Page 10 of Salvatore

“I don’t like to make it obvious.” I glide my palm over his, delicate and sweet before digging my nails into his knuckles in a subtle show of dominance.

“Why not? It’s a fucking turn-on.”

I bite my teeth into my lower lip, hating how everything about him has gained security clearance to my lust. Even the way his aftershave infiltrates my lungs, all masculine and utterly addictive. “Emasculation turns you on?”

“No.” His thighs move flush with the back of my legs. “Powerful women do.”

I tingle. Everywhere.

This guy not only owns the playbook, he probably wrote it. How else would he know exactly what buttons to press? What triggers to flick?

He leans his chest into me, the lapels of his suit brushing my exposed shoulder blades. “What did he do to gain your wrath?”

I melt into him, succumbing just a little. “He disrespected my friend.”

“And you have no tolerance for disrespect?”

I shake my head slightly. “None at all.”

His nose nuzzles the side of my neck, trailing to that delicious spot below my ear. “That’s a shame.”

A shame?

I fight a moan as my pulse thunders, the arduous beat rampant between my thighs.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about how I’d like to disrespect you in the most carnal of ways.” His teeth graze my skin and—holy fuck—I’ve never been so instantaneously turned on in my life.

His words.

His confidence.

His goddamn audacity.

“Maybe the risk is worth the reward.” I tilt my chin, giving him better access to the sensitive skin along my neck. “Who knows? You might get lucky.”

“Or I could get neutered.” The deep, dark smile in his voice makes me shudder. “Either way, I think you’d enjoy my disrespect.”

Am I that obvious?

“Even though you continue to play hard to get…” His palm marks a sinfully slow path along my stomach. “You haven’t even looked at me. Why is that?”

“Would you prefer brutal honesty or a placating lie?”

“I’ve never shied away from brutality.”

Be still, my beating heart.“I’ll admit I’ve been doing some thinking of my own. My imagination has built you up to be somewhat of a fantasy and unfortunately there’s no way to measure up.”

“Harsh.”

“Honest,” I counter.

“I can appreciate that.” He nuzzles my neck. “Let’s find someplace quiet to put your concerns to rest.” His hand retreats toward my hip.

“No.” I need more time to gain my equilibrium. At the moment he has my ovaries in a two-fisted grip and after being simp-ed over by a long line of men for years, I have no interest in playing the role of puppy on a leash even though that’s my body’s current setting. “I want to stay here and dance instead.” I sway my hips in a slow glide, my ass subtly brushing his crotch.

“I don’t dance.” His tone brooks no argument, the vibrating syllables tickling my neck.

There’s something about him. Something infused with crack and sprinkled with irresistible pheromones. I can’t ruin it with something as simple as eye contact.

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