Page 27 of A Trap So Flawless

“I’m saying I was never supposed to be his.”

His. Salvatore Di Mauro’s.

“Did he touch you?” I’m holding her again without even realizing I’ve raised my hands to do it. I cup her jaw, my thumbs stroking the places her tears have dried, fusing my gaze to her face. “Did he hurt you? Kiss you? Try to fuck you?”

So help me God, I will dig up his goddamn corpse if he has. Just so I can fucking defile it in her name.

“No. But he might have hurt me eventually. His first wife died recently by falling down the stairs.”

She flicks and bends her fingers in the air, making little quotation mark gestures around the word “falling.”

“So that’s who Vinny chose to replace me?” I ask, incredulous and so fucking angry that I can barely think. “That’s who he married you off to in my absence?” My eyes narrow. “That’s who you married? You willingly walked down the aisle knowing this shit?”

“It wasn’t willing! I didn’t have a choice!”

“Please. You didn’t have a choice? What happened to the bold little negotiator who played chess with me in Toronto? Where’s that stubborn Titone spirit?” I move closer, shoving my thigh between both of hers. I drink down her muted gasp like it’s water in the desert. Like it’s heaven. “Or maybe you’re only that manipulative and defiant when you’re dealing with me.”

“What can I say?” she replies, forcing firmness into her voice even as colour floods her cheeks at the placement of my thigh against her clit. “Maybe you bring out the worst in me.”

“And you bring out the weakest in me.”

She has no idea how vulnerable I am now that she’s got her claws in me. Not a fucking clue in that pretty head of hers. If she could comprehend it, if she could feel even of a fraction of what I feel…

She wouldn’t be marrying other men and then running off to London, that’s for goddamn sure.

But even if I can’t seize her fucking soul, I know I can at least have some effect on her body. I drop my right hand, sliding it between us until it finds the waistband of her leggings and dips inside.

“Darragh!”

I ignore the way she says my name, half plea, half outrage, and let my fingers skim down to the softest, secret parts of her. My middle finger finds her clit swollen and needy, and the place below is hot and wet. I suppress a groan, grinding my teeth together and pressing my forehead to the top of her head.

“Not here!”

“Yes, here.”

Yes, here. Here, between her legs. Here, at the junction of holy wonder and hateful lust. Here, where I would get down on my knees, renounce myself, and fucking worship.

But of course, that isn’t what she means. She means, not here in public. In the open. In this pretty wooded place where someone could see that I’m making her fall apart. But this tree is in a bit of a sheltered corner, and my body blocks both her and the movements of my hand from view.

“Worried someone’s going to see me making you come like this?” I rasp against the fragrant warmth of her hair. “You’ll be fine. If you can keep your voice down, that is.”

I plunge my middle finger into her, and just about collapse at the sensation. The molten suck of her flesh. The silken quivers building with her arousal. I curl my finger, start to stroke her from the inside, and feel her entire body shudder in glorious response.

She may have married someone else. She may have tried to run away. But she will never be able to escape what I can make her body do.

What I can make her want.

My dick throbs. Tension radiates up and down my spine.

I need her to admit it. Need to break down that Titone pride, let it crack and shatter like glass, and force her to kneel among the pieces while she comes.

Need to know that at least some small, toxic part of her still wants me.

I still my hand.

“Ride me.”

Valentina’s eyes fly open. Both her hands shoot to my wrist, grabbing tightly.

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