Page 48 of Salvatore

Maybe it’s because I see through her bullshit. The effortlessness of reading between her lines is a delight after a lifetime spent second-guessing the people I should trust most.

Then again, it could be the addictive drug of triggering the defensiveness of such a ball-buster of a woman. How she must feel the need to belittle me to keep her armor in place.

Either way, I fucking foam at the mouth for this shit.

“Your ego may not survive this exchange.” She drags her nails down my neck, making my skin dance beneath her touch. “Will I be killed for slaughtering the underboss’s pride?”

For starters, I’m not an underboss. She’ll soon learn I’m the heir to the throne. But her death has been in the back of my mind for a week. I’ve imagined giving the order. Visualized her lifeless body.

At one point I’d come to terms with it. Had written it off as an inevitability.

Now things have changed.

“I’ve killed for far less.” I reach the bed, her seductress eyes blinking at me as she unwraps her flawless legs from around my waist and kneels on my black cashmere duvet. “The thing is—” I kick off my shoes and toe them away, my gaze not leaving hers. “—it’s impossible for you to touch my pride when you’ve willingly climbed into my bed.”

Her smile is sly. Atouchéexpression if ever I’ve seen one.

It’s fucking stunning, the curve of lips having a direct line to my dick.

I want to do filthy things to that mouth.

To claim it. Taint it. Brand it as mine.

She dumps her cell on the bed, then grasps the lapels of my jacket, those black nails stark against my white shirt as she holds the material apart. “You know, I actually thought you’d be more chiseled.”

No, she didn’t.

When I can’t sleep I spend the midnight hours in the gym downstairs, and lately I’ve been an award-winning insomniac. But I’ll let her have her fun.

I love the way her hungry eyes eat up the sight of me as she trails delicate fingers over my pecs, then my abs, to my belt. The contrast is striking. The lust-filled scrutiny. The gentle touch. The poison poised on her tongue.

She unclasps my belt. Slow. Methodical.

She’s trying to torture me, and she’s fucking succeeding.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks.

“We’ll soon see.” I tense, every muscle aching while I wait for those dark eyes to lower and take in the adamant bulge she’ll be working with.

Instead, she holds my gaze as she glides my zipper down, one torturously slow inch at a time. She’s doing her best not to touch me. To ignore my cock as if the shun will knock me down a peg.

It does.

The fact she can ignore the part of me that’s dying to have her is maddening.

I want her eyeballing my dick. Salivating over it. Fucking gagging on it as the tip teases the back of her throat.

“It’s not too late to cut and run.” Her words are a teasing whisper. “I don’t think you’re the type to recover from an ego assassination,niñito.”

Call me little one more time, mi bella reina.

Just one more fucking time.

I yank off my jacket. Shuck my shirt. Then shove down my boxer briefs and trousers, kicking them off at the ankles.

“Give me your worst,” I growl.

She raises a haughty brow I’m tempted to wipe from her face with a kiss so harsh and unyielding she has to fight for breath. But I keep myself in check. My fingers idle at my sides. My dick politely still while hard as fucking stone.

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