Luckily most men don’t try to stop me with her at my side.
Women, either. They all must read the intent on my face. Surely they can—the intensity of my need feels etched right onto my skin, plain for everyone to see. I have the insane thought that it might embarrass her, the fact that I’m pushing and dragging and commanding her, the fact that everyone knows we’re about to fuck.
Then the thought passes, because I don’t really care. She’s mine. I want everyone to know that, so that no one dares to touch her. I want to cover her in my come and parade her through the goddamned ballroom, marked for all to see. It’s sick and possessive and deeply primal.
The windows facing the balcony are two stories tall, tall doors open to allow guests easy access. Cool night air greets me as I cross the threshold. Lucia follows me, meek in my grip—at least, so far. I’m expecting her to protest at some point, if only a token refusal.
I’m almost looking forward to it.
I snarl at a couple making out beneath mistletoe. “Leave.”
They take one glance at my face and slink inside.
The last thing I want is another intruder, so I shut the door. And since this is my fucking house, I have the key. Then I make another call, ordering a guard to be stationed at the door. Overkill? Maybe, but I’m burning for her.
And she’s huddled against the thick concrete railing, looking small and vulnerable.
I stalk toward her, blood pumping for a taste of her.
“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” Her voice trembles, but she still meets my gaze. It’s cute, really. Fucking adorable. I’ll enjoy hearing her voice shake the rest of the night. Enjoy her meeting my gaze while she’s naked and shuddering in climax.
“No mistake. I saw you. I wanted you.”
Alarm fills her pretty hazel eyes. “Here?”
Curiosity slides through me, warm and rarer than fine brandy. What a question. Here? It meant she was open to fucking me somewhere else. Of course, I won’t wait for that. My dick throbs inside my tux pants, demanding to get inside her. Before that I want to touch her, to taste her. I want to own her body in every way.
“People come to the ball for two reasons, sweetheart. To screw someone or to get screwed. So which one is it?”
She shakes her head, hard, almost desperately. A tendril of honey-brown hair slides loose and bounces against her cheek. “I need to talk to you first.”
First. Another curious statement. As if she had intended to fuck me all along, this innocent fairy I’d captured. Like a butterfly. So fragile. I’d tear her wings if I wasn’t careful.
And fuck, I’m never careful.
I step close to her, grasping the loose lock of hair, pulling until she falls against me. “I’m not really the chatty type. I want to fuck you. Are you going to fight me?”
“No,” she gasps, but she’s already fighting. Her small fists push against my chest.
My free hand captures her wrists, leaving her immobile. God, she’s slender. Almost frail. I could break her bones if I squeezed too hard. Something cold moves inside me at the thought of her hurt. “Talk,” I mutter. “You have between now and the time I take your dress off to talk.”
Whatever it is she wants—orgasms or money or a bullet sunk into some poor bastard’s heart—I’m going to find out what it is. It will be her present. Never let it be said that Sebastian Conti left a woman unsatisfied. And in return she’ll give me her body.
“Mr. Conti,” she says.
I press her up against the railing, letting her feel my erection through our clothes. God, the heat of her. She’s a flame, and I want to burn. “Sebastian.”
Lucia hesitates, so I yank at the red strap over her shoulder. It’s a warning.
“Sebastian,” she gasps. “I need your help.”
She has until the dress comes off to finish. I can rip the delicate crimson fabric in one hard pull. I can turn her over the rail and fuck her with the dress still on. This can be over as fast as I want, but I find I want her slow.
And some deep-seated part of me wants to hear what she has to tell me.
Does she want money? Or maybe someone has sent her to smooth the way for a business deal. The thought makes my stomach turn. I don’t want anyone using her that way. Only me.
I press my lip to the skin at her collarbone. God, how is she so pale? And she tastes like air. Air when I’ve been underwater my whole life. “What kind of help?”
Except I have a lifetime of not fighting fair.
My mouth finds the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. And I bite down. Hard. She sucks in a breath, body shivering in my embrace. She can’t answer me, her whole body reacting to pain. And then the sweetest response—her hips pushing against my cock. Involuntary. Perfect.
