AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Lie flat,” he growled. “Don’t move. Don’t touch me.” Her eyes grew wide, but she nodded, carefully putting her hands back to the ground. As Anteros had said, Frankie was a bad liar: she was, and always would be, his slave.
Little beads of sweat were raindrops on her chest when he put the knife to her skin. The blade was just enough pressure to tease, not enough to break the skin—not yet. Anteros would do to Frankie as she’d done to him in the hotel, but not until she was out of her mind with need.
Frankie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, bright eyes hooked on his when he slid the knife along her honey skin. Her heartbeat was a violent drum against his fingertips and where steel met skin, the flesh rose and puckered. He slid the knife under the curve of her breast and her hips moved with the movement, torturing his dick. A moan fell from Frankie’s lips, body undulating, riding a wave of pleasure. Her hand shot out and she gripped his neck, nails biting into his flesh.
Anteros stopped and pinned her collarbone with his elbow to keep her steady. “Did I say you could fucking move?” he growled, words vibrating against the small bone of her shoulder. “Did I say you could touch me?” She looked down, wide eyes meeting his level ones, and then shook her head, slowly bringing her hand back to her side.
Satisfied, Anteros resumed. He slid the blade along her nipple—just hard enough to leave a mark—and Frankie thrust her head back against the blanket. The whimpering sounds she made were almost enough to make him forget his plan. Since she couldn’t move or touch him, she balled up all of her energy. Her fingers scraped the blanket, toes angry balls, every vein and viscera in her body begging for release. She sprang off the ground, back a rigid arch. She was so close and, fuck, he wanted to give that to her, but he stopped.
“What are you doing?” Her eyelids fluttered, confusion and lust swirling beneath them.
“Say it,” he said. Frankie groaned and rolled her head to the side. She put her hand between her thighs but Anteros grabbed it and pinned it to the blanket. She looked back at him, pupils dilated, in a trance. “Say it,” he grated.
“Please!” she gasped.
“Please what?” She’d jokingly asked if calling him Boss had hurt his feelings, and though it hadn’t, it had done something to him. That night at the hotel she’d toyed with him. You don’t toy with a Beast without getting bit.
“Say it,” Anteros growled.
“Please, Boss.” The word came out in a long, twisted moan, and the sound, the meaning behind it had him pressing the knife deep into her skin until a sprig of blood burst. It trickled down the slope of her breast. He made one diagonal slice, then another, until the A was clear.
The effect on her was instantaneous. Frankie thrust her head back, rubbed her thighs together, squirmed on the blanket. She looked possessed and it was fucking hot, so distracting. He threw the knife to the ground and it skittered across the floor. He caught both her hands, pinning them above her head.
His cock throbbed as he lowered his head to blow on the cut. The skin pebbled but her nipple was already hard and reaching for him. Unable to control himself, Anteros sucked her breast into his mouth. When his lips met her naked skin, a sound of pure desperation escaped her. He released her hands, smoothing his own over the sides of her tits, the curve of her waist. Anteros glanced up to find Frankie looking back at him, unhinged need radiating from her clear-water depths. The coppery taste of her blood soaked his tongue, but that just urged him further. Her hips rose to him.
“Please fuck me, Boss,” she begged. He smiled against her skin—he hadn’t told her to say that. He really wanted to grant her wish, but he needed to clean her wound first. Gathering some kind of crazy willpower, he tore himself from her and went to go get antiseptic. As he stood up, he took a mental snapshot of how she looked—spread out on the blanket, freshly carved, begging for him.
He wondered what he’d done to get so lucky.
It took only seconds to find the first aid kit he’d stashed. When he returned, he gently rubbed the antiseptic on her breast, taking longer than he needed because of how she moaned and moved for his touch.
“Mio cuore,” he said through a grin. “All of New York will hear you.” She was completely out of her mind though, not listening to him. He bent to catch her moans and she hungrily attacked him, bit his lip. Fuck. She was perfect. Everything about her was absolutely divine. With a deep, impatient, growl, he separated their mouths.
“Where are you going now?” She sounded upset.
“Bandage.” He could only get that one word out, chest tight with the need to fuck her.
“I don’t want a bandage,” she said, dragging him back to her. “I want to bleed your name.” The earnestness with which she said it tore through his body, breaking him open in ways he’d thought impossible. Without further debate, Anteros pressed himself into her, the crimson A smearing against their skin as he fused their lips and bodies together.
“Will you tell me the story of Sofia De Luca?” Frankie murmured sometime later when the moon began to dip down toward the horizon. He caressed the silky strands of her hair as dawn brightened the sky to a dusty periwinkle through the slats in the roof.
“Odd choice of pillow talk,” he responded.
“Please.” She rolled off him and looked him in the eyes. In her new position, the engraved letter was bright and clear on her breast. He ghosted a finger along the edges, her skin shivered, and she swayed.
“Do you want the truth or the lie the Pavonis tell everyone?” His voice was low, focus drifting as he continued to brush the flesh around the A. The newly cut skin was fresh and raw, the area around it sensitive. Her eyelids flickered and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
She didn’t respond for a while, and when she did the words were nearly lost in her breath. “What do you think?”
“The Family is taught that the wife of Dario De Luca, Sofia, tempted twin brothers Alessio and Emilio,” Anteros said. “The brothers eventually killed each other over her. Sofia De Luca was killed and her newborn child was named Emilio Alessio in remembrance.”
“But that’s all shit right?” Frankie asked. “How could Gabby be alive if Sofia was killed right after Emilio was born?”
“Exactly. At first I only knew the history as Lucio told me.” Anteros slid his hand under the curve of her breast, feeling the weight. A little blood tr
ickled onto his fingers and their eyes locked.
“It’s like everyone only knows what Lucio told them,” she said, voice faltering as he caressed the swollen, pink flesh. Not many picked up on what she had. Most Family members lived their entire lives swallowing the Family history, never bothering to look for the truth—but Frankie was not like everyone else.
