Page 43 of The Marriage Contract

“These tits, Dario?” She caresses her breasts with one hand while she strokes my shaft with the other. My head clouds as she moves faster, her curviness trembling for me. “You’re so hard. You’re so ready. Fuck me. Take your prize.”

“Not … like … this…”

“So you want me to stop?”

“Keep rubbing my cock,” I growl.

An almost-smile touches her lips, but it’s gone a moment later. I wonder if she’ll ever have it in her to sass me again.

Soon, I can’t take it. Hot spill rushes up my length and out of my swollen end. It’s her moans, her tits, and the tangy taste of her pussy still on my lips. I explode all over her, wave after wave of come, making me wild. She keeps rubbing until there’s nothing left, my cock wilting in her hand.

Pulling up my pants, I say, “Elena …”

“You got what you came here for,” she snaps, looking around for her shorts.

“That’s not fair.”

“I want to be alone.”

I grab her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me. She gasps, her eyes flooded with heartbreaking fear. “I want you. Not just for that. I want you foryou…” I trail off, the words feeling weak and flimsy and not a good match for what I’m trying to say.

“Please, just let me be alone,” she replies, her tone tired and defeated.

What other choice do I have? Dammit, I shouldn’t have let myself indulge in her like that, but we both wanted it. It was hot as hell, even if it was beyond messed up.

“I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“I just need to be alone. It worked. I forgot just briefly, but I’m remembering it again now.”

Pulling my pants up, feeling a weird combination of dirty and yet wanting to do it again, I leave her bedroom.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ELENA

“It’s been three days,” Clara tells me as she lays the breakfast tray on my end table. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to leave your room, sweetness? Get some sun?”

I lie on my side, my knees drawn to my chest. I barely see or register Clara’s presence. “I’m just tired,” I murmur when it’s clear she won’t leave without an answer.

“Some sun would be good for you …”

“Please. Let me rest.”

She sighs as she clears away some plates and cups and then leaves. I try to will myself to get out of bed, stop this pity party, and be strong like I always have. But I can’t overstate just how shocking it is to have seen what I’ve seen. I’ve read so many books and watched so many movies where people have been kidnapped, witnessed violence, and just brushed it off.

Real life is different. Real life makes a woman do crazy things, like throw herself at a man who scares the shit out of me, even if I still want him. I still don’t know why I did that. Maybe he was right. Perhaps I was trying to prove a point.

Apart from that, it was so freaking hot. It was likeIhad power overhim, even when he was making my body sizzle. It just adds to the confusion. He’s tried to visit me several times, but I’ve ignored him, and he’s respected that so far. I can’t connect the image of the suave, handsome Dario Moretti with the beast who punched a man’s head in.

He saved you, a voice inside says.Stop being ungrateful.

Later, there’s a knock at my door. “It’s Maria,” says the person outside. “May I come in?”

“I’m very tir?—”

“I know who you really are, Miss Rossi.” It takes me a second to realize what she just said.

She just used my real name, notEsposito. I guess a large part of me still wants this to work because I jump up from bed for the first time in three days with something like purpose. “Give me a second,” I call, rushing around the bedroom as I search for some presentable clothes.

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