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“What am I doing?” Without warning, he grabs both my wrists. Hard. “I’m doing as you wished, Bella. You demanded I kick the door down to get in, and so I did.” In one swift move, he yanks both arms over my head, pinning me in place. “Be careful what you wish for.”
A sudden knot of panic tightens within me. My body recoils, twisting and writhing against his. Desperately wrenching to break free. “Enzo.”
“Shh,” he breathes, his sturdy arms lifting me higher until I’m on my toes, barely touching the ground.
Not much of a challenge for me, given my years of dance, yet I gasp. It’s not pain or fear that grips me. Is it...a thrill? Am I twisted enough to actually enjoy this?
“You were a bad girl, Bella,” he murmurs, his teeth nipping at the heart-shaped freckle on my neck just hard enough for tears to prick my eyes. “And you will be punished.”
I suck in a sharp breath, releasing a single, trembling word. “Punished?”
“Consequences.” This time, his lips nip my shoulder, and his thick thigh wedges between the two of mine. “Ride my leg, dirty girl.”
I freeze. “What?”
“I’m not releasing you until I feel every last ounce of your dripping hot honey soaking through my slacks.”
He wants me to dry hump his legs. Because, what? I haven’t earned his dick?
“Fuck yourself,” he murmurs, his heated breath a hypnotic caress against my skin.
It’s degrading. And definitely breaches the barrier between naughty and down right filthy. What’s worse is that I can feel the pool of wetness forming at my sex, but I’m not telling him that.
When his thigh presses up against my clit, my body moves involuntarily, thrusting slow. Desperate not to give in, I force through a series of rough, mechanical moves along a thigh. It’s enough to quell the ache of desire throbbing between my legs, but it’s not enough to come.
His golden eyes darken, smoldering with heat. “Still being bad, Bella?”
What is he, a mind reader? It’s like he knows I’m deliberately saving off my gratification. And my angry fuck god is having none of it.
Ladies, meet Enzo D’Angelo—the living lie detector. He can spot a fake orgasm from ten paces, no mercy, no mistakes.
He swiftly lowers my hands, guiding them to rest on his broad shoulders as he rips open the front of my dress. Both his hands land on my bra, massaging my breasts so perfectly, I have to bite back a moan.
“Faster,” he coaxes.
I try to fight my body’s desperate need to obey. “No.”
The sharp smack on the side of my ass is instant. The pain morphs to pleasure as he caresses the sting with the heat of his hand. “Has your pussy ached for me all day?”
And then some. “No,” I pant. My defiance comes out more like a whimper than a roar.
His chuckle rumbles low, thick with amusement candy-coated in a threat. “The things I will do to that mouth for your lies.”
One hand on my hip, he begins to control my movements. His free hand dives into his pocket—smooth, quick. My blood chills as he pulls out a switchblade, and flicks open the knife.
My gaze is locked, unblinking. My rhythm slows only for a beat before my body takes over. She has a mind of her own now. As if she knows everything he wants.
Or, knows everything I want.
With steady precision, the cool tip of the knife barely presses against my chin. The distant pinprick of sensation forces my eyes to his deep gold ones.
A steady stream of tears spill over, barely registering as simmering heat builds beneath my skin, spreading like wildfire.
Will he cut me?
Hurt me?
Kill me?
