23. Matteo

23

Fuck.

The temptation to discipline her is only outweighed by the temptation to fuck her. Good and proper. Plunge into her and make her mine.

Mine. The one thing she can never be.

She's as good as dead but I haven't figured that out yet, neither do I want to think that far or what that would entail. Not when her sweet juices still cling to my face, or while the orgasm that ripped through her has my cock screaming for my own release. Her chest rises and falls with every breath as she comes down from her orgasm, the glow in her eyes telling me what I already know.

She wants more. She wants my cock. It's obvious in the way she's studying my body, her hands straining against the grip I have them in, eager to reach for me. I glance down at her, at the beautiful glow radiating from her, the fine sheen of sweat on her skin like silver fairy dust.

She is so fucking beautiful, it hurts. The way she reacted to my touch was like a drug, drip-drip-dripping into me with every caress, every stroke, wanting me to go slower, watch her for longer, drag her pleasure out until she couldn't take it anymore. She isn't used to begging, but I'll teach her how… And she will love it.

To have a woman like this—to worship, to love, to pleasure?—

Her hands in my hair?—

I kill the thought. My type doesn't have women like this. Pure, unblemished, unchartered by a thousand cocks that dug their souls out. My type fucks and leaves.

Best I remind us both of that.

"You were shot, twice," she says, her voice soft. "Your tattoo?—"

"Yes," I say, pulling at her wrists, forcing her upright. I've been stabbed too, but those marks are on my back. And whipped. Sliced open by thin leather, the scars now part of my dragon's tail.

"The dragons' eyes are your bullet wounds."

I should have gagged her for real. "Yes."

"Who are they?" she asks when she's finally managed to scramble to her knees, facing me. "Your dragons?"

That question should help my fucking cock to cool off already. Instead, it wants to toy with her belly button. Wrong hole, asshole.

"Too many questions, kitten." I jerk her towards me and gather her hands behind her back, relishing the pressure her body gives mine when it traps my cock between us. She struggles back, staring up at me, eyes wide, lips open with the shock of being so easily manipulated and tossed around. She is a light little thing, and I've been doing weights for decades. That she's still caught off guard is kind of funny.

Her breasts are squashed against my pecs, every curve a softer echo to my male body's planes and ridges. For a man with a job to do, she's fucking poison. I need to nip this in the bud. Which means this sweet, rounded ass that my fingers are brushing against won't get a spanking tonight.

I take in her face, her rosy cheeks and full lips I haven't kissed yet. Not only would that be idiotic, but it would also be pure madness, like downing poison straight from the bottle and begging for more.

I need to get this done and get her back in her room, this time locked up, not waiting for her to show her hand, fun as that was.

This is going to be vile, but it's time for a reality check.

"Here's what's going to happen, kitten," I say, ignoring the desire that pulses between us, the need we both still have for each other. "One, you're not going to try to kill me again. You're never to have blood on your hands. Plus, I might not be this nice next time." True. How many potential murders end up in orgasm? None to my knowledge.

She blinks and drops her gaze to my chest for a second, then stares back at me under her lashes.

"Two, I'm the only one who gets to ruin your underwear. No more shredding your bras, understand?"

She sucks at her bottom lip, giving no indication that she understood anything. Fucking tease.

"Three, you don't get to touch me, ever. Understand?" I'll drill a fucking hole in her head with the times I'm going to have to remind her of that. She's not going to listen to me, not with that wanton need in her eyes.

"Why not?" she asks, a full-on staring contest going on now, so frank and… cheeky.

Too many rebellious questions. "You don't need to know why. Just follow the rules." She strains against my hold, and I hug her tighter, forcing her to be still.

"Four. Your virginity is up for auction to cover your dad's debts to Il Consiglio. Bids are already coming in?—"

"Fuck you," she spits out, and it's the second time I've heard her curse. It doesn't suit her at all. "My dad will pay! He's looking for me!"

"No." He isn't. Peter Armstrong is too scared and weak, wanting to save his own pathetic hide. He is offering her up like a sacrificial lamb. "You're going to be bought, paid for, and fucked by someone who isn't going to give a flying fuck about how you like it." The visual makes my stomach churn, but I can't stop now. "The men on our list have been vetted to a point, but there are some real crazy fuckers out there."

Tears well up in her eyes, and I steel myself. The vision of Alex dying in my arms, that panic I can still feel rushing through my veins at being helpless, unable to stop him from dying, helps harden my resolve. I clamp down hard on the tightening in my chest at what I need to say next. She struggles, but I hold her until she tires and stills in my arms. I lower my head so that my lips can rest against her ear, and her breathing comes haltingly, in panicked hitches.

Not long ago I was tugging at that delicious little lobe, treasuring the goosebumps that spread over her skin at my touch. This is going to leave chills of a different kind, and I have to force myself to carry on. "When that time comes, kitten, when he fucks you and you tear and bleed and hurt, you're going to separate your body from your mind. You're going to block off what's happening to you physically, and you are going to think of tonight instead. Understand?" I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent and for the last time treasure this moment of holding her close. "You're going to remember who made you come first, and that's going to be your saving grace."

She sags against my chest and tears drop to my skin, quiet and warm. I gather her wrists in one hand and cup her cheek with the other, forcing her to look at me.

"I hate you. So. Fucking. Much," she whispers as our eyes meet.

"Good. Keep it that way." I brush at her cheek with my thumb, careful that she doesn't snap an aggressive bite or spit at me, both valid reactions, but the fight seems to have drained from her. "Do you understand, kitten?" I ask again, digging my fingers into her hair and pulling her head back so she's forced to look me in the eye.

"Fuck you," she hisses, trying to rip her head free despite the pain it must cause her.

I don't let go but nod. "Attagirl."