Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Orlando faces me, all dark and brooding and serious.
“Come here, Elise.” He pats his knee.
I walk over to him, wondering what he has in mind. I don’t know how to get him out of the room so I can get to the phone. Did anyone tell him that they’d returned it?
When I reach him, he tugs me onto his knee. I sit heavily. He’s so big, so strong, he barely shifts when I sit. “Downstairs just now, you asked me if you could come up here. And what did I tell you?”
I bite my lip. “You asked me to wait for you.”
“Yes. And did you obey me and show respect in front of my brother? My Don?”
Shit. I swallow hard and shake my head. “No.”
He grips my chin and tugs my gaze to his, deadly sober. My heart races faster. Is that a buzzing in the bedside table? Did I forget to silence my phone?
“What did you do, Elise?”
“I—I talked back to you. But I really wanted to come up here.”
He holds up a finger to stop me. “Do you think I’ll allow you to talk back to me? In front of my brothers?”
I shake my head, and I begin to tremble. A part of me actually hopes he’ll punish me. I feel such pent-up guilt from the lies and betrayal, maybe it would alleviate my guilt.
“No. No, and I’m sorry.”
Soberly, he nods, then gently pushes me to standing. “Go to the bedside table.”
My heartbeat races. I feel dizzy.
“The table?” Blood pounds in my ears so hard I can barely hear him.
“Yes. The bedside table. When you get there, I’ll tell you what to get me.”
Does he know about the phone?
I walk, shaking. I don’t even know how I get there. It’s sheer muscle memory, one foot in front of the other, as I walk to the table. With a shaking hand, I open the drawer. How did I not notice that I put my phone beside a small black box?
With my back to him, I bend over. Do I risk looking at the phone?
“Do you see the black box, piccolino?”
Shaking, I nod. “I do.”
“Bring it here.”
I reach for the box with my left hand while I tap the phone on with my right. It’s buried so deep in the drawer, he can’t see.
“Now, Elise. What’s taking you so long?”
No messages. No calls.
I shove it down further into the drawer and take out the black box. I turn to face him. He crooks one finger at me while I fight tears.
Elise, where are you?
Are you okay?
It doesn’t matter if I had that phone in my hand right this minute. If she hasn’t returned my messages or calls, something’s wrong. I know it.
Logically, I know she might be in a place where she has no cell reception, but I can’t really believe that. In my heart, I’m afraid something’s terribly wrong.
I walk over to him and hand him the black box. I’m so overcome with emotion, I don’t care what he’s got in there or what he has planned for me. I need something to help me get over my panic and fear…something to ground me.
With a slight frown, he lays the box across his knees and lifts the lid. I’m mesmerized by the skull tats on his knuckles, the thick, masculine fingers capable of so much. He killed a man with those hands today, without remorse. After fucking me in front of him.
I shiver as the lid drops open. I’m not surprised to see he has an arsenal of tools, mostly things I don’t recognize or couldn’t name.
“What are those?” I ask.
He lifts something small and metal, fingers it, then shakes his head and nestles it back in the box. Something jeweled and wicked, something wrapped in black leather. “Your wedding gift.”
I lace my fingers together in front of me to keep them from shaking when he removes something black, soft, and silky, lays it on the table, then closes the box and puts it beside the black silk. “I’ll take it easy on you tonight, though.”
“Yeah?” My voice shakes.
He holds up his hand. That huge, massive hand that’s twice the size of my own. “This is all I need.”
Oh, yeah, I bet that’s all he needs. I bite my lip.
“Come here.”
I stand between his legs. Without a word he lifts me so I straddle his lap, my legs on either side of him and my pussy pressed up to his crotch. His thick, heavy cock strains for release beneath me. I swallow hard.
I did that to him. I’m the one that made him hard.
He wants me.
And he might be angry and wicked and have a crazy intense concept of love and marriage that defies all modern logic… but I like that he wants me. I like it a lot.
There’s a certain power a woman holds when a man desires her, a certain thrilling knowledge that she’s the object of his attention. And I’ve got that in spades right now. He’s utterly focused on me.