Page 94 of Sinister Intentions

He smirked and ran a finger down my cheek in a parody of tenderness. “See.”

My cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and desire.

“Are you really gloating about me reacting to your kiss? How old are you?” I whispered.

His eyes flashed with dark promise. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll gag you.”

I narrowed my brows. “You can always try,” I shot back, my rebellious streak refusing to yield. Inside, though, I knew I was already gone and in over my head.

“Oh, Jemma,” he whispered, his voice and the look in his eyes suddenly softened as he shook his head.

As if he knew about the warring feelings inside of me.

I shuddered.

“Close your eyes, Little One,” Vince whispered, then waited until I complied. “And now, just focus on your body. Focus on how good it feels.” He slid his hand from my breast, over my belly, then lower until he dipped under the waistband of my pants and into my panties.

I gasped as his fingers grazed my clit and arched my back involuntarily.

“So wet for me already,” he purred and circled my sensitive nub. “So fucking beautiful.”

I bit my lip to stifle a moan, clenched my thighs around his hand—to no avail since he had my legs stretched wide.

I opened my eyes and met his gaze.

His eyes gleamed with triumph and something else, something incredibly warm and caring. He held me captive, then increased the pressure, and pushed me closer to the edge.

“Come for me.” His voice was rough. “I want to feel you come undone.”

I shook my head, clinging to the last shreds of my resistance. But it was no use. He thrust one finger inside me, pulled out, then squeezed my clit—then repeated his assault on my senses—hard and rhythmically.

I grabbed his shoulder and held on for dear life, but I lasted only seconds until I shattered around him with a broken cry.

He pulled me against him, held me as I came down from the high, and kissed my throat, my jaw, my cheek. “There now.”

I sighed.

“Absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

I shook my head, but he only held me tighter.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I whispered but buried my head in the curve of his neck.

He pushed me back, but I avoided looking him in the eye. Because I just couldn’t.

“Eyes on me.” The command in his steely voice was unmistakable.

I shook my head again.

He grabbed my chin, squeezed until my gaze met his.

His eyes flickered with frustration and something else—a hint of unspoken affection? “You really think it doesn’t?” he said while letting go of my chin and caressing my cheek.

His expression turned pensive. “You’ve been drinking, so let’s talk about it in the morning.”

His caring side was even more threatening than when he was glaring at me.

Vince Salvini and I were natural enemies, and this attraction between us couldn’t change that.

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