I don’t know how long I last, gasping for breath at every lash of his cruel tongue, Riding shamelessly after my own pleasure as my free hand buries itself in his hair, holding him there.
The sound I make when his fingers pry me open is inhuman. I beg, cry, and scream for more, so much more as he brings me to the very precipice of my own desires.
That’s when I pull on his hair hard, ragging him up to my lips so that he can taste my orgasm for himself. So he can see exactly what he’s done to me.
But instead of capturing my lips, he assaults my neck, biting it like he did my inner thigh. The pleasure of that pain is the thing that pushes me over the very edge.
He pulls back as I do, watching me with a morbid kind of fascination as wetness pools onto his hands. He slows the near-vibrating beat of his strokes.
When I come to, he smirks in cruel satisfaction. “Do me a favor and let your brother see what I’ve done to your neck.”
I smile back, still riding the waves of my euphoria. I reach up, carding my hands through his hair, bringing him closer.
Then headbutt him in the nose.
“Jesus!”
He jerks back, clutching his now bleeding nose. He doesn’t notice the rose that’s just fallen from his lapel.
“You left your mark. I left mine,” I reply innocently enough. My free hand is fisting the pin that now curls within the boutonnierre.
Teo glowers. It’s almost funny how little difference there is between his anger and his lust.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he reiterates firmly before storming away to the bathroom.
“What, you don’t want to go for round two?” I call after him, earning me a slammed door.
I allow myself a minute. One full minute to process what the hell just happened before turning on my side to feign sleep.
Where I count every single second until Teo returns and falls asleep on the couch.
I’m brutally ignoring the fact that I might have just made the biggest mistake of my life.
5
TEO
The bed is empty when I wake up, and I’ve never wanted to punch myself in the face before.
Because, of course, it is. Because what was last night, if not a way for her to make me lower my guard?
Every time I think I’m in control of a situation, she goes and flips the narrative somehow. One second, she's a fearless mafioso’s daughter willing to jump out a window; the next, she's a sniveling coward in need of comfort and protection. The next…
Fuck. Kissing her had been a terrible, terrible idea.
I really thought, for a moment at least, that she’d felt it, too. It was because of the way my heart seemed to jumpstart under the sheer force of electricity that exploded between us.
Her face, her longing…she’d made a fool out of me. Distracted me with that kiss, that open invitation to take her, to own her.
I don’t know where the sex ended and the attraction began, but every time I think about it, that line gets blurrier.
And now? I’m left with an empty bed and one hell of a lot of explaining to do.
I openly threatened her and her brother, Gave away my intentions with the Prince’s Hand, then lost my only bargaining chip because I’m a sucker for mouthy blondes who know how to put me in a chokehold.
God. If she wasn’t a Natali…
I cut off that train of thought. It won’t get me anywhere good, and I have more than enough things to do today without thinking about all the ways I would let someone—who looked exactly like Isabella but absolutely was not Isabella—fuck me.
