Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“Yes?” Her voice, quiet and soft, sounds behind me.
I find the first aid and throw it onto the counter, then pour alcohol across my knuckles, enjoying the burn.
She stands against the doorframe, her arms wrapped around her middle.
“It’s almost time for dinner. You’ll need to change into something more appropriate.” I watch her in the mirror as I pull out some plasters. She has dark circles under her eyes, and she almost sways in her hooker heels. A decent man would pity her. But even as I’m standing here looking in the mirror, there isn’t a decent man to be seen. Only me.
“Okay.” Her gaze goes to my bloodied hand. “What happened?”
I don’t answer her.
She approaches.
I tense. It’s not as if I let people walk up behind me on the regular. That’s a good way to catch a case of lead poisoning.
She stops beside me and reaches for the first aid kit.
“I don’t need your help.” I peer down at her.
She grabs a piece of gauze. “I didn’t ask.”
Her fire seems closer to the surface now, as if her exhaustion and fear have stripped away her top layer of manners. Good. I like her better this way. She’s not a princess, not some fairy tale girl who’s destined for a happy ending. She’s my captive. The sooner she realizes that and returns to her base line of being a vicious Fontana, the better. No more lies or playing pretend.
She takes my hand and inspects it. “It wasn’t like this … before.” Her cheeks heat as she presses the gauze to it.
“You mean when I had my fingers in your cunt?”
She clenches her eyes shut, then opens them again and keeps working, her lips pressed tightly together.
“You want to say something, princess?” I tease.
She shakes her head and rips off a piece of medical tape, then wraps it around my hand. Her fingers work delicately, her nails painted a pale pink and her wedding ring glinting in the bathroom light. Her skin is paler than mine, smoother. But that tracks, especially given that my family doesn’t have the Fontana pedigree. We were street rats in Sicily only a few generations ago, whereas the Fontanas have been Italian royalty in America since the 1800s.
I grab her wrist. “If you think helping me will stop what’s coming, you’re wrong.”
She meets my gaze. “I’ve never been able to stop bad things from happening. Why should that change now?” She tries to wrench her wrist away, but I don’t let go.
Anger sizzles inside me, the dangerous kind that leads to bloodshed or worse. “Do you want me to feel sorry for you? Is that it? Poor little Fontana princess is finally getting a taste of her own medicine?”
Her eyebrows draw together. “What? What have I ever done to you? I didn’t even know you until you showed up and—and—”
“And killed your precious Horatio?” I grin.
“You’re a monster.” She tries again to free her wrist.
Again, I don’t let her. She should know by now that the more she tries to pull away from me, the tighter I’m going to hold her.
“You would know, princess.” I yank her to me, her body pressed to mine as my cock makes itself known against her stomach.
She gasps, then swings at me with her free hand.
I catch it easily. “Is this the way you want to play it?” I squeeze her wrist. “You want me to take everything from you right now? Because I can, princess. You know I can.”
“I want you to let me go.” She spits the words.
I eye her lips. Her temptation. That’s what she is—nothing more than a temptation. One that will lead to damnation if I fall for it.
And finally, my brain kicks back on, and I let her go. I turn my back to her and finish wrapping my knuckles. “Your outfit for the evening is in your closet.”
She’s backed all the way to the bathroom door, her eyes on me in the mirror.
“What? No French maid look for the night?” She snaps, her sharp wit showing through the naïve haze that swims around her.
“Why, you’d rather wear that?” I let my gaze travel down her body, her round tits, the pinch of her waist, the flare of her hips, and the smooth skin of her thighs. “You can, but I thought you’d prefer to greet company in something more appropriate.”
She stills. “C-company?”
“Yes, princess. You’re married to a powerful man. I thought you’d already know you’d be expected to host dinners and be a good wife in all ways.” I turn to her and whip the damp towel from my waist.
Her eyes go right to my hard cock, and they widen just enough for me to know she likes what she sees. Good, she’ll be sucking it down her throat soon enough.
“Who’s coming to dinner?” she asks, her eyes finally meeting mine again.