Page 72 of Savage Enemy

He slid the pearl choker higher on my throat while narrowing his eyes. So dark, so dangerous. And he knew to look for the bruises on my neck.

“The man who touched you, who marked you like this, dies by my hand. It won’t be quick. I’ll make it last. I’ll make him suffer a much greater level of pain than he inflicted on you before I let him have his death.”

I swallowed and shook my head.

“You can’t promise that.”

“But I can, little girl. I’ll watch the life fade from his eyes as he begs for the sweet release of death. Do you know why I can make that promise? Because you are mine.”

I pulled back, meaning to open the door, to send him away.

“I’m not. I wish I could be yours, but I can’t be. You should leave. Please, Stefano. You need to go before they?—”

He grabbed the back of my head and slammed his lips against mine, claiming me with a kiss that stole my words, my thoughts, my breath—and set my body on fire.

My mind fought, screaming for me to push him away, but I didn’t have the strength. I could only bring myself to grip the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer.

Then he broke the kiss and demanded my obedience.

“You belong to me. Repeat it,” he ordered.

I slipped my hands inside his jacket. It wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted all of him. I dragged my fingers lower, down to the front of his shirt, to the six hard ridges on his abdomen. I couldn’t not touch him.

“Repeat what?” I asked.

He surged forward, closing the gap between us, devouring my lips with his as he shoved me into one of the empty stalls, shut the door behind us, and locked it.

“Say you’re mine.”

The ladies’ room at the Palmer House had floor-to-ceiling wood panels and doors, making each stall feel like a cozy little room—a dangerous illusion of privacy.

I gave in to his kiss.

It would be the last time I felt his touch, tasted his kiss, or knew his kind of love, so I gave in just once more. I would let him do what he wanted with me.

Like every other addict in the world, I promised myself this would be the last time. I just needed to feel him, to let him make love to me, to let him claim me the way only he could.

One last time.

Only then could I give him up forever.

As if reading my mind, Stefano slid an arm around my waist to find the zipper on the back of my dress, then he opened it with a single pull, and the dress floated to the floor.

I stood before him in nothing but the silver mask, my long, black gloves, and the pearl and ruby choker.

Stefano tore off his mask and stepped back, taking in the sight of my bare body as if he wanted to memorize every curve. The heat in his eyes faded when his gaze landed on the mottled black-and-purple flesh covering my ribs.

An icy rage replaced the heat.

He reached out and brushed his fingers over the proof of my family’s abuse, his touch almost ghostly in its tenderness.

His gaze dropped to the burn on my thigh.

“Which one of them did this to you?”

“It’s nothing.”

What a lie. It hurt like fucking hell.

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