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Maybe I’m tipsy, but this is nice. The plug is still annoying, but its presence makes my pussy wet.
“Do you like it?” He tips his head towards the glass.
“It’s good.” It’s my turn to turn to him and hold the glass to give him a sip. Which might be a mistake because it leaves his hands free to roam. He trails his fingers over my hip and into the cleft of my bottom, finding the flat end of the plug. He does nothing more than tap it, but I feel the vibration deep in my core.
He just watches me, noting every twitch of my facial muscles, every catch in my breathing.
After a time, he leans in, stirring my hair with a silky whisper. “Do you like your plug?”
I won’t dignify that with a response. He doesn’t need one. His roaming hand finds my bare pussy and the dampness there.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to check.” He’s thorough, too, his fingers dancing from clit to plug and back again. My mind goes blank from the wine, from his touch.
He only stops to pour me more wine. Only a quarter of the bottle left.
“How does this end?” I ask the open air.
He’s drawn down my shirt to play with my breasts, and he brushes his lips across the top of my shoulder.
“Victor,” I call his name to catch his attention. “Will you ever let me go?”
“You know the answer to that.” His long fingers trail over my curves, dipping between them. His callouses catch on my nipples, and my stomach muscles tighten. “We belong together.”
I scoff.
“Can you imagine your life without me?” I open my mouth, and he pinches my nipple in anticipation. “No lies.”
“I’m a lawyer. I twist the truth for a living.”
“Then let this be the time and place you tell the truth. Not only to me but to yourself.” He loosens his grip on my nipple, rolling it between his fingers instead. “If I disappeared tomorrow, would you miss me?”
I imagine it. The empty rooms, the unlocked doors. I’d get my escape, but. . . “I’d be pissed.”
“Would you hunt me down?” He sounds amused, as if predator and prey is a game we play.
Maybe it is.
“Yes.”
“And when you caught me, would you kill me?”
I try to imagine my life before Victor. Nothing but long hours of work for La Famiglia. Nights I spent alone with my resentment and my red wine. Bad wine compared to the heady ambrosia I’m drinking now. “No.”
“So you would miss me. Or perhaps only the orgasms I give you?”
“I crave them,” I finally admit. “I crave you.”
“It’s not a weakness to need another person.”
I want to scoff again, to roll my eyes. He’s wrong. Needing someone is the greatest weakness of all. Instead, I challenge him like the lawyer I am. “Who do you need?”
“You.”
I don’t want to believe him. But he takes my wine, drinks it down in one deep swallow, and takes me back to bed to prove how much one part of his anatomy needs me. Several orgasms later, I’m back to drifting off in his arms, enveloped in his wintry scent. I’m not thinking of how I could incapacitate him and escape. I’m thinking of steaks and massages and sessions on the cross. Secrets whispered in the middle of the night.
Being the one person in the world this dangerous man needs? Fate, save me from this exquisite hell. I do not want to give it up.
CHAPTER 14
