Page 11 of Sinfully His

The way she looked up at me with those bright green eyes and refused to make a single sound as I whispered dirty things in her ears and played her sweet virgin cunt like a violin were almost enough to make me forget my plan. The temptation was always at my door, and I usually could decide when to partake, whether the consequences were worth the indulgence, or when the price was too high.

Taking Rose Astrid to my bed, spreading her out, and eating her pussy for hours before I fucked her and seriously consideredchaining her to my bed as my live-in pet, would have been incredible. However, it would have shot my plan to shit.

Still, I had never felt a pull of temptation like this before, though perhaps that was because I so rarely denied its pull.

I needed to remember the plan. Even while I was still in Rome, plotting and planning, Rose was always the wild card, the unknowable. I came up with many moves to counter what kind of woman she was. Of course, I knew what the tabloids said of her and even had people report what they had seen and how her sister spoke of her. But there was always a chance they only saw the mask she wore for society and not the woman beneath.

If she were brazen and rotten to her core like her mother, seducing her would have been easy. Getting the blackmail would have taken an afternoon. There was even a chance I wouldn’t have to use blackmail. She might have been narcissistic enough to help me bring down her mother just so she could take the old bat’s place.

Or maybe she was nothing like Mary Quinn, maybe she was easily scandalized. If that were the case, then she might not have let me corrupt her as I had intended, and I would have to find a workaround. But to have her pliant, wanton, and so ready to obey was just… too damn easy.

Still, I had to be careful. She was too perfect—so perfect that I could lose myself in her. I could succumb to her charms instead and forget my plan. I had already strayed too far from the path I had laid out.

The plan was not to make her come but to touch her, then edge her until she was so lost in my touch that she couldn’t think of anything else. The key to addiction was to give her a taste, only a taste, and make her beg for more.

I was going to keep her on the cusp of oblivion, hold her on the edge of bliss until she begged. I wanted to hear her cries for mercy. Then, I was going to punish her by leaving her desperate.Instead, I gave her satisfaction. What was worse was that I hadn’t even broken her first. It wasn’t until she came apart on my fingers that she made a noise.

What was I going to do? Punish her for being too fucking obedient, for being too perfect? God, the way her tight little cunt pulsed around my fingers, milking them so hungrily for more, and she was so undeniably wet for me. Her cunt dripping with the sweetest juices I wanted to?—

I turned away from her and marched out of the library to my room, just a few doors down. I may not have been able to break my little angel this time, but it was only round one, and her body was insatiable. Perhaps this was better.

After all, there was no satisfaction in a victory easily won.

I didn’t bother looking behind me. I knew she would follow, and I needed a moment to regroup. This was not the plan. I hadn’t even made a contingency that anticipated… her. How could I have known she was what I would find?

She would not win the next battle of wills.

I still couldn’t believe I had made her come and given her pleasure when I did not intend to. That gave her power when I wanted her to have none. That was unacceptable. If this was going to work, I needed to have absolute control. I needed her to believe that her world revolved around me. She would be ruined by the time I was done. I just had to get control back.

She was hurrying to catch up, her breath still rapid; I would bet her cheeks were still stained with that sexy blush.

“Wait, where are you going?” she asked. “Where are we?”

“That you don’t recognize this building speaks volumes,” I said over my shoulder.

“How could I recognize it? It’s so dark,” she said, stepping into my room. She sounded so confident now. I needed to shake that confidence.

With three quick steps, I was in front of her, my hand on the wall as I leaned in close, flexing my abs as her eyes trailed down my body, giving her a moment to drink in her fill.

I could feel her eyes on me, and my cock was as hard as steel, the outline clearly visible in my slacks. The second her eyes saw it, she gasped.

Shock? Maybe. Embarrassment? Probably. Desire? Definitely.

I let her eyes linger on me, let her memorize every line of my body, let her try to imagine my cock when she closed her eyes. The way she took advantage of the time I gave her, I knew she would think about me when she was alone.

I took a moment to appreciate how small she looked wearing my shirt, so petite, and so beautiful. Her skin seemed iridescent against the rich black fabric that swamped her, and I could catch just a hint of her full breasts in the gaps between the buttons. I liked her in my clothes. She looked good in them.

Before I let my mind linger on that thought too long, I hit the switch behind her and flooded the room with bright white, fluorescent light.

Her eyes flicked back up to mine, and her eyes widened, her lips parted.

I wasn’t sure if she recognized me. After all, I looked a lot like Luc, but I also just had that effect on women. My face had both condemned me at times and been a blessing at others. I knew I was attractive. I worked hard to keep my body in peak physical form. Add the strong Roman nose, a love of expensive Italian clothing, the Manwarring jawline, and the predatory smile… women fell at my feet, usually on their knees.

Of course, there was something to say about appealing to specific dirty fantasies. A lot of women were more turned on by the taboo, wanting and having the forbidden, but the pretty wrapping helped.

Without a word, I pushed myself away from the wall and turned my back on her, stepping over to my wardrobe and grabbing a fresh shirt. A gentleman would have offered her a fresh shirt or, at the very least, a pair of sweatpants to cover her legs in the biting cold.

It had occurred to me, but I didn’t. I needed to remind myself who she was—the daughter of the bitch I was taking down—and what she was—the method of her mother’s demise.

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