Page 53 of Salvatore

I should’ve come inside her. Would’ve killed to have her pussy take my load.

What the fuck?

I scowl, struck dumb at the idiocy.

This woman is a fucking drug. A fixation that isn’t sated with each new interaction. It seems the more I have her, the less control I have over my cravings.

Even now that I’m spent, I can’t stop holding her to me, one hand on her sex, the other on her hip. Possessive. Claiming. Not only drunk from the liquor but the intoxication of her.

It’s a problem. One I’ll allow myself to enjoy for the next few minutes as we collapse onto the mattress before I need to sever ties.

She releases my hair and slumps back against me, breathless, her chest heaving. “That was unexpected.”

I raise my fingers from her pussy, painting her abdomen in the pleasure coating my fingertips, committing her curves to memory and becoming increasingly obsessed with all the smooth lines and soft skin. “I fucking dare you to forget it,mi reina.”

13

IVY

There’sno denying this moment will be forever carved in my mind. Even if I didn’t want it to be. Even if better-skilled men mark my future and they’re forged in stone with candy-flavored appendages, my memory still wouldn’t deny me this moment.

It’s engrained.

Inextricable.

I turn my head to face him. Smile. Shrug. “Already forgotten.”

He glowers, but a playfulness in his eyes warms me to my toes.

“I’d better leave my mark then.” He swoops in, and his teeth latch onto my shoulder.

I squeal, the bite of pain as shocking as it is invigorating.

I wiggle and fight until he quits the delicious punishment, marking the sting with a kiss so uncharacteristically gentle my heart doesn’t know if it should curl in on itself or disintegrate.

“Let me get you a cloth.” He climbs off the bed and I’m stuck staring at the masterpiece of his ass while he walks to the adjoining bathroom, then returns moments later with a damp wash cloth, that skyscraper between his legs no longer skyscraping, but still remarkably epic even at half-mast.

I shuffle to the edge of the mattress and hold out a hand for the cloth.

“I’ve got it.” He jerks his chin at me. “Lie on your stomach.”

I pause, unable to reconcile the harsh, threatening man with this considerate, gentlemanly stranger before me. “Are you sure? I can?—”

“Lie down, Ivy.”

I sigh and comply, stretching out across the heavenly softness of his duvet.

The mattress dips with his weight and his leg grazes mine, then the cool cloth carries over my lower back.

It soft, and smooth, and incredibly soothing.

Given my lack of sleep, not to mention the emotional upheaval of this week and all the surging hormones from what I will never admit was mind-blowing sex, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open and not fall victim to the bliss.

What I should do is get up. Dress. Flee… It’s just that his bed feels so good and the sheets smell incredibly nice, like his housekeeper must spritz them with the subtlest hint of expensive cologne.

He drags the cloth over my ass, gently guiding it between my legs. “It’s concerning how wet you are from horrible sex. You should probably get that checked.”

I close my eyes and grin into the duvet. “I plan to make a doctor’s appointment first thing Monday.”

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