Page 60 of Brutal Vows

I dig my nails into his shoulders, tighten my legs around him, and tilt my hips, grinding my wet pussy against the underside of his trapped cock. He snarls and stalks through the apartment. When he pins me to the bed and peels my arms off his nape, I arch my back and gasp at the pleasure streaking through my nipples as they brush against his scars.

He pulls my wrists toward the headboard and grips them in one fist before wedging his hand between our bodies. When he strokes a callused fingertip directly over my clit without warning, I squeak and bite his tongue. He pulls back and aims dark grey orbs at me.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear. I’m sore. Like, really, really sore,” I rush to explain.

His expression softens and he releases my wrists to brace his arm beside my shoulder and cup the side of my face.

“It’s okay,gattina. For you, I can be gentle,” he murmurs against my lips.

He proves it. Over and over again. With teeth, tongue, fingers, and cock. With slow, drugging kisses. With mesmerizing, hungry eyes.

He builds me up, shatters me to smithereens, and pieces me back together into a new, stronger creature.

I fall asleep with his weight pinning me to the mattress and his cock lodged deep within my body.

My alarm wakes me. I huff in annoyance and pull my gigantic, hot, hard teddy bear tighter against me.

He shifts. I snarl and knock my phone out of his hand. When it skitters across the mattress and clatters to the floor, still vibrating, my teddy pinches my hip in playful warning. I jump and hiss at the slight sting before rolling out from underneath him and blindly fetching it from the floor.

“I have a surgery scheduled in an hour,” I grumble.

His stillness clears the last of my sleep from my mind. I roll and meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry. They called yesterday and requested my help with a difficult patient. It’s just one procedure. I’ll finish in three or four hours.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw, but the droop of his mouth makes him look disappointed instead of angry.

“That works. I have some things to take care of,” he says.

I blink, not expecting his quick acquiescence, but decide not to push my luck and give him a peck on the cheek before stumbling out of bed. After a quick shower and some instant oats—which I make two servings of and leave Ermanno’s covered on the counter—I pack my bag and check the time on my phone before heading to the foyer. I plop onto the bench, tug my shoes onto my feet, stand, and reach for the door.

Powerful arms wrap around me from behind.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The menace in his tone sends shivers down my spine. He chuckles, cups my breast, and thumbs my nipple through my shirt and bra as it stiffens.

“I’m going to work.”

“Not like that,” he snarls.

I look over my shoulder at him in confusion.

He picks me up, carries me to a barstool, and grabs the brush and spray bottle he brought from the bathroom.

Delight arrows straight to my core, but I cross my arms over my chest and wait like a petulant child as he braids my hair. When he ties the end and lifts me off the stool, I hook my knees around his hips and grab his nape. He sets me on my feet beside the front door, tucks my bag onto my shoulder, and steps back.

I hesitate, afraid of rejection and uncertain how to express the emotions jumbled up inside me, but I rise onto tiptoes and press my front against his.

He smirks and wraps his arms around me.

“There’s my good littlegattina,” he murmurs before sealing our lips together in a searing kiss.

When he pulls back, I consider calling in to work, but the throbbing between my legs deems it an unwise idea, so I thank him with a quick, closed-mouth kiss on his collarbone before escaping out into the hall.

A door clicks. Expecting it to be my door closing, I startle when my sister steps out into the hall. I freeze as I glimpse a masculine shoulder in her foyer before her door shuts.

The guard’s crude comment about my sister bringing men home all the time echoes in my thoughts.

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