"You mean, I'm on his naughty list?"
"You’re certainly not on his nice list."
"You’re right."
I blink. "About what?"
"I’m not saving myself for marriage, but you are."
"The hell are you talking about?"
"I’m not going to let you come, not until we’re married, and maybe not even then. Not until you ask me nicely."
"Vattene via." Buzz off. I huff.
He points his finger at me. "You won’t come until I give you permission, Flower."
Argh! This man. I grab a pillow and throw it at him, but it hits the door that he’s closed after him.
How dare he leave me like this? Alone and wanting, and so damn horny. Well, if he won’t bring me to orgasm, doesn’t mean I can’t fulfill myself, does it? I turn on my back and slide my fingers inside my still sensitive pussy. Vibrations of heat tingle from my touch. The flesh is so sensitive that I can’t stop the moan that bleeds from my lips. I add a second finger, and a third… And it’s still not enough. Damn it. Not that he’d put his cock inside me, but even his fingers filled me up better than my own. I begin to move my fingers in and out of myself, in and out. I curve my fingers inside … and still… Nothing.
Goddamn, he’s clearly spoiled me if I’m not even able to masturbate to my satisfaction. And I had done so plenty of times before with the vibrators I’d bought when I was in London. It was easier then, to satisfy myself, when I stayed in a shared apartment. Since returning to Sicily, my sex life has been non-existent. Given I’ve been living under the same roof as my father and sister, somehow pleasuring myself doesn't seem to be appropriate. So, I stopped…
Until I met Christian. One glance at him was enough to fire up my imagination. I allowed myself to fantasize about him at night, and since he rescued me and brought me here to this safe house, I also started dreaming about him during the day. Unfortunately, nothing compares to actually being in his presence, drawing in his masculine scent, feeling the heat rolling off his big body, the touch of his large palm on my body, his grasp on my hip, his palm flattened to the small of my back, his fingers inside me…
Aargh. I plunge my fingers inside myself again and again. Where’s that orgasm? Why the hell can’t I bring myself to climax the way he did? The way I’ve done countless times before? Goddamn it. I thrust my fingers in and out of myself… Still nothing. Fuck! I pull my fingers out and sit up. Can’t believe my body is betraying me now, when I need it to obey me the most.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and march toward the door. I glance down at my torn clothes, the bra I still wear, but without the panties which the beast had torn off of me earlier. No, if I storm out there, I’ll still lose to the asshole. I need a plan, some way of beating him at his own game.
I pause, then pivot on my heel and head to the bathroom. A hot shower later, I pull on a fresh pair of undergarments and a dress of my own. At least, he allowed me to pack and bring my own clothes. Not that I owe him anything. Except my life. And the next twenty-nine days.
At this rate, before the week is over, I’ll have thrown myself at him and begged him to make me come… No. No way am I going to humiliate myself in this fashion. I definitely need another way out. Another route to get the better of him. But how?
I’m here on my own, at his command. None of his brothers will help me. Karma could, but am I really going to involve her, when she’s newly married and recovering from the loss of her child?
No, I need someone else on my side. Someone who is strong enough to take on the might of the Sovrano brothers. Someone they’d have to pay attention to. Someone who’d be willing to help me out ... someone like Nonna perhaps? Which means I need to find a way to meet her ... for which I need to speak to Christian anyway.
I square my shoulders, wipe my damp palms on my dress, then head for the door.
I walk out into the hallway, peek into the living room, but don’t find him. I head to the kitchen and find him standing in front of the kettle. His broad back is to me, his shoulders bunching as he reaches into the shelves overhead and pulls out two mugs. His shirt stretches across his back. The planes meld and flow like they’re dancing to some tune which I can’t hear, but damn, if I don’t appreciate the sheer symmetry, the poetry inherent in every move of that gorgeous, massive body of his.
My still sensitive pussy seems to melt further. Shit. If this is how I react to him whenever I’m in the same space as him, then how the hell am I going to find a way to beat him at his own game? I straighten my spine and walk into the room.
"Take a seat," he says without turning around. I pause halfway to the dining table. Damn it, does the man have eyes at the back of his head or what?
This time, he reaches into the cabinet on his right and pulls out a jar of cocoa mix. He scoops a portion of the powder into each cup. The kettle whistles, and he switches off the flame, then pours water into both cups. He mixes the liquid in both cups before placing the spoon in the sink, then turns with a mug in each hand. He arches an eyebrow, and I can’t stop the blush that steals over my cheeks. Damn it, I wasn’t ogling him; I wasn’t. Okay, I totally was. But what the hell, the man is sex on toast… A walking orgasm... A climax on steroids… Ugh, you know what I mean, right?
I flounce over to the dining table and slip into a chair. He takes the one opposite me and pushes one of the mugs in my direction.
I raise the mug and breathe in the spicy scent of chocolate. For a few seconds, we don’t speak as we both drink from our mugs.
When I’m done with mine, I place my mug on the table and lick my lips. "That was delicious," I mutter. "Thank you."
"You’re welcome." He smirks.
The curl of his lips, that look in his eyes as he lazily draws his gaze across my features… Shit, my toes curl, my pussy whines, and I have to squeeze my thighs together to clamp down on the yawning emptiness in between them.
His smile broadens. I frown at him. "Your phone," I burst out. "Can I use your phone?"