Page 68 of His Nephew's Ex
Fire blazes in his dark eyes at my bold words. “Then you’ll discover exactly why they call me the Silver Devil.”
Before I can respond, he’s lifting me in his arms like I weigh nothing, carrying me toward the bed through his romantic wonderland. Rose petals scatter beneath his feet, and the balloons drift overhead like silent witnesses to whatever’s about to unfold between us.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” I observe as he sets me down beside the bed, noting how the candlelight plays across his sharp features.
“So are you.” His fingers find the zipper of my dress, sliding it down with agonizing slowness. “But we have all night to remedy that situation.”
“All night?” The silk whispers against my skin as it pools at my feet, leaving me standing before him in nothing but black lace and his grandmother’s engagement ring. “What exactly do you have planned?”
“Everything.” His hands map the newly exposed skin with reverent touches that make me arch toward him instinctively. “Every fantasy I’ve had since that first night in your apartment. Every way I’ve imagined claiming you. Every position that willleave you shaking and satisfied and absolutely certain of who you belong to.”
“Promises, promises,” I manage, trying not to lose myself in the raw desire radiating from his dark eyes.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Maybe I need a demonstration. To really appreciate the... scope of your plans.” The words fall from my mouth before I can think better of them.
Instead of taking offense, his smile sharpens with satisfaction. “Is that a challenge,stellina?”
“That’s an invitation,” I breathe, tilting my face up and biting my lower lip the way I know will drive him wild.
“No marks,” he says, tracing his thumb across my mouth. “I want to do that myself tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” His expression becomes more determined. “Get on the bed, Loriana.”
“But—”
“Now,” he snaps, his usual tone of command instantly washing away the romantic stranger. “And turn around so I can take the dress off your body completely.”
Heat rushes through me at the forcefulness, reminding me of the man who’s always been lurking just beneath the surface. I scramble onto the bed as quickly as I can. From behind me, I hear his soft growl as the tight dress gives way, followed by the muted thud of my heels striking the floor.
“Now lie down,” he commands, and the harshness in his voice betrays his arousal. “Across the bed so I can look at you.”
I move on the cool sheets, lowering myself until I’m lying flat on my back. Above me, the ivory balloons are silent witnesses, their faces frozen in smiles I can’t mirror. Not because I’m not happy—I am. Ridiculously so.
Because right now, as Simeone runs his hand possessively up the length of my leg, I realize he’s changed me. This man, who keeps pieces of himself locked away and only reveals those pieces that will inspire obedience, has cracked me open and left me bare. Despite the fact that he’s still holding back, I feel stripped of armor, carved of honest wood instead of carefully constructed glass.
Naked and uncertain and entirely vulnerable.
He pulls away, and I miss his touch like a piece of myself has gone missing. I twist my head up to watch him undress, every movement sleek and elegant. His fingers undo the buttons of his shirt before letting the tailored fabric whisper to the floor. Pale skin stretches over ribs and abdominal muscles formed by decades of combat training, and the hollows and angles of his body catch the shifting candlelight like a tarnished statue brought to life.
He might be twenty years older than Flavio, but he looks years younger—rippling muscle and raw strength that makes me shiver in anticipation. Because even though the front of his pants is still belted and zipped, I recognize exactly what his clothes are hiding: something that promises everything and will probably leave me wanting more.
He unties his shoes with quick, methodical motions, then sets them next to the closet along with his socks. Despite his promise of a wild night, he’s still fighting for control. Claiming it in small ways like the careful placement of each item. It’s fascinating, the conflicting demands of chaos and order inside him..
Turning back to me, his fingers are already undoing the belt buckle, and the weight of his gaze makes me shiver in anticipation. The belt slithers through the loops with a gentle hiss that makes my thighs clench with want.
Instead of setting it down, he walks up to me and smiles. “Raise your arms.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I want you to let go. Fully. Completely,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Give me your control. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”
