Page 36 of Claiming His Throne
“Because he’s seen you naked. He knows what it feels like to have your pussy choke his cock. He knows what you look like when you come.” I shake my head.
“First, he doesn’t know. I faked my orgasm with him. Second, why do you even care, Alfie?”
“He couldn’t make you come?” How? She’s so fucking responsive. Making her come is easy.
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I’ve never felt this… I don’t know.”
“Jealousy?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t like it,” I admit.
“Okay.”
I stare at her. She’s leaning against the door, and all I can think is that I need to mark her more. I need to make her more mine than she already is.
“You really should go back out there.” I stop pacing and stare at her like she’s my next meal.
“Why?”
“Because what I want to do to you right now, you’re probably not going to like.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to mark you. I want to brand you.” I take a step closer to her. “I want to own you.” Another step closer, and then my hand grips her chin, forcing her gaze up to mine. “You should leave.”
“Alfie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be.”
We’re both staring at each other. Our lips are a breath apart. My chest rises and falls, heavier with the restraint of holding back and not tearing her clothes off and carving my initials into her skin with my knife.
“Make me your good girl,” she whispers. “Make me yours.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You’re going to regret saying that to me,” Alfie says right before his lips slam down onto mine. His hands reach behind my back and then he’s undoing the zipper on my dress and peeling the fabric from my body, while continuing to devour my mouth.
I shake out of the dress. And once I’m left in just my underwear, Alfie picks me up and throws me on the bed. Hestares down at me, at all the bite marks he’s already left on my stomach. He reaches for his ankle and then he’s twirling a knife between his fingers.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
I look at him. Oddly, I do. “With my body? Yes.”
With my heart? Absolutely not, because I have no doubt whatever fire I’m playing with when it comes to Alfie Giuliani is going to scar me in the worst possible ways.
Alfie’s lips tilt up at one side. “Don’t move,” he says.
He removes his jacket, and I watch as he places not one but two guns on the dresser before he removes his shirt and shoes. Then he walks back up to the bed, kneels between my legs, and picks up the knife. “You say stop and I’ll stop.”
“Okay?” I have no idea what he’s planning to do, but I also have no doubt he’d stop if I told him to.
I watch as the tip of the knife runs down the middle of my torso, not cutting into my skin. He’s barely touching me. There’s a part of me that wonders what it would feel like, if he did cut me. How much it would hurt…
