Page 55 of Stolen By the Don

“No,” she snaps at him. “You don’t have to leave. I don’t have anything else to say to you, Roman. You’re welcome to make whatever assumptions you have about what I did. I don’t care.”

“Leo—”

He raises his hand. “Yup. Leaving now. I’m just going to see if there’s something to eat. If you bleed out, Roman…” He doesn’t finish his sentence as my eyes narrow in his direction.

As Leo vacates the living room, I push to my feet, ignoring the stab of pain that ripples from my arm and spreads through my body. My focus is Isabella, the tension radiating from her calling out to me.

My steps are deliberately paced as I approach, giving her enough time to run. To retreat. I inhale slowly, never once taking my eyes off her.I need her to see.That I don’t intend to be gentle.

That I want to take her apart, piece by piece, and see what she’s hiding from me.

“Tell me.” I stop inches from her, my head tilting with deep curiosity. “What do you think love is, Isabella? Willingness to die for someone? Loyalty? Duty? Because if that’s your definition, then Leo is definitely in love with me.”

“It’s not the same thing,” she hisses.

“Really?” I click my tongue. “Then enlighten me.”

Her lips part, and her tongue touches the roof of her mouth, but no sound escapes. A chuckle rolls off my tongue as I step closer, leaving nothing between us.

I lift my uninjured hand to her cheek, and my thumb brushes against her skin like a whisper. “You’re not in love with me, yet your body trembles when I touch you. Your lips part, and I can hear the sound of your heart racing.”

My thumb dips to the seam of her lips, eliciting an involuntary sigh. She clamps down immediately, but she doesn’t pull away. Defiance? A show of self-control?

I’m uncertain what she’s trying to prove, but it doesn’t matter.

My fingers drift lower as I cradle her face, and my other hand settles on her waist. “Tell me, Isabella, that your body doesn’t crave me. That if I stripped your clothes off, you’d protest.”

“I—”

“No?” I ask quietly. “I can see your nipples poking through your shirt. I bet if I touched you between your legs, you’d be wet. Aroused.For me.”

She doesn’t respond. My hand inches up from my waist, sliding over her chest. My thumb grazes her nipple, and she inhales sharply, her composure cracking again.

“Fight me all you want, printsessa,but we both know the truth.”

“You don’t know anything,” she protests without a lick of fight in her voice.

I tut, letting my hands drop to my sides. “It sounds like you’re posing a challenge. Do you want to bet?” I ask. I lift my hand again, brushing her hair from her shoulder, and I feel a slight tremor run down her spine.

Dipping my head, I press my lips to her ear. “You’re mine, Isabella. Not just because I’ve claimed you, but because you want what I can give you. You want my hands on your body, my lips on your skin. You crave it so much that you’ve decided hating me is the best pretense.”

When my mouth finds hers, there’s no resistance.Like I said.Her hands remain stubbornly by her sides for a moment, but the lick of my tongue against hers wrangles a moan through, and her fingers fist my shirt as she gives in.

My fingers dig into her hips as I claim her mouth harder, nipping her bottom lip before thrusting my tongue into her mouth again. Isabella arches, rubbing her nipples against my chest.

I groan as my cock stirs in my pants, straining and jerking wildly against its restraints. I back her to the wall as my fingers makequick work of her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the floor.

I run my tongue across her collarbone, and she whimpers as it swirls over her nipples before sucking on them. Her fingers sink into my back, nails dragging over my bloodied shirt.

My leg slides between her thighs, and she lets out a broken sound as her hips jerk.

“Look at you.” I lift my head, cupping her lips with my index finger and thumb as she rides my thigh. “So responsive. So fucking responsive,Bella.”

Her breath stutters, lips parted around a gasp as I flex my thigh beneath her, forcing another shudder from her body.

“Grinding on me like you need it to breathe,” I growl, dragging my finger down her chin to her throat, pressing lightly. “You’re mine like this. Every twitch. Every sound. Every goddamn drop of need in you is mine.”

I don’t give her a second to catch her breath. My hands grip her waist, guiding her movements—harder, slower, crueler. Her head presses back to the wall, hair tumbling over her shoulders as her nails bite deeper into my back.

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