Angelo raised a brow, drawling, “Are you impressed because I’m your perfect match or because the singer was the one who said it?”
“Well—-”
Something feral flashed in his eyes.
Oops.
“I’m just joking,” she said quickly. “Of course, I’m thrilled – ecstatic – that you’re my perfect—-mmph!” His mouth swallowed the rest of her words in a demanding kiss.
When Angelo raised his head, the first thing she saw was the beautiful smile on his lips.
Oh my gosh.
She was really in trouble.
“Angelo,” she began uneasily.
But instead of answering, he lifted her off his lap and instead placed her beside him on the couch. And then he began arranging her on her fours.
Fear fed her anxiety...and her desire, and she found herself shivering at the threat of the unknown.
Angelo positioned himself behind her.
She froze. “W-what are y-you doing?” Her voice came out a high-pitched squeak.
“Punishing you, of course.”
“By taking me from behind?” She was bemused. Angelo had already taken her in this position – twice – and it had only felt indescribably—-
Then she felt his fingers parting her open.
Oh my gosh.
It was that hole.
She immediately tried crawling away, but he pulled her right back, and his laugh filled the room, the sound lovely and cruel.
“No, Angelo—-”
“Then you should think twice about what you say.”
“It’s my first night—-”
He said calmly, “I know.”
“But it’s going to hurt—-”
“Only just a bit at first—-”
She whimpered.
“But then it will feel good.” He palmed her butt as he spoke, and she whimpered again.
“Ready?”
“No, Angelo, please—-”
But he didn’t listen to her because they knew that was what she wanted.
And it was like that for the rest of the week.
The two remaining parties scheduled for spring break were rescheduled, with Angelo determined to have his fill of Lane while classes had yet to start.
Unfortunately, it was impossible.
The more he had her, the more he hungered for her. Now, all he had to do was look at her and his cock would be rigid and erect, demanding to be sheathed in the warmth of her pussy as soon as possible.
In the back of his mind, Angelo had assumed that once he had a taste of her, his fascination of her would eventually fade. But again, reality proved to be the opposite. His interest in her had deepened instead, and he found himself spending time with her in and out of the bedroom. For the first time in years, he took an indefinite leave from his business and instead devoted his time helping Lane figure out the triggers for her trauma and what she could do to minimize her panic attacks.
Why he was doing it, Angelo already knew but chose not to think of.
To acknowledge that the reason existed this soon would give it power, and right now he preferred to keep things uncomplicated between him and his Lane.
One day at a time.
That was his motto, but for someone who had planned and led his life like it was a game of chess, it was a strategy that didn’t really sit well with him.
For Lane, each day was a revelation. There were so many new things she discovered about Angelo, things that she eventually realized he had both consciously and unconsciously kept from her because then he had thought he had yet another rival in Ray.
Some of these discoveries just made her love him more, like the fact that he had a fetish for brushing a woman’s hair and that his honor – as well as protective instincts – knew no bounds. He was both Marquis de Sade and an Arthurian knight combined under all the sophisticated, modern trappings.
Other things were bittersweet, like the day that she accidentally found out he preferred women who didn’t talk so much. When he had reluctantly admitted this to her, he had given her a slightly discomfited look, which took Lane a couple of moments to grasp.
“Oh my gosh, you think I talk too much?” The realization had her clutching her sides. “I’m sorry, but it’s just too funny.” When she had her amusement under control, she said candidly, “I babble when I’m nervous. But when I’m with people I’m used to, I don’t really talk that much. You can ask anyone who knows me, it’s true.”
But her words only had him frowning. “You do not have to lie—-”
“I’m not.”
“You have been talkative with everyone everyday—-”
“Exactly.”
Her gentle tone had driven the point home, and his face had turned grim. “My home still makes you uncomfortable? I still terrify you, too?”
His accent had become thick all of a sudden, and her heart had skipped a beat when he realized how much her answer meant to him.
But she had also known it was better not to lie and so she had said softly, “Yes. But it’s only because the smallest and most unreasonable part of me – the one that’s forever trapped in the past – will always be afraid.” And she had looked at him and waited, knowing that he could hear what she wasn’t saying.