Page 12 of Salvatore

“Say it again.” His voice is a growl. “Beg for me, troublemaker.”

I don’t beg.

Sweet Jesus, I swear I don’t. Yet this man stirs my desperation, bringing all the crazy razzle-dazzle to the forefront.

I clench my thighs.

Do not simp.

Do not simp.

Do. Not. Fucking. Simp.

His hand finds my loose hair, his fingers raking over my nape and gaining a fistful of my long strands, the dominant hold exquisite.

Damn you.

“Please.” I dig my nails into his chest. What the hell am I doing? I don’t even know his name.

“Such an obedient little provocateur.” He nuzzles my cheek, his mouth moving toward mine.

I keep my eyes glued shut, my drink trembling in the hand at my side, my heart wildly fluttering with unbridled adrenaline.

I breathe in his exhales, his whiskey-sweetened breath a thrill of temptation as it brushes gently across my lips. His grip in my hair is a wanted shackle, his all-consuming proximity a magnetic force I can’t drag myself away from.

I lean farther into him, my hips against his, my aching breasts pressing into his chest.

“Ask for what you want.” He speaks against my mouth, temptingly close.

I don’t usually have to ask. Typically, men take my cues and run with them. Everything is implied. My wishes are granted on thought alone. Yet this man stings my pride by making me verbalize my desires, forcing me to plead for them, and the unsettling discomfort is addictive.

“Kiss me.” My words come out breathy. Barely audible.

“Louder.” He tugs on my hair, tilting my face upward, making our lips graze with the slightest of friction.

I clench my teeth, loathing and loving in the same breath. “Please.” I cringe at the neediness in my voice. “Kiss me.”

“There’s my good girl.” His mouth whispers over mine in an exquisite glide, far more gently than I’d anticipated.

I groan into the contact as he grips my hair tighter, his other hand possessively digging into my hip. The contrast is mind-numbing. Sweet kiss. Callous touch.

It’s not enough.

I dig my nails into his chest and lean my hips harder against him, delighting in the adamant bulge of his crotch.

“More,” I pant. “Please.”

His hand on my hip drags me closer and one muscled leg pushes between mine, raising the hem of my dress, the friction creating a storm at the apex of my thighs.

“Are you sure, troublemaker?”

I nod. Obsessed. Mindless.

The grip on my hair disappears. His touch moves to claim my jaw. Roughened fingers press into the hollows of my cheeks, demanding my lips to part for a split second of bated breath before his mouth swoops in for a punishing kiss.

Thisis what I expected.

Harsh.

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