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His eyes rake over my tits. “Do I?” he asks dryly.
“That’s what they say.”
A demonic smirk tilts his lips. “And what else do they say?”
I swallow. “That you only fuck from behind.”
His gaze lifts to mine, flashing black.
“How very gentlemanly of me.”
In one swift motion, he sheds his shirt, balls it in a bloodied fist, and tosses it on the floor.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.All other characters in the Bible too. Backlit by the early morning sun streaming through the window, he’s a mountain of muscle and sin, and no amount of ink staining his body can conceal his brawn or definition. Rubbing a bloodied paw down his abs, he takes a lazy step toward the bed, a move that makes my mouth water in anticipation and my toes curl in fear.
He looks up at me warily. Spreads his arms like we’ve found ourselves in an unfortunate situation, and the consequences will be less painful if we just accept our fate.
“Guess you were right.”
The sunbeam cutting across the playing cards and scriptures on his chest traps the meaning of his words:I’m no gentleman.
I shouldn’t be so stupefied. I knew it from the beginning. From the moment I sauntered up to him at the bar and his gaze heated the flesh through the slit in my stolen dress. But I guess being faced with the reality is scarier than the fantasy.
And Raphael Visconti in all of his sinful glory, is scary as fuck.
Clink, thawp.His belt slides from its loops with a flex of a bicep. It sounds like the crack of a whip and it sobers me immediately. On instinct, my eyes dart to the door, and I wonder if I’d make it past the monster if I ran fast enough. Deciding there’s not a chance in hell, I stifle a groan and stare at the sheet by my thigh instead. Run a trembling hand over the cream Egyptian cotton and make a shitty joke, as if it’ll poke a hole in my unease.
“I knew you ironed your sheets.”
An animalistic grunt spills from the bottom of the bed. I look up just in time to catch ink dipping under black boxers before a strong hand grips my ankle and yanks me flat. The ceiling disappears as quickly as it arrived, obstructed by shoulders wider than a soccer field and eyes just as green.
Sweet, holy hell.Despite only being five-foot-two with a straight spine, I’ve never felt small before. Guess most girls whose thighs chafe in summer have the same issue, but when Raphael’s hot, heavy body comes down on top of mine, pinning me to the bed with steel muscle and ill-intent, I feel like I’ve been swallowed by an eclipse.
Despite the delirium-inducing warmth, I shiver when he grabs my bun, tugs my head back, and nestles his face into my throat. “Do me a favor, Penelope,” he growls against my racing pulse. “Unless you’re moaning my name or sucking my dick, keep your fucking mouth shut.” Another tug on my bun, another crackle in my clit. “I’m so sick of the shit that comes out of it.”
I know I’m meant to be furious, but fuck, it’s hard to be angry when you’re melting under meat and muscle. Hard tothink.His torso skims down my body, his hands following suit, until he’s nestled between my thighs. Thick, swollen fingers curl over the waistband of my shorts, and my heart gives up beating altogether.
Fuck. Is he going to finish what he started in his office? I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. I haven’t been able to handle the mere ideaof it. I’ve used the shower head on my clit four times thinking about it, and haven’t made it past the third imaginary lick before—
Oh, god.He rips my shorts down my legs, and with his absent-minded toss, they disappear into the shadows behind him. He glances quickly at the strip of lace covering my pussy, then buries his face into it.
My gasp melts into a shudder at the warm, wet pressure. Some mine, some his. A deep rush of pleasure spreads out from my center and through my limbs like a wildfire, hot and uncontrollable.
I know I won’t survive it.
When I feel his tongue push the fabric of my thong into my entrance, I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning. I might not be in the right state of mind, but my desire to not give this man the satisfaction of breaking me is instinctual.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of anything but what’s going on between my legs, but it becomes impossible when he yanks my thong off, too. My lids pop open just in time to see him fist my panties and toss it in the direction of his dresser. They fly through the room and land on a lamp.
He glances up at me. “Mine now.”
“You fucking my panties, or something?”
A hard flick on my clit makes stars flash in front of my eyes.
“Or something.”
Christ.The thought of him jacking off into my panties has my head spinning. It’s so crude, soungentlemanly,and it’s obscene how flattered I am. With a rough tug, he pulls my legs apart, clamps my knees to the bed, and sits up just enough to study what’s in between them.
