Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
"What did he say, Naz?"
"He mentioned putting his hands on you." I tip her head back, meeting her gaze. "What did I tell you about that, princesa?"
Her lips part, and I can't fucking take it anymore. I need to kiss her, need to taste that perfect mouth before I snap.
I dip my head, my mouth slanting down over hers. The first full brush of her lips against mine is pure bliss. It's not gentle or sweet. It's fierce, feral.
She gasps softly, and I take the opportunity to lick into her mouth, my tongue tangling with hers in a blatantly erotic claim of possession. The sound of her soft whimper shoots straight to my cock.
Dio. She tastes like fucking heaven—honey and sin and unschooled innocence. I've never felt anything this intense before, never had this soul-deep craving to possess and claim before.
I want to fucking devour her.
My hand curls around her nape, holding her in place as I plunder her mouth, branding her with my taste. Stealing hers.
She yields to me so sweetly, letting me take what I need. And I do, my tongue sliding against hers, stroking, caressing. Claiming.
Heat sears through my blood, desire steaming through my veins. I pour every ounce of frustrated desire and raw need into her, letting her feel every ounce of it.
She mewls into my mouth, her little hands fisting in my shirt as she clings to me. I nip at her bottom lip, and she shudders.
Fuck. The way she responds to me.
I want to destroy her with pleasure, shatter her into a million pieces, and then put her back together again. Throw her down on the steps and fuck her right here, in front of God and everyone, make sure they know she's mine.
I'm like a man possessed, lost to the perfect slide of her mouth against mine and the breathy little sounds she makes.
I force myself to pull back after a long moment, breathing hard.
Her eyes flutter open, glazed with lust and unfocused. She's as beautiful wrecked from my kiss now as she was looking like a princesa at the gala. Moreso because this is more her than that dress was.
She's stripped down to the most primal of instincts, breathless and aching. This is the side of her no one else ever sees, the one she hides from the world. It's Brynna, raw and real.
"Come with me," I whisper, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Give me one afternoon, princesa. We won't even leave campus if it's what you want."
She bites down on that kiss-swollen bottom lip, her eyes wide as they lock with mine. I see her inner conflict warring in their emerald depths, desire battling with good sense. She aches to say yes. I see it. I feel it in the way she arches into me, seeking more contact. More of my touch.
But she's struggling with the desire, a good girl to her core. The angel on her shoulder tells her to be smart, to stay the fuck away from me. But the devil on the other shoulder? He's whispering for her to take what she wants. To give in to the dark just this once.
In the end, the devil wins.
And I'm the motherfucking devil.
She exhales a breath, nodding as she slips her hand into mine. "Okay," she whispers. "But we're staying on campus. And I want something first."
"Name it," I growl, victory surging through my veins. I've won this war, and we both know it. She's mine now. She might not realize it yet, but it's only a matter of time before she surrenders every little piece of herself, body and fucking soul.
"Let Lombardi live."
"Why?"
She shrugs. "People shouldn't die just because they say something annoying, Naz. Not even someone who says annoying things as often as he does."
"Why, princesa?" I grit out, watching her face, searching for the truth. Whatever it is, it isn't that.
Her gaze drifts from mine, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "Maybe too many people have already died because of what they've said or done or tried to do to me," she finally whispers, a tremor in her voice. "And maybe I don't want his death on my conscience, too."
I guess that's clear enough, isn't it? And the answer is a fucking tragedy. She's innocent, her hands clean. But she carries guilt that doesn't belong to her anyway because, like the rest of us, she lives in this world, too.
"I won't kill him," I agree, incapable of adding to her burden when it's already heavier than she should have to carry.
Chapter Six
Brynna
Naz takes me back to the old bookstore right off campus, where we first met. As we step through the glass-fronted door, the familiar, comforting smell of cracked leather and dusty pages swirls around me, settling my nerves.
The bell jangles, and the pretty blonde cashier glances in our direction.