Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Good girl,” he whispered when I made no protest, kissing me once more. “I’d never let him see you like this.”
I knew he wouldn’t. “Are you going to make me come, Gio?” The words sounded foreign on my tongue, like someone else’s. I wanted him to, though. I couldn’t handle more teasing today.
He groaned, eyes blazing. “Careful. I’ll do a lot more than make you come if you say things like that.”
He gripped the insides of my thighs, roughly forcing them apart. Cool air washed over sensitive flesh as he stared between my legs. I’d normally feel self-conscious, but I was empowered by his attention.
“Fuck, you look perfect like this, piccola.”
I wanted him to touch me so badly—needed it. I wasn’t tied up or held down this time; I couldn’t pretend that a single thing about this was unwanted. His touch was like a toxin in my blood, pulling me further and further under his spell with every rough stroke, every sharp scrape of his teeth over my throat. My core was throbbing, desperate for something.
He bent and kissed the inside of my thigh, so gently, but it was like a bolt of lightning through my body. “Tell me you’re mine, Emilia.”
I shook my head and had no warning before his tongue swiped between my legs. “Gio!” Holy shit.
My spine bowed off the desk as heat ripped through me. His tongue circled my clit perfectly, drawing a string of moans from my lips. I wanted all of it, wanted to feel the mindless, toxic pleasure only he could offer. I wanted to slip into the sweet oblivion where nothing could touch me and my shitty reality didn’t exist. He was my disease and my cure.
I was writhing on the desk, right on the edge, when he stopped. “Tell me you’re not mine then, and I’ll stop.”
Fuck. “No.”
He kept going, this time slipping two fingers into my soaked pussy. Shit. He stopped. “Tell me—”
“I fucking hate you,” I gasped, and he laughed, hot breath washing over sensitive nerves and making me moan in frustration.
He licked over me again, and my fingers went to his hair, tugging hard as though I could force him to give me what I wanted. He bit the inside of my thigh, the sharp pain cutting through the pleasure building within me.
“Please.”
“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, Emilia, and I’ll lick this sweet cunt and make you scream my name like I’m your own personal god.” Fuck, he was so filthy.
“I…”
He placed the softest kiss to my clit, and my entire body trembled with need. “I’m waiting, piccola.”
It was just words, words I knew he wanted Matteo to hear. Words I suddenly realized I wanted Matteo to believe because even if I weren’t Gio’s, I would never be his.
“I’m yours,” I breathed.
He hummed against me, making me jerk. “Again.”
“I’m yours, Gio.” And those words didn’t feel like a lie.
He bit my thigh on a groan. “Yes, you fucking are.”
Then he buried two fingers deep inside me and ate me like I was his last meal. I fell apart again, screaming his name just like he said I would. I wanted him, hated him, needed him. That orgasm shattered everything that had come before. It tore me apart and pieced me back together with his name engraved on my heart.
The heat of his mouth left me, and I lay on that desk, staring at the ceiling, gasping for breath.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come, Emilia.”
I was a mess, and he still looked perfect, suit still immaculate. He pulled his fingers out of me, and I immediately missed the feeling. He brought them to my mouth, forcing them past my lips. My gaze held his as I sucked the taste of myself off him, wrapping my tongue around his fingers.
He groaned and closed his eyes. “So perfect. So mine.” When he kissed me this time, it was slow and drugging, his tongue brushing over mine, sharing the taste of me between us. “And you put on such a good show for our visitor, princess.”
I glanced to where Matteo sat, his body tense. I’d almost forgotten he was here.
“Although you sounded so sweet moaning my name, I’m not sure if I should let him live with that memory.” He glared at the poor excuse of a man. “Sergio will probably get pissy if I kill his boy scout.”
Gio pulled me to my feet, helping me back into my underwear before tugging my dress down. Then he pressed a kiss to my forehead, lips lingering against my skin as he spoke. “Now, he knows. And if he ever looks at you like he can have you again, I will do as I said and personally deliver his eyeballs to you, my sweet piccola.”
And with that gruesome yet oddly romantic image left in my mind, he walked over to Matteo. With the bag on his head, I could almost pretend he was anyone, just some faceless body. But when Gio removed it, sickness rose in the back of my throat. He was the face of my sister’s end, the boogeyman I couldn’t help but fear. Matteo’s angry glare met mine, his teeth gritted around the ball gag in his mouth. Like that, he didn’t seem so scary. Gio stepped between us, cutting off his view of me.