Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“What are you making?” Gently, gently. Lull him into a false sense of security.
“Bolognese.” He stepped toward me. “But that’s not why you’re really in here, piccola. You don’t care what I’m cooking.”
“I...” Did he know?
He pressed between my legs, both palms gliding up my thighs and dragging up the material of the shirt. He was careful not to press on the bullet hole he had put in my leg. Even that thought wasn’t enough to stop my skin from tingling beneath his warm touch, heart rate ticking up with every inch of ground he made toward my underwear. I could do this. He was making it easy. My hand landed on his chest, trailing up until I gripped the back of his neck.
“You’re right. I don’t care what you’re cooking.” When I leaned in and brushed my lips over his jaw, he growled, fingers digging into my hips like he was about to toss me down on the counter and shred the clothing from my body.
This was it. The moment that would define my future. I could barely breathe for fear, but I hoped he would pass it off as arousal. Guilt ate away at me because I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t a killer, and he’d saved me once, saved my brother... But he was still my captor, and I would never bow to captivity or to the whims of men like my uncle. His lips teased over my throat, and for a second, everything just stopped. The way he held me, touched me, wanted me... For a second, this felt like something more, like fate, but this was where I killed fate. Pulling the blade free from my sleeve, I gripped the back of his neck tight. And then I drove the knife toward his chest. He jerked back, swatting me away faster than I thought possible and diverting the blow, but not before it sliced across his ribs. A hiss of pain escaped his teeth, and he clamped one hand over his side while the other wrapped around my wrist, squeezing until the blade clattered to the counter.
“Oh, princess. You hesitated.”
My heart leaped into a sprint, fear choking me before his blood-slick hand did. Would he kill me? He wrenched me up against him, fingers digging into my throat hard enough to restrict my air. His nose dragged up my cheek before teeth pinched my jaw.
“I love it when you fight,” he groaned. “What were you going to do, Emilia? Kill me and run into the hall where my men are waiting?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you, just hurt you—“
“Enough to escape.” He pulled back, that glacial gaze meeting mine. He was always scary, but right now, there wasn’t an ounce of mercy to be found in his eyes. This was a man who didn’t hesitate. If our roles were reversed, I would be bleeding out on the floor right now.
He laughed, the sound cruel and cutting. “Little word of advice, Emilia. If you ever manage to bury a blade in my chest, you had better make sure you kill me because I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth.”
I jumped when he touched the tip of the knife to my thigh, dragging it up the inside of my leg. It was a light scratch, not enough to break the skin, but I shivered in response.
“Are you going to punish me?” I whispered, imagining him ramming that knife into my leg and scarring the other thigh.
“Would you like that?” The blade trailed over my panties, and I sucked in a sharp breath right before he pressed against me harder, trapping the flat edge of the knife between us. Fuck, why was that hot?
“For me to spank you and tie you to my bed.” He studied me like he was picturing all the ways he could fuck me and kill me. “I think you would. I think you want this.” The grip tightened on my throat, fingers sliding over my skin. He could kill me at any moment, but I instinctively knew he wouldn’t.
I felt…alive, on the ragged edge with him. Raspy breaths slipped past my lips as he moved the blade to the base of my throat. He yanked me to the edge of the counter and the layers of material between us did little to buffer the thick press of him against my pussy.
“I know you’ve pictured me spreading these sweet thighs and taking what’s mine, Emilia.”
“I’m not yours,” I managed to gasp.
“Oh, but you are.”
Something feral clawed its way to the surface of my consciousness and made me crave this lethal game. The knife inched down between my heaving breasts, where he sliced the button loose. It skittered over the kitchen tile, and he slid the material to the side, skirting my peaked nipple with the very blade I had just cut him with. I was a slave to sensation, my body paralyzed as my brain fought whatever the hell this was.