Page 47 of When She Loves
When a maid reappears, I break the kiss and press my lips to her ear. “Your mouth is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. But I think I’ll enjoy the taste of your sweet cunt even more.”
She chokes and then extracts herself from my arms. “Keep dreaming,” she stammers, her chest rising and falling with harsh breaths. She picks up a few of the remaining bags and practically sprints upstairs. So eager to get away from me. But I have no intention of letting her go.
“Leave the rest for now,” I say to the maid.
I prowl after Cleo, enter the bedroom, and slam the door shut behind me.
She whirls around. “What are you doing?” she demands, no longer in a good mood. Her skin is still flushed from our kiss.
I take my jacket off and throw it over a chair. She notices the guns strapped to my chest and her eyes widen.
I move toward the ottoman, aka her nest, and sink down in the armchair beside it.
“You spent my money,” I say in a low voice.
Red creeps up her cheeks. She keeps looking at my guns, like she’s worried I’ll shoot her. “So youareangry. Were you holding back because we had an audience?”
I shake my head. “That black card is yours. Use it as you see fit. You are my wife, and you will never lack anything.”
The red turns deeper, and she swallows.
I spread my legs. “But you’re going to show me what I paid for.” There’s no way she bought modest dresses to impress me with her demureness. She wants to play games? Let’s see how well she does when I turn the tables on her.
“Now, Cleo,” I growl when she doesn’t move.
She glares at me but grabs a few bags and disappears inside the bathroom. When she comes out a few minutes later, my fingertips dig into the armrests.
Fuck.
She’s in a long-sleeved black dress that covers most of her, but it molds to her banging body, highlighting every curve. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, wild copper curls that nearly reach her narrow waist.
I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful. Every drop of blood in my body rushes downward.
I lean forward. “Spin around.”
She does, slowly showing me her body from every angle.
I drag my thumb over my bottom lip. “Did you buy what you’re wearing underneath too?”
She gives a jerky nod.
My fingers twitch. “Then I want to see it.”
Tension simmers between us. I challenge her with my gaze and wait to see if she’s brave enough to take off her clothes in front of me.
Again.
She did it without hesitation two nights ago, but now she doesn’t look so sure. She shifts her weight from one foot to another and blows out a breath.
I arch my brow.No?
Her gaze narrows. She reaches behind her, and the soft clicking noise of a zipper being opened pours through the room.
She moves slowly. Carefully. As if she wants to make a point that she’s not in any rush to obey my command. She pushes the dress over one shoulder, then the other. Pulls one arm out of a sleeve, then the other.
I have to hold in a groan when I see what she’s wearing underneath.
Her bra is a scrap of see-through lace. Her hard little nipples protrude through the thin fabric, and my mouth goes dry at the sight. She shimmies her hips out of the dress, lets it fall to her feet, and takes two delicate steps out of it. Her hands fall to her hips. Her expression is pure defiance.
