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He knew all that, and still, all he could focus on was her reaction to his car.
He could imagine the way the low, throaty growl of the engine worked its way through her where she sat. But even if he couldn’t, the way she began to breathe—too heavily—told him what he needed to know.
She might not like him. She might want him for the concert piano he’d had made especially for her. She might choose to leave him like all the rest, and soon.
But she wanted him.
Desperately.
There was an honesty in that. And it was new. Completely different from the six who’d come before her.
Benedetto found he was less interested in her sensual suffering than he probably should have been.
“I cannot wait, Angelina,” he told her now. “I want you to lift your wedding gown to your waist, as if we were back in your stark conservatory.”
And he could tell the state she was in when she didn’t argue. Or stammer. Or even blush again.
He shifted the car into second gear as he raced down the old roads toward the coastline his grandparents had kept undeveloped, even when that had required they fight off “progress” with their own hands, and watched as she obeyed him.
So quickly her hands were shaking.
“Good girl,” he murmured when she’d bared all the soft, silken flesh of her thighs to his gaze. He could only glance at all that warm lushness as he drove, faster and faster, but it was enough. It made him so hard he ached with it. “Touch yourself. I want you to do whatever you need to do to come, Angelina. Fast and hard. Now.”
She let out a sound that could have been a sob. A moan.
But he knew when she’d found her own heat, because she made a sound that was as full of relief as it was greed.
It made his sex pulse.
And he drove too fast down the coastal road he knew by heart. Then he sped up as he hit the treacherous drive that stretched out into the water that rose higher and higher by the moment as the tide came in and began to swallow it whole.
“Come,” he ordered her.
She rocked her hips, making mindless, glorious little sounds. He could hear the greediness of her flesh, and a quick glance beside him found her with her head thrown back and her hands buried between her legs. The summer afternoon light streamed into the sports car, bouncing off the water and making her so bright, she nearly burned.
So beautiful, it cut at him.
So perfectly innocent, it should have shamed him, but it didn’t. Not when he wanted her this much.
If he hadn’t been a monster already, this would have made him one, he was sure of it.
Benedetto heard her breath catch. Her head rocked back, and he was sure that he could feel her heat as if it was his hands on her, clutched deep in her molten core. That hot rush of sweet, wet fire as she took herself over the edge.
She shook and she sobbed, and he drove faster. There was light and water and his seventh bride, coming on command. And when her sobs had settled into a harsh panting, he reached over. He took one of her hands, and sucked her fingers into his mouth because that heat was all for him. It was his.
She was his, and no matter if that damned them both, he didn’t have it in him to stop this madness. He couldn’t.
“Open your eyes, Angelina,” he told her then, another soft order. “We are here.”
That was how he drove her into Castello Nero, the ancestral home of his cursed and terrible clan. Flushed and wanton, wet and greedy, the taste of her in his mouth and that wild, ravaged look on her face.
Welcome home, little one,Benedetto thought darkly.
And then he delivered them both into their doom.
CHAPTER SIX
ANGELINABARELYHADthe presence of mind to shove her skirts back down, letting the yards and yards of soft white fabric flow back into place. To preserve whatever was left of her modesty.
