Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
So, it’s punishment he’s after. Vengeance again. I can’t go back to how we were before Paris. I can’t regress that far because we’ll never come back from it. This is the turning point. I know it instinctively. Even though his mouth twists with distaste as he looks at me, I think about the graveyard and the notion that struck me, that perhaps he spared me because a part of him wanted me for who I am. Maybe, like me, he wanted better things for us. I think about the pain and the loss and all that sorrow. And when I think about him instead of myself, I do the only thing I can. I unbutton my coat and let it slip down my arms. I pull my sweater over my head and drop it at my feet.
He stops.
I unclip my bra, discarding that on the floor too.
His gaze dips to my breasts. His knuckles turn white on the belt. “Put your sweater back on, Sabella, or I swear your tits will get a taste of this belt instead of your ass.”
Ignoring him, I kick off my sneakers and pop the button on my jeans. Still, he doesn’t move. Not when I shimmy out of my jeans and panties and not when I pull off my socks. He stands frozen to the spot as I go down on my knees and spread them, offering myself like a sacrifice. It’s what he ordered. It’s what he asked of me. But in this moment, I see the truth in his eyes. He doesn’t like it. The insight gives me courage. It gives me the strength to meet the rage in his gaze head-on and to be honest. For once, to say what’s in my heart.
“Get up,” he snarls.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He charges over the floor and stops in front of me. I’m not even sure he heard me.
“Get up and bend over or I swear…”
He doesn’t finish that sentence because he can’t. He doesn’t want to. He’s fighting me, fighting what could be. That’s what he did on the morning he woke with his arms around me in my bed. That’s why he clammed up and took off so fast. He’s resisting that glimpse I got of us this weekend in a hotel room.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m so sorry for what my family did to you.”
The rage transforms into something furious, a storm that wreaks havoc inside him. I know, because that storm lives inside me too. It’s been living there for too long, trapped between the confines of my ribcage.
“I’m sorry.” I stare up at his devastatingly handsome face, my heart shattering for this beautiful, tormented man. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
The storm breaks as he throws the belt aside. Towering over me, he clenches his hands into fists, fighting still.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Russo.”
Whatever he’s holding onto so tightly snaps like a twig in a tornado. Buttons go flying as he rips his shirt in his haste to peel it off. His shoes and pants follow next. He’s on top of me in an instant, pinning my naked body to the floor. His weight sinks into me, anchoring me with a painful pressure on the wood. His cock is hard between my legs. Surging his hips, he enters me with a single thrust. I lift my head as he lowers his, our mouths meeting halfway in a crushing kiss. He pumps twice, shifting me over the floor before he pulls out and gets onto his knees. Clamping his hands around my waist, he rolls me over. Before I have time to drag in a breath, he’s inside me again, spearing into me from behind.
I know what he’s doing, why he’s not looking at me. He’s avoiding me even as he’s fucking me like his life depends on it. But I won’t let him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Russo.”
He thrusts harder, shoving his cock deeper until he hits that sweet spot that makes me lose my ability to speak. I can only moan as he punches his hips faster, creating too much friction and not enough.
“What you do to me, cara,” he says, his voice laced with something close to pain.
He grunts and stills, holding himself up on his arms as his body pulls tight on top of mine. I’m lost in his pleasure, needing it more than my own. I feel him riding that wave of euphoria as warmth bathes me inside. And I’m glad. Because I love it when he comes inside me.
The tension abates. His muscles relax. The storm has passed. Lowering his head, he brushes a kiss over my shoulder. I turn my head sideways and catch his lips. He doesn’t deny me. The caress is tender, a far cry from what he set out to do when we walked through the door, and I revel in the small victory.