Page 97 of Bishop

Yes. But even more than that, I want to know what he just called me.

My Italian doesn’t stretch beyond the basics no matter how adamant my mother was that I learn and now I’m left hungrily curious, yet too stubborn to ask.

“Haven’t I already given you enough?” He grips my chin, his hips slowly rocking into my hold. “Do you want more examples of what I’d do to you if given different circumstances?”

My blood heats, no place more punishing than between my thighs.

I nod, stroking faster. “Tell me.”

Another sound emanates from his chest. Hungry. Animalistic.

“I’d hurt you,” he purrs. “If unleashed, I’d have you on your back so often and for so long that your pretty pussy would be swollen and sore. You’d beg for respite. And maybe I’d oblige. Maybe I’d give that sweet cunt a time-out while I fucked your hands or your mouth or your feet. But you’d never find peace with me. I’d never let you catch your breath.”

I clench my thighs, my panties damp enough that I’m sure the wet patch will soon be seen through my jeans. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

He smirks menacingly as he starts to truly fuck my hand. “Yeah you do. You know I’d destroy you. And I’d enjoy every minute of it.”

I shudder, my inhales outpacing his own.

Is it wrong to crave what he describes? Because I do.

I want him to consume me. To mark me. To taint me in a way that has nothing to do with exploitation and everything to do with hedonistic pleasure.

I clench him tighter, my pussy begging for the release I’m about to give him as he continues to hold my chin.

My mouth aches for his kiss. Every inch of me does right down to my toes.

“You confuse me, Bishop.” I stroke faster, his cold stare growing more icy with his increased pleasure. “I don’t know what it is, but no matter how hard I try to hate you, I can’t.”

“I want to hate you too, belladonna.”

“But you don’t?” My pulse skitters over its frantic beats.

“I don’t usually finger-fuck women I hate,” he growls. “Or allow them to dictate my actions through my dick.”

His admission steals my common sense. I have as much ability to dictate his actions as I do with the moon and stars. I’m powerless. Entirely paralyzed with incompetence.

But something in his gaze makes me want to believe him. To drown in the confidence that comes with affecting a man as disciplined and calculated as him.

I increase the pace of my strokes, concentrating on the head of his shaft, squeezing the tip.

A low groan grates from his throat, the sound delicious for a few short seconds before he releases my chin and grasps my wrist in a punishing grip. “We’re done.”

I frown. Panic.

“I’ll take it from here.” His hold tightens. His jaw clenches.

I shake my head. “Why?”

“Because you’re about to make me come, belladonna, and I don’t want to ruin those pretty clothes.”

19

BISHOP

She blinks at me in disappointment.

Goddamn-fucking-disappointment.

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