“I know where I stand with my father.”At the bottom. “And I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
He shrugs and then moves my chin. “Let’s talk about what else you’ve been doing.”
I pause at his harsh tone, unsure if he’s upset, acting like his usual grumpy self, or something else.
“Did you see my mother?”
He had that look on his face. The same look he gave me that night, long ago, when he was leaning over Keith’s body. The same look he gave me in the club when the Lobster guy approached me. The look he gave me when he held me against the wall after giving me a taste of the ruthless man inside. He’s enraged at me.
I lie because I don’t want to admit the truth. I knew it was a risk to visit Stone's mother, but something drove me to see her.That I did it because I was desperate to find out more about him. To better understand the man I was falling for.
“What the fuck were you doing visiting my mother?”
The question is deadly. I back up and try to stop the tremors in my body. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I resolutely deny it. He wasn’t supposed to know about my visit to his mother.
When he pulls me up into his arms, I wince at the way his fingers compress into my skin.
“Lying again?” He rubs his stubble along my chin and neck, moving to my ear. “I don’t like it when you lie.”
I slump my shoulders. “How did you find out?” I whisper, trying to stay strong against him, but he’s making it damned difficult not to cave, and turn my face into his.
“You think I wouldn’t notice the art with the same paint strokes as yours hanging on her wall? That a local artist was volunteering her time to paint with the residents?” He brings me closer, pushing me against the wall until I’m flush against his chest.
“I—”
“When?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips, looking anywhere but at him. “A few weeks ago.”
“How did you know, Countess?”
“Because—because I followed you.” My confession makes him pause, and he removes one manacle around my arm, tilting my chin up until my eyes meet his.
“Seems like you have a habit of following me. You saw what happened the last time.”
The reminder in that deep baritone is enough to transport me back to the most intense sex I’ve ever had. Yes, I remember exactly what happened the last time. My pussy remembers too because I can feel the dampness in my underwear.
“Why?”
“I saw you and I wondered about you. I brought the nurses pastries and they mentioned your mother. Then when you told me about her at the cabin I—I know she’s lonely and I just wanted to do something nice for her. Something nice for you?—”
That enrage him more.
“No. You can’t care about me, Countess. It’s a dead end.”
“I can’t help it. Stefan.” His nostrils flare when I call him by his name. His eyes glow, and he snarls, pulling me closer, growling against my lips. “Fuck you for doing that. Fuck you for making me want you the way I do, because I can’t stop.”
“Then don’t.”
He kisses my neck softly. “It was supposed to be done. I was supposed to have my fill of you.”
I turn my face and kiss his chin, wanting to feel the way he makes me feel. Out of control. That sweet pleasure pain. “I don’t want you to.”
I see the fight in him. The need to keep his barriers in place, but fuck that. I’m not going to be the only one to walk around needy and desperate. I push him back and lift my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor, feeling powerful like the mural he painted of me, rebelliously filled with anger at my father. He watches me unsnap my bra and fling it away, too. My nipples tingle from that wicked stare. I look down at his crotch. He’s hard. I lick my lips and remember how he tasted. “I don’t want to stop. I want more.”
His breathing gets louder. Deep inhales and exhales that let me know he’s just as affected as I am. When I unbuckle my jeans shorts, he studies me. When I’m standing in panties and fish net stockings, he drops to the juncture of my thighs.
“Fuck me, please, I need to feel it.”
