His hand closed around my arm, spinning me around. I stumbled, almost falling into his chest, and the contact sent a jolt of fury through me.
“Let go of me!”
“No.”
I shoved him but he didn’t move so I shoved him again, harder, my palms slamming against his chest.
“I hate you!” The words ripped out of me, raw and broken. “I hate you! You’re just like every other man—lying, cheating, using me?—”
“I didn’t cheat on you.”
“I don’t care!” I was sobbing now, hitting him with my fists, my nails scraping against the fabric of his shirt. “It’s only a matter of time until you do! I can’t do this!”
I slammed my palm flat against his chest. “Get off me!”
He didn’t even flinch. My hands were like a leaf against a mountain. I hit him again, a wild, desperate shove, my fingernails raking across the fabric of his shirt. It felt pathetic, useless, but I couldn’t stop.
“Do. It. Again,” he growled, his eyes black with something ancient and hungry.
I snarled and pushed at him with both hands. For a second, I thought I’d actually moved him. Then his hands were on me, catching both of my wrists in one of his hands. The silk of his tie bit into my skin as he wrapped it around them once, twice, pulling it tight until the blood hummed in my fingertips.
“Lorenzo, stop?—”
He ignored me, grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking my head back, and marched me across the hardwood floor. My bare feet stumbled. I clawed at the air, twisted in his grip, but he was iron and fire.
“Lorenzo, stop,” panic now threading through my thoughts.
“You’re not leaving me.” His voice was a growl against my ear. “You’re my wife. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not your anything?—”
“You’re myeverything.” He shoved me backward, hard, until my back hit the glass of the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Thecold seeped through my thin shirt. Outside, the city glittered, a thousand lights watching us.
His body pressed against mine, pinning me in place. The tie binding my wrists was trapped between us, and I could feel the heat of him through every layer of clothing.
“Let me go,” I whispered, but my voice had lost its edge.
He was in front of me now, his hand gripping my chin, tilting my face up. His thumb brushed across my jaw, rough and possessive. “No.”
He pressed me against the glass, his body a cage of muscle and heat. The glass was freezing against my bare skin, but the heat of him burned through my thin shirt.
He dropped to his knees.
My breath caught as his hands found the waistband of my jeans, yanking them down my thighs along with my panties. The cool air hit my bare skin, and I shivered.
“Lorenzo—”
Before I could finish, his mouth found me.
I cried out, my bound hands flying to his hair, gripping the dark strands as his tongue worked against me — devouring me like I was his last meal, like he was starving and I was the only thing that could save him.
I tried to fight it. Tried to hold onto the anger. But my hips rolled against his face. My thighs clenched around his ears. And then he slid two fingers inside me, curling them just right, until I shattered against his tongue with a sob.
He didn’t stop. He licked me through it until I was trembling and weak and barely able to stand.
Only then did he stand.
He looked at me with those hungry dark eyes before grabbing my bound wrists and spinning me around, my breasts pressed flat against the freezing glass.
