AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Michele leaned back, surprise flickering over his face at her daring. And as he took in her new expression, he noted none of the previous softness, nor desire.
There was only defiance. Nascent rebellion that seemed to grow with every passing moment as she brought her knee up to kick him.
Yet he was too fast, slapping her knee and pushing it back down before he held her so closely, she couldn't even think to move again.
"Didn't you say I wasn't even good for a fuck?" she snapped at him. "Then what are you doing here? Why are you trying to fuck me if I offend you so much? Why touch me at all?" she demanded angrily.
The taste of iron flooded his mouth, a few drops of blood trickling at the corner of his lip.
"Because you're mine pet. You're fucking mine," he grit out.
He might not make sense, even to himself, but if there was one thing he was completely sure it was that she was his. He might lose his mind, might go utterly insane—if he hadn't already done so—but there would always be that ultimate truth.
Venezia Lastra was his.
His pet. His fucking woman.
And onlyhecould ever touch her.
"You're mine and you'renevergetting rid of me."
That sentence seemed to get to her.
"Wh-what?"
"I'm coming for you, pet. Today, tomorrow, or maybe the end of the week. Who knows?" he smiled at her terrified expression. "But Iwillbe coming for you."
"Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why can't you leave me alone?"
"Because," he smirked, a bored look on his face. "If I can't have you, no one will," he said right before he dipped his head, his open mouth making contact with the skin just below her jaw.
She brought her hands to his shoulders in an attempt to push him away, but it was all in vain.
One moment he was sucking on the skin, the next he bit so hard, he broke the surface of it, blood coating his teeth.
She yelped in pain, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
He wasn't deterred.
He continued to bite and suck until an unmistakable mark of ownership took shape on her body—right on her neck where anyone could see it. He held on for what seemed like forever, lost in her proximity, the taste of her blood and her pronounced cries of pain.
Only when he felt he'd made the mark visible enough did he let go, taking a step back to examine his work of art.
He swiped his tongue over his teeth as he attempted to capture all of her taste—takeallof her essence within him. But as he gazed again upon her, he didn't find what he expected.
Yes, there were tears flowing down her cheeks, but there was no weakness in her eyes. She brought her hand to the red, ugly mark he'd placed on her at the same time as she turned her head to look him dead in the eye.
Before he knew what she was about, she was on him, her nails lodging in his shoulders as she raised herself on the tips of her toes, her open mouth on his neck as he'd done to her. And just as savagely, she bit at his throat until he felt the skin give off—until she stepped away to reveal not only blood but also skin.
He blinked, wholly taken aback by this display.
Especially as she spit out the small bit of skin, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth to wipe the residual blood.
He pressed his own hand to his neck, realizing his wound was much, much worse than hers.
"I hate you, Michele Guerra. I will hate you until the day I die," she declared with such fierceness, awe overtook him until he gazed upon her as one would do a goddess—a being so holy it blinded with her light.
He felt his knees give out, yet it wasn't from the pain. It was from sheer emotion—from something so unfamiliar he couldn't name or acknowledge. He just found himself speechless in the face of the ineffable.
