Page 66 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
The horror of what she’s just experienced at my hands rams into me.
What was I thinking leaving her there like that?
Fuck!
I prowl toward the door, but before I have time to tear it open, a knock comes.
“Giorgio?” Her voice filters through.
It doesn’t sound like she’s crying anymore. The thought of her doing her best to calm down so that she could come and speak to me opens up a hole inside my chest.
I stop in front of the door and press my palms against the frame. “Yes.”
“Can we talk?”
There’s an inch of solid wood between us, and like a coward, I use it as a shield for a few more seconds.
What’s the plan, Giorgio?
Make sure she’s okay, apologize, then…lie. Use every excuse under the sun to make her believe the episode in the kitchen was nothing but the confused actions of a man under the influence. She can never suspect any of that was real.
When I finally set my eyes on her, her posture is slumped, and her face is pink and puffy. She averts her gaze to the floor before slowly dragging it back to me, as if struggling to do it.
“Martina.” The word vibrates with feeling, no matter how I try to tamper it down.
She blinks at me, and she seems so small and dejected that it takes everything in me not to drag her into my arms.
“Did I hurt you?” I force out.
She sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “No.”
“Where did I grab you? Was I…rough with you?”
I don’t miss the absentminded drag of her teeth over her bottom lip. Did I bite her there? If I pull down that lip, will I see the marks from my teeth?
My cock presses against the zipper of my pants.
The fact that I have so little control over my body around her sends a pulse of frustration through my veins.
“You kissed me,” she whispers.
I’m certain I did a fuck of a lot more than that.
Sensing my skepticism, she adds, “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”
I feel a light brush of relief. “Good.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
“What happened was a mistake.”
She flinches and tries to hide it by brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “It’s my fault. I had no idea how strong the tea would be. I take full responsibility.”
I’m about to argue, but then I halt. This is good. She’s already putting the blame on that fucking tea, and she clearly feels guilty for giving it to me. All I have to do is validate her understanding of what happened.
“You made it yourself?”
“Yes.”
