can say whatever you want. You can believe whatever you want.” I covered his hand on my neck with mine and squeezed. “But you don’t own me. And you don’t scare me.”
The moment I said it, I realized how stupid it was. I was poking the bear.
Why was I poking him?
Didn’t I have a nervous breakdown just a few hours ago when I thought back at what happened to me in Italy, and here I was sexually sparring with a guy far more dangerous to my mind, body, and soul.
When I would not even be able to follow through.
And yet. I could see his eyes light up.
He didn’t have to say it, but the “challenge accepted” was practically stamped on his forehead with the expression on his face.
What did I do?
And what would he do?
And where would this end?
