AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I choke out a laugh, the backs of my eyes burning. The next page is titled:If Penny Goes Missing.Underneath, there’s my fingerprint, a small lock of red hair, and a piece of tissue with a kiss print on it. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the tissue I left in his private bathroom the very first time he let me use it.
“You kept it?” I murmur, running my finger over it.
He huffs out a quiet laugh and rests his chin on my shoulder. “You’re more concerned about the tissue than how I got a lock of your hair?”
When I laugh again, it comes out as a weird sob. “Yeah, that’s weird as shit too,” I squeak.
The next page is all my favorite things. Recipes for a passion fruit martini and for the breakfast he made me every morning on the yacht. My regular order from the diner, the films I love, the songs I listen to on repeat. Some he’d have learned from listening to my calls to Sinners Anonymous, others from just listening tome.
I pour over page after page. My hobbies and dreams. My well-worn expressions, my clothing style. By the time I reach the final page, tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“Why?” It’s all I can manage.
Rafe turns me to look at him and kisses a tear before it drips off my chin. “You know the answer,” he whispers against my jaw.
Because he loves me.
And there’s no doubt in my mind that I love him too.
“Look at me.” Through blurry eyes, I meet his soft, green gaze. “I’m your hotline now, Queenie. All your mundane thoughts, all your ramblings: they’re mine. I want them all, no matter how trivial. Do you understand me?”
I can only nod.
“Good,” he murmurs. He swallows hard, frowning at a tear rolling down my face. “Now stop crying. I don’t like it.”
Without another word, I lean forward and brush my lips against his, claiming his next breath as my own. And then I press my mouth to his and slide my tongue inside. He captures it with his teeth and pulls me closer, running his hand up my spine and gripping the nape of my neck to hold me in place.
I’ll be here forever—I know it. Shackled by his chains, blissful in his cage. For all I care, he can lock me up and throw the key into the Pacific.
I’m in Raphael Visconti’s trap, and I never want to be freed.
Theyachtrollingoveran early morning swell is what brings me to consciousness, but it’s the satisfying soreness between my thighs that makes me open my eyes and smile.
I shift onto my side and prop myself up on my elbow, watching Rafe sleep. He’s on his back as always, one inked arm disappearing underneath my pillow. Lips parted, dark lashes fluttering. I study the even pulse in his clean-shaven throat, and wonder what he’s dreaming of. Would it be narcissistic to hope that it’s me?
I reach up and run my hand over my wonky braid. I know he thinks of me when he’s awake, at least. Why else would he learn how to braid hair for me? Sure, it’s a mess, but the thought of him practicing warms my heart.
“Kick me in the shin again, and I’ll spank you harder than I did last night.”
I jump at his sudden warning slicing through the silence. When I don’t reply, he pops open an eye and smirks at me sleepily. “Never mind, you’re just admiring the view again.”
“No I’m not.”Yes I am.“I’m thinking.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Shut up.”
His dimples deepen, and he runs a large paw over his cheek. “All right, thinking about what?”
“You know, how weird it is that you’re my boyfriend now.”
He frowns, jaw tensing. “You trying to piss me off before nine a.m?”
I laugh, dropping my head onto his bicep and curling into his side. We spent Valentine’s Day in the penthouse suite of the Visconti Grand, and the very next day, moved back onto the yacht. But despite what Rafe said about wanting all my stolen clothes hanging up next to his and my girly candles lit in every room, it’s not enough for him. He wants a rock on my finger too.
For a few minutes, I study his chest rising and falling. Watch the serpent on his collar dance, and the playing cards on his abs come to life. Hot with a sudden desire to interrupt his peace, I trace a line down his stomach into the dark hair below his navel.
He tenses underneath my touch. “Where’s that hand going, Queenie?” he murmurs into my hair.
