Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
I feel no shame. How can I when he looks at me as if I'm the only thing he sees?
I spread my legs wide, letting him see everything. Letting him see what he does to me. Look, Gabriel Valentino. This is what you caused. This is how you make me ache.
He wraps his fist around his cock again, pressing the head to my clit as he jerks himself off again. My head falls back, a loud moan rippling from the room.
"No," he growls, wrapping his free hand around my throat. "Look at us, tesoro. Watch me."
I force myself to obey, my gaze locked between my legs as he slaps his erection against my clit and then lines his cock up with my entrance.
"I'm putting this where it belongs, piccola fiamma." It's a challenge. He wants to see what I say. Will I stop him? Will I tell him no?
"Do it."
He pushes the head of his cock into me.
We both moan as he slips inside.
God, he's massive. God, he's beautiful.
God, I am so screwed.
"Fucking knew you'd change my entire fucking life," he rasps, his eyes at half-mast as he works his fist up and down his shaft. "Cristo, tesoro. You're so goddamn tight."
"F-fuck me, Gabriel."
"No."
I growl in frustration when he refuses to move. I slip my hand down my stomach, determined to do it myself since he won't cooperate. He grabs my hand, peeling it away from my body. His eyes lock on mine, glittering with warning. With jealousy.
"You don't touch what belongs to me, piccola fiamma." He holds me captive, my hands locked in one of his as he releases his cock and presses his thumb to my clit. "If you want to come, you ask me. You don't touch my pussy."
"Gabriel." I'm not sure if I'm cursing his name or pleading with him. I'm not sure what I need right now. I just know I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, and I'm two seconds from throwing myself over the ledge to see if I can fly. To see if he'll catch me.
I have a feeling he will.
He grins his thumb against my clit in slow, steady circles, driving me higher, higher. The head of his cock is still inside me, so close to where I need it but not nearly close enough. I need him to move, but he won't. He's toying with me, making me take this at his speed.
"You get what I give you, Genesis. I decide when to fuck you. I decide when to make you come."
"Then make me come!" I cry. "Fuck me."
He smiles a smile that's pure devil. "When you give me what I want, I'll give you whatever you want, tesoro. But not until."
Jesus. He means it. Until I give him my heart, until I say the words, he isn't going to fuck me. He doesn't want to possess my soul. He wants to own it. Rule it. And God help me, I'm going to let him. Because I'm already falling.
So fast it's terrifying.
But I don't tell him that. Not yet. As much as he likes it when I fight him…I like it even more. It's wrong on so many levels, but I don't care. He's dangerous in a way Alexander Santorum never was, and that excites me. It fascinates me.
If someone is going to break me, I want it to be this man.
"Go to hell," I growl, trying to jerk my hands out of his hold.
He leans down, putting his face right up against mine. His lips land next to my ear. "I already told you, tesoro. I've been ruling hell for years. Now shut the fuck up and come like a good girl."
He flips his hand over, placing four fingers against my clit. And then takes me straight to heaven. He moves in a blur, working my body as if he knows exactly how to make me scream.
I shoot over the edge like a star streaking across the night sky, screaming from the thrill of it.
He roars in triumph, following me over the edge. His seed leaks out of me, spilling down the crevice of my ass to pool on the table beneath me. He turns me into a sticky mess.
And I've never felt more perfect.
"Good girl," he breathes in my ear before tipping my head back to take my mouth. He kisses me hard and deep, as if he's trying to burn the memory of his possession into my brain.
As if I could ever forget.
An hour later, we've cleaned up and cooked. Well, Gabriel cleaned up and cooked. For a man who claims to need a housekeeper, he's more than adept at both. But I think we both know I'm not here because he needed me to cook his meals and clean his house.
It's one of the things we aren't talking about. Just like we aren't talking about what just happened between us. Or about his visitor this morning. Or about what I told him last night. So far, we've glossed over every important subject, instead talking about nothing.