Page 86 of The Contract

And him.

Without another thought—without even understanding what madness possesses me—I move toward the obscenely massive bed, crawling onto it obediently.

He prowls behind me, slow and predatory.

When his large hand closes around my throat, I have to stifle a moan.

His thumb strokes along my pulse, pressing lightly as if committing the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat to memory, savoring every desperate beat like it’s his favorite song.

Then—smack.

I gasp. The sharp sting radiates straight through me, igniting every nerve ending. Blazing heat explodes under my skin, cascading downward until it pools between my thighs.

God, yes.

“Wha—what are you doing?” I pant, barely recognizing my own voice.

“Exactly what you requested.” Dante holds a vintage silver hairbrush in front of my face. Its polished handle gleaming. My cheeks ignite, embarrassment and desire twisting together painfully.

I blink. “You actually have one?”

“You’ll find there’s very little I don’t have, Riley. Except, perhaps, your pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock.” He tightens his grip around my throat, tilting my head back to look up at him. “You have one minute to change your mind and walk away. Otherwise, that’s exactly where it’s going.”

I don’t move.

I can’t.

My pulse drums furiously beneath his fingers, betraying every defiant thought screaming in my head.

His grip tightens slightly, voice low and ruthless. “Why are you here, Riley? What do you want?”

I try to think of a million things to say. Any excuse for why I would be here. Anything but the truth.

Crack. Another spank. “Do not fucking lie to me.”

“I want you dead,” I whisper, the admission spilling out effortlessly. Almost terrifyingly easy.

Even more terrifying is the raw flash of pain slicing briefly through his gaze.

“I don’t mean you,” I rush to say.

But don’t I?

My head spins. Him. Them. The entire D’Angelo bloodline. They took Da’s life without hesitation, and when that wasn’t enough, they stole my sister too.

He nods slowly, eyes hollow. “Stick to your truth, Pom. You want me dead.” His voice lowers, dark with resignation. “You’ll get your wish soon enough.”

“What does that mean?”

He releases my throat and steps back slightly, his gaze briefly distant, almost detached, before snapping back into focus.

“It means your minute’s up.” His voice drops to a velvet rumble as he lifts my chin with the handle of the brush, forcing my eyes to his. “Undo my pants.”

Undo his…pants.

My pulse spikes, fingers trembling until his low command steadies me. “Belt first, Pom. Then the zipper.”

Right.

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