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Inch by beautiful inch, he withdraws with agonizing slowness then shoves forward hard. My breasts flatten against the glass as he pins me to it, fucking me furiously. He hooks an arm around my waist to prop me in place when my knees give out.
I groan, anxious for the glide of his cock between my slit, ready to go off like a rocket.
Except he doesn’t shifts higher.
Why hasn’t he shifted higher?
And no comments about my excitement?
No praise for my submission?
No. Please, no. My mind struggles to hold the memory in place. Like I’m waking from a dirty dream prematurely. Like I’m losing him all over again.
He steps back, and I slide down the glass, his seed mixing with the water on my back.
Stay. Don’t go.
Exhausted, I curl into a ball on the shower floor. Still, words I wish I could have said form.
“Wait, don’t leave me again ...”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Alessandro.”
I wake up with his name on my lips and my hand between my thighs.
Alessandro—disrupter of dreams and corruptor of virtues.
Light fills the room, and I become aware of everything at once. I’m in a bed inside a bedroom. Everything is white, from the duvet and sheets, to the walls and window treatments, the crisscrossed beams overhead.
Beams … Ciro’s murder …
The gun crashing against my head.
Distorted memories, of drugs, the shower, him.
My mafioso kidnappers.
Where the hell am I?
I glance around once more, in time to catch the flash of a dark-haired woman in a white uniform. “Puttana,” she cries out as she exits the room, the door slamming behind her.
Spanish? No … Italian.
Shaking, I climb out of bed, abruptly realizing I’m completely naked. Did Miss Hostility undress me, or someone else? My stomach rumbles as I tug the sheet off the mattress and wrap it around me.
I stumble forward, finding my legs, and approach a table with a tray of food. For me? I take two croissants, shoving one into my mouth while I skim my eyes around the room. I need to get out of here.
My attention halts on the bedroom door.
It’s open.
Either I’m lucky—which is laughable given how I’ve been kidnapped—or she left it open intentionally.
Maybe she wants me gone?
What do I care?
