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)
The press of his hot palm on the bare skin of my back was a certain kind of torture in my heightened state. I felt as though every nerve ending had been singed and was now throbbing in rhythm with the pulse between my thighs.
It wasn’t until Giovanni got behind the wheel of the fancy sports car that he no longer seemed so collected. He drove the stick into each gear like it had personally offended him. When we hit the interstate, his hand landed on my thigh like a brand, and I squirmed in response. My panties were damp, my thighs pressing together as though I could fix the ache he had put there. In public. The thought had a fresh wave of humiliation washing through me.
“I’m not your little toy to just play with in front of your rich friends,” I snapped.
“You are whatever the fuck I say you are, Emilia.” His fingers dug into my skin. “And right now, I say you’re a brat, and brats get punished.”
“What… what are you going to do?” I couldn’t hide my trepidation.
The smile he shot my way was nothing short of wicked. “You’ll see, princess.”
My gaze drifted over him, and I didn’t miss the bulge in his pants. My body was buzzing for him to finish what he had started in that ballroom. At the very least, I needed to be left alone so I could get myself off, but I had a feeling that he didn’t walk out of a gala midway through the dinner just to take me home and leave me by myself. And that posed the question, did I want him to not leave me alone?
By the time we got into the apartment, I was desperate. I stumbled down the hall, more than ready to take care of this incessant fucking itch myself. Before I made it two steps, his hand was clamped on the back of my neck, holding me at his side as we walked. To my room. The moment that door closed behind him, his presence became oppressive and stifling in the four walls.
“What are you doing?”
He said nothing as he removed his jacket, just like he had that first night. But this time, there was zero fear, and my entire body coiled tight with the action. The cufflinks went next, his movements unhurried as though he had all the time in the world. Was he going to fuck me? For the first time since he’d taken me from that motel room, I couldn’t quite convince myself that I didn’t want it. By the time he had loosened the bowtie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, I’d backed into the corner, trying to rationalize with my sex-teased brain. I told myself I didn’t want him, that he was the enemy, but it was like he’d drugged me with a dose of pure lust, and my gaze raked over every perfect inch of him like an addict needing my fix. The tux looked damn good on him, but this slightly rougher version…God, he was gorgeous. The crisp white shirt conflicted wildly with the dark and sinuous tattoos that crept just above his collar and encased both forearms like some secret treasure map just for me.
“Come here, piccola.” He held a hand out to me, the devil inviting me to sell my soul.
But I wasn’t that far gone. I remained against the wall, my palms pressed against the cool plaster as though I could sink my fingers in and anchor myself there.
“Are you scared, Emila?” He strolled forward a couple of steps.
“No.”
“Or maybe you’re just a little inebriated from the alcohol I warned you not to drink.”
“I’m not a child,” I said as he continued to edge closer, stalking his prey.
“No, you are not, but you have been a very bad girl.”
Fuck. Why did my entire body hum at the sensual dip in his voice? Maybe I was drunk.
“It’s time for your punishment.” Would he hurt me? Fuck me? Both at the same time? “I warned you, Emilia.”
He stopped in front of me, fingers winding around my throat in a way I would never admit I liked. His lips twitched when I whimpered, and he tugged me closer. “Don’t be scared, piccola. I won’t hurt you,” he breathed over my cheek. “Much.” Nothing about that whispered threat should have excited me.
His grip slipped to the back of my neck, and he wrenched me away from the wall. Toward the bed.
Panic cut through the fog of lust, and I fought him. “Giovanni, stop. What are you doing?”
He took a seat on the edge of the mattress and forced me over his lap. He pinned me there by the back of my neck, my hips over his thighs, ass in the air. My fingers gripped his calf, fighting and clawing to push upright and get away from him. He wrenched both arms behind my back before something silky wrapped around my wrists, binding them in the small of my back in such a way that I couldn’t move. I felt like a kill ready to throw on a spit. I’d never been so physically vulnerable and to him of all people.