Page 92 of When She Loves
My tongue darts out past my lips, and his gaze dips to my mouth.
The air in the car feels more charged than the sky before lightning strikes.
See the problem with not thinking about consequences? It’s how you end up in the back seat of a car with your wrists zip-tied, lips raw, and heart aching.
I should have known he’d get angry about how long it took me to tell him the truth, but I needed that time to sort through my feelings. I’m taking a huge leap of faith here.
His hands, big and warm, are on my thighs. He traces the edge of my panties with his fingertips. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. He’s so far gone inside his head. The tendons in his neck are taut, and his jaw hasn’t unclenched since I whispered into his ear.
Is he thinking of the ways he’ll punish me?
“What will you do to my father?” I ask, if only to pretend like I’m not buzzing with anticipation.
My husband is a killer. I should be scared of what he’ll do to me. But it’s not fear that’s making my pussy clench. There’s a dark promise inside his gaze, the kind that makes me think of tangled sheets, bite marks, and filth muttered against my ear.
“He will die, but I’m done talking about him tonight.”
I nod. I guess, so am I. What happens to my father now is out of my hands. He dug his own grave.
The car glides to a smooth stop.
“We’re here,” Sandro says.
Heat travels up my neck in a wave. I don’t know how much Sandro saw or heard, but I know it’ll be a while before I can bring myself to look my driver in the eye again.
“No need for you to come out,” Rafaele instructs, his gaze on me. “Go home, Sandro.”
“Yes, boss.”
Rafaele lifts me off him, pulls the skirt of my dress back down, and opens the door.
He helps me out and wraps a hand around my biceps. The zip tie digs into my wrists as he walks me up the front steps. Behind us, the car starts, and Sandro drives off.
Rafaele unlocks the door and gives me a light shove inside. The house is silent. The staff are gone this late in the night. There’s no one here but us.
Even if I scream, no one will save me.
The door locks. I feel that harsh click reverberate deep inside my gut. A tendril of fear licks over my nape, but it’s swallowed by another wave of heat.
Rafaele stops us in the middle of the foyer and turns me around with a tug on my arm.
The moonlight makes love to the sculpted lines of his face, tracing his furrowed brow, strong jaw, and sharp cheekbones. He lifts his hands to the neck of my dress and curls his big fists around the fabric.
I can guess what he’s about to do, but theripthat pours through the air still makes me suck in a harsh breath.
I’m not wearing a bra. My breasts pop out. Rafaele’s gaze drops to them. He pinches one nipple hard enough to sting. Pain tangles with pleasure. My boobs are achy, begging to be touched and sucked and fucked. When he moves to the other, cupping it completely with his palm, I moan.
Something cruel pierces through his expression. He removes his palm and meets my eyes. Darkness flickers on the edges of his gaze.
“On your knees.”
Sparks run straight to my clit. I go down inelegantly, nearly tipping over, but he stops me from falling with a fist in my hair. I gasp from the harsh pull on my strands, from the way he forces my head back so that I’m looking up at him.
Possession swirls inside the dark-blue waters of his eyes. One hand still in my hair, he undoes his belt and pulls it out of the loops. He throws it to the ground, the buckle clanking against the marble floor.
I glance down and see an outline of his cock straining against his slacks. Shivers erupt over my spine as he pulls down his zipper, reaches inside, takes himself out. My mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s long and thick, with veins running up the shaft. Pre-cum glistens at the tip.
I’ve done this before a few times, but I was always in charge. Not now, though. Now, he’s going to take whatever he wants.
