Page 48 of Hers to Command

She pulls back just enough to glare at me, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Then stop talking and show me.”

A feral grin spreads across my face, and I push her back in one swift motion, knocking over the wineglass in the process.

I’ll let her think she’s in control tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight, I’m reminding her exactly of who it is she married. And I think I’ll pull out some of my toys to make sure that lesson sticks this time.

Chapter Twenty

Riccardo

The wine spills across the floor, but my focus isn’t on the mess. It’s on Anya.

Her hands grab my shirt, pulling me down onto the couch with her while her knee presses against my groin. A wicked smile plays on her lips, and damn it, instead of getting pissed at her move, I find myself impressed.

She wants to fuck just as much as I do, but she’s not going to let me just do it. No. She’s always fighting me. Always testing how far I’ll let her go. Always trying to assert herself.

It’s fucking tantalizing.

“Careful Mrs. Angelo,” I murmur, leaning into her space. “I don’t mind a little pain in the bedroom, but I won’t be the one who ends up hurting.”

Instead of pushing the point further, I press my dick against her knee and lean down to kiss her. Her hands come up, fingers curling into my hair like she’s deciding whether to pull me closer or shove me away.

She chooses closer.

I deepen the kiss, my hands sliding down to grip her hips, dragging her closer to the edge of the couch. Her legs shift, brushing against mine as her knee relinquishes its position, and a low growl rumbles in my chest. She always makes me lose control faster than I want to admit.

When I pull back slightly, she grins at me. “Still waiting for you to prove you’re in control.”

“Oh, I’ll prove it,” I growl, sliding an arm beneath her knees and lifting her off the couch in one swift motion.

This is a game to her. Fine. I can play. I had a shit day and I’m in the mood to release some of that pent up energy.

“What are you doing?” Her startled gasp is satisfying.

“Moving this to the bedroom,” I reply, ignoring her attempts to sit up further in my arms.

At least, she doesn’t argue, which I take as a win.

I carry her through the hall and into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us. I set her down on the edge of the bed, my hands immediately sliding into her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back. Her lips part, her breath coming fast as she meets my gaze.

“You drive me insane, Anya,” I growl, leaning down to nip at her bottom lip.

“And yet, here you are,” she retorts, her voice breathless but still filled with that defiance that sends a thrill straight through me. “So, who’s really in control, Riccardo?”

I grip her chin, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Me,” I say, quieter but no less firm, hoping to fucking hell that I can convince myself of that because never has a woman made me feel so damn distracted as Anya.

Apparently Anya doesn’t have an issue with my declaration, because she arches up, brushing her lips against mine in a kiss that’s as much a demand as it is an invitation. It’s such a turn on, it takes me a second to recall what I was about to do.

Anya

Riccardo pulls me down onto the bed, my body pinned under his, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that sends a shiver straight down my spine. “Stay right here,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

He stands and strides toward his dresser. My heart races as he pulls the lowest drawer open. At this point, I’m too curious to risk moving. I want to know what Riccardo is up to.

When he turns around, he’s holding several things. Tools of his trade, so to speak. Only, they aren’t weapons. Instead, he’s holding things meant for an entirely different kind of control. And fuck me, but I get goosebumps.

He selects a pair of nipple clamps first, the kind with dangling jewels that looks fucking expensive. Returning to me, he kneels between my legs, holding them up with a grin.

“You can try to run,” he says, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t expect me to.

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