Page 12 of The Proposal

I was a fool to trust him. We haven’t even been married a full day, and his true colours are already showing.

When we reach the landing and head down the long corridor to the room specially made up for our wedding night, I feel like I’m being marched to the gallows.

Is he going to stick his dick up my arse as he threatened the day hetoldme we would be married?

Once we arrive at our room, he uses his free hand to open the door, gesturing for me to enter first. Since there’s no escape, I swallow thickly and step forward.

As soon as we are inside, Dante drops my hand and closes the door. The distinct click of the lock has my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach.

He turns to face me, and when his eyes lock with mine, he arches an eyebrow. “You look utterly terrified.”

“D-do you blame me?” I stutter.

“I told you I had a plan.”

“Does that involve you sticking your thing in my backside?”

“My thing?” he asks as that damn disarming smile of his resurfaces. “You mean my cock?”

I feel my cheeks heat as I turn my face to the side. “Yes … that.”

“Bellezza,” he whispers as he grasps my chin between his forefinger and thumb, bringing my gaze back to his. His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, studying me momentarily. His face is so close that I can see the specks of gold surrounding his brown irises. I can also feel the warmth of his breath as it skates across my skin. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Cock.” His thumb moves from my chin to skim along my bottom lip, dragging it down as he goes. “I want to hear that word fall from your pretty mouth.”

The air around us crackles, and I’m struck with a weirdsensation. I’m unsure if I want to lean in and kiss him or raise my leg and knee him in the balls.

“No.”

“Say it, Arabella.” He rolls his lips to hide his smile when I vigorously shake my head. “Do you want me to put my cock in your arse?”

I gasp. “Of course not.”

“Then tell me not to, and I won’t.”

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what,Bellezza?”

I blow out a frustrated puff of air. He isn’t going to quit until he gets what he wants.

Straightening my spine, I lift my chin slightly and narrow my eyes. “Please do not put your cock in my arse or anywhere for that matter, you … youstronzo(Arsehole).”

He throws his head back and laughs, and I hate how beautiful he looks when he does that. It’s maddening how his laughter lights up his face.

He’s still chuckling as he turns and crosses the room, removing his tuxedo jacket and tossing it over a chair as he goes. His bowtie is next.

My gaze moves over his broad back. The fabric of his white dress shirt is pulled tight across his muscles. That’s when I spot the handle of a gun sticking out from the waistband of his trousers. The sight hits me like a cold wave, snapping me back to the harsh reality of the danger that shadows this man.

He opens the top drawer of the dresser, retrieves something, and tosses it onto the bed. “There you go.”

I hesitate, still standing by the doorway. “What is that?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

“A vial of blood.”

“Whose blood?”

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