Page 32 of The Mafia's Bride
“Want me to show you? I could have you a quivering mess before you can call for a soldier for help.” My lips brush her ear. “You won’t remember your name by the time I’m done with you.”
Whether she knows it or not, she bites her lip and her thighs clench tightly. I can practically taste her on my tongue.
“Doesn’t change anything,” she defies. “I’ll never be yours.”
Laughing, my hand runs up her thigh, inching that criminally small skirt higher.
“Here’s why you’re wrong, menace,” I mumble, my words ghosting over her skin. The knife falters, enough for me to lean closer.
“Your Captain signed you over to me. A contract between our families. To be my bride. Which technically means youaremine.” I see the flare of anger in those eyes but keep pushing. “But that’s not why you’ll be mine.”
She inhales sharply as my gloved fingers dance over her upper thighs. It’s a shame I can’t feel her soft, supple skin.
“Then why?”
My tongue licks her ear, feeling her shudder with want. “Because, Sloane, there’s only one person here who can be your equal. Only one person who can handle your fire, give you everything you’ve everdreamed of. Someone who can match wits with you, give you as much fight as you give out. And it’s not some man you’ll meet at a club. It’sme.”
I slam both of us into the wall, my hand bracing her head’s impact. My knee pins her one leg to the side, leaving her open for me. The knife falls to the ground.
“You think highly of yourself,” she parrots back to me, from a week ago. I love how she remembers our limited times together. “There aren’t many people who can handle me. Less who would be my equal.”
My nose brushes hers, my fingers drawing closer to the apex between her thighs. Long enough to give her time, to see if she’ll push me away.
“Because there’s only one person who is—me, Sloane.” My lips hover over her ruby colored ones and wait. “Now, tell me you don’t want this,” I whisper, my fingers pausing on the slip of fabric that covers her from me. I’m surprised she’s wearing any.
She scoffs. “I don’t want this.”
My finger slides along the fabric, knowing from years of wearing gloves, she’s soaked.
“You’re a liar, menace.”
My finger strokes again as her knees knock against me, pleasure spiraling from my touch. “You don’t know how badly you turned me on from your tantrum earlier. How you looked, ready to kill me, ready to take my life for tricking you.” It says a lot about me that someone threatening me is foreplay. My fingers explore, not giving her what she needs. “I wanted to bend you over that table, listen to you rage against me while I felt this body under me.”
At her sharp gasp, I chuckle. “Do you like knowing what I’d do to you? Let me tell you: I’d fuck you so thoroughly, until those doe eyes fell with tears from how many times you came on my cock. I’d ruin this makeup, ruin you, so all you’d know is me. So you’d only wantme, menace. Then, I’d do something with this fiery mouth.”
Her breath stutters, chest heavy as my fingers play. “What?”
Leaning closer, my lips ghost over her cheek. “I’d shove my cockso deep down that throat, you wouldn’t be able to fight me or curse me out. And you’d enjoy every single fucking minute of it.” Pulling back, I look into those wide eyes, seeing her gulp against the desire my words invoked.
“Open your legs wider, menace. Let me have what’s mine.”
Her eyes narrow, daring me. She wants to resist, to fight me. I live for her fight.
I wretch her legs wider, using my weight to secure her.
Slipping under the soft lace again, I draw languid swipes over her seam, watching the struggle on her face. She wants to fight me, but her legs part further as if begging me for more. I oblige, as her eyes cut into me, hate and lust warring for dominance. She hates how her body betrays her. How easily it seems to want to submit to me.
How she sees, I am her equal. Intellectually. Sexually. In life. She hates it.
Sloane gasps as I part her. At how smoothly I slide one finger inside of her. She’s fucking soaked for it to be this easy. I hate how they bear me from feeling her completely, but this isn’t about me. It’s to show her how goodwecould be—how good I could be toher.
It didn’t take long for me to figure Sloane out. She wants the attention, she wants to be loved, and she needs someone to handle her brashness. To make her feel secure in her wrath and to be a place she can rage without consequences.
If I can show her that, she won’t try to leave me.
“Feel that, amore?” My fingers move in and out and the most adorable gasps leave her lips. Sounds I will hold on to and store away to remember in the middle of the night when I’m thinking of her. “Feel at how wet you are for me? How these fingers move in and out of your pussy, as if I own it?”
She licks her lips and my tongue follows, finally tasting that mouth. She tastes like red wine and sin. I bite her plump bottom lip, enjoying the groan of pain mixed with pleasure.
