“Now, why would I do that?”
The wall at my back feels like the only thing holding me up. “What do you want from me?”
His eyes slowly drop all the way to my feet and rise up again. When they return to my face, they are somehow darker. “Manythings. But I am not in the business of coercion, Miss Cassandra. I want my women to want me so I can make them beg for it.”
My mouth goes dry.
I had planned for him to demand money, or a favor I would be scared to grant. But his suggestion makes me think there might be something else I’d be more than willing to give.
“And if I did?”
“What?”
“Want you.”
One moment, he’s standing before me, the next, he’s pinning me against the wall by the neck. His long, tattooed fingers grab my chin and force me to look up at him.
“Don’t tempt me,Angioletta.”
We’re too close. Breathing hard against each other like this is almost unbearable.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he whispers across my skin, and my eyes almost roll back into my head. “Because you are not a currency that I exchange in, as mouthwatering as you are.”
His leg brushes up against mine, his bare forearm rubs against my neck, his damn fingers are so close to my lips.
I should be terrified, sobbing, pleading with this man. This is a man who is more than capable of leaning down on my windpipe and suffocating me right now. I’m completely at his mercy, and yet my traitorous body only aches with desire.
The idea should appall me. I should feel shame as my sex throbs between my legs. But even if fucking him won’t win me myfreedom, I’m a slave to my carnal impulses. It’s almost as if the entire world is fading away around me.
All that matters is the man pressing into me.
“Please,” I whisper back. “I just want your help.”
His gray eyes dart to my lips and I can feel his heart race in his chest. Is he as affected as I am? Does he feel the electricity buzzing beneath my skin?
“And I’m prepared to give it,” his voice rumbles, “but I will not indulge in this little fantasy of yours just because you think you owe me something.”
I should be relieved, but I’m not. I should thank him and walk away now. He’s agreed to what I wanted. But this isn’t some little fantasy; this is pure, unfiltered desperation. I don’t just want him to touch me. Ineedhim to.
And despite his own words, he doesn’t move.
He just stares as if he is transfixed by my lips. A war seems to rage within him. His breathing is jagged as if he’s physically trying to hold himself back.
In a small, logical part of my mind, I realize why. He sees me as vulnerable—someone who needs his help. Giving in would be to take advantage of me.
But this has nothing to do with what he can do for me and everything to do with my near-feral need for release.
With a sudden surge of confidence, I drag my tongue across my bottom lip.
“Would you like me to beg?” I whisper as flames seem to erupt in his eyes.
He growls out his restraint, and I realize something with terrifying clarity.
He might be the don of the Italian Mafia. He might hold my life in the balance. But at this exact moment…
I’m the one with the power.
Without looking away from him, I turn my head, taking his finger into my mouth.
