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“It’s not—”
“Yes, it is.” He cupped my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him, but I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want him to witness this…that I cared, that I wanted the man who had bartered for me like a possession to want me and only me, even when I couldn’t give him any of myself.
His thumbs swept over my cheeks. “I’d kill any man you’d fucked, on the pure principle that he touched you.”
“That’s…” Psychopathic? Insane? Weirdly hot? Shit.
“I know, and I don’t care. I’m not rational when it comes to you.”
I met his unwavering gaze, so certain, so confident. “You’ve only known me a week, Gio.”
“Exactly. I dread to think how volatile I’d be after weeks.” He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “Or months.” Another kiss. “Years.” And another. “Stop trying to make this rational, Emila. It isn’t. You’re fighting for the sake of fighting.”
Was he right? I felt like I was doing battle with myself half the time and only really harming myself in the process. I just couldn’t stop…
“I didn’t mean to… It’s just…” I let out a sigh, focusing on a point over his shoulder just so I didn’t have to look at him while I showed a glimmer of weakness. “She looked at you like…” Fuck, I couldn’t even say it out loud.
“Like she could have me.”
I nodded, and he pressed his lips to mine, coaxing, prying things from me that my body wanted to offer while my mind refused to give up. That kiss said I was his and I was special, and for once in my life, I wanted to be special. To someone. To him. I found myself shifting closer until the hard press of him ground between my legs.
“She can’t have me.” Another kiss. “If any man so much as looked at you the wrong way, piccola, I’d cut his eyes out of his head.”
Fuck. I needed to remember why this was a bad idea. Tomorrow.
He gripped my hips in both hands, forcing me over him in a way that turned my body liquid. “If anyone thinks he can have you, I’ll be sure to remind him exactly who you belong with.” With, not to—I didn’t miss the distinction.
“Gio,” I gasped as he thrust up against me. My hips moved of their own volition, chasing that sweet high only he could give. Within seconds I was falling apart, shaking and clinging to him as I rode out the waves of pleasure. And as I came down, all I could think was how amazing it would surely feel to actually fuck him.
He bit my lip, then pushed to his feet and placed me on his desk. His phone vibrated against the wood, and he glanced at the screen with a smile. “This man, for instance…”
A few seconds later, the door clicked open and Philipe shoved another man forward, a gun pointed at his back. A bag covered his head, and I stilled, wondering what the hell was going on. Philipe dragged a chair to the corner of the room before shoving his captive into it, and I noticed the smears of blood on the man’s pale-blue shirt. His wrists were cable tied to the arms of the chair, and then Philipe left.
“This man thinks he can have you.” There was only one man besides Gio who thought he could have me, who might have pissed off Gio—Matteo Romano. Bleeding and bound and helpless. Gio pulled my gaze back to him. “Can he have you, Emilia?”
“Never.”
“And I’ll never let him have you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” I was surprised by the truth in that one word.
He stroked my face, the touch soothing and reverent. “He can’t see you, but he can hear everything. I’m going to remind him that you belong with me, to me, and he will never have you.”
Matteo fought in his restraints, letting out a low growl, and I couldn’t help but smile at his helpless state. Was I really going to do this? A little thrill shot through me at the thought. I knew how men like Matteo worked. They coveted purity, to be the first man to touch, to take. No matter what happened, Matteo would always know that I was tainted by another, that I wanted another. All while he was bound and bloodied, forced to listen to what I would never give him. It wasn’t the revenge I craved, but it was something.
I met Gio’s gaze and nodded.
“Good girl,” he practically purred before kissing me. The kiss was rougher than the last one, possessive, demanding, claiming.
“You are mine, Emilia Donato.” He spoke the words like a vow against my lips. My mind fumbled for an argument but came up empty when his teeth sunk into my neck, followed by the warm swipe of his tongue. He pushed me back on the desk, his gaze boring into mine as though waiting for me to stop him when he slid my underwear down my legs.
