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“But—”
“I know who you are, don’t I, Steph?”
“Yes, Sir, but—”
Sitting back, he jerked her head up.
“What?”
“This doesn’t seem real,” she whimpered, forced to look back at him. “It can’t be real. I feel as if I’m in the middle of a bizarre, lucid dream, or is it a horrible nightmare? I don’t know.”
He smiled his disarming smile. “This could become a nightmare. Do you want it to be?”
“No, of course not.”
“A moment ago you said you wanted me to kiss you. Is that true?”
He was spinning her head around.
Thinking was virtually impossible when she looked at him.
His chocolate eyes seemed to pierce her soul.
“Was it?” he pressed. “Answer me!”
“Yes, Sir, I want you to kiss me very much.”
Afraid of her own twisted desire, she’d breathed the words.
She wanted to experience the kiss of a man like him.
But did she want to be taken charge of by the infamous Marco Moretti?
“Beg.”
“Ooh, Sir.”
“Three seconds, then I leave. One—”
“Please, Sir, will you kiss me?” she mewled, shocked at how feeble she’d sounded.
“Again, but this time, look at me.”
A tremble rippling through her body, she took a breath and lifted her head.
“Please, Sir, will you kiss me?”
He’d been right.
Her plea had felt different.
Deep.
Real.
“Much better,” he murmured. “That’s how you beg, Steph. Remember it.”
Unexpected heat burned the back of her throat.
