Page 44 of Desire and Revenge

The relief that fills me when she merely drags her dress down her body almost brings me to my knees. And then my gaze drops down to the red, lacy bra that cups her breasts, and all the blood left in my head rushes down at the sight.

“Hell, Princess,” I growl. “Now that I know that’s what you wear under those prim dresses, how am I ever going to be able to resist you?”

Her teeth clamp down on her lower lip. “Then don’t try.”

Her breasts fit perfectly in my palms, small and perfect like the rest of her, and her nipples are already hard under her bra. I pinch one and her back bows.

“Nero!” she cries, hands clutching my arms.

“You’re so perfect.”

Something shifts in her eyes. “Y-you can’t say that. I’m not?—”

“You’re bloody perfect,” I repeat in a stronger voice, cutting off a protest. Years of verbal abuse from her father and now that dimwit asshole Sebastian have taken its toll on her. I don’t need to have been there to know. I’ve seen it so many times.

Men with too much ego and big dick syndrome trying to exert power on everybody around them just to feel powerful. Their target always ends up being a small, defenseless wife or daughter.

Anger races through me, and I want to stalk into the house and put a gun through Sebastian’s head and then go on a killing rampage of every man who has had a hand in putting a dent in her self-esteem.

And then I remember that I shouldn’t care, and it only makes me angrier.

That anger translates into a bruising kiss that makes her whimper. I undo the snap of her bra and take it off her, then start to kiss a line down her throat. Pink nipples as hard as bullets strain for my touch and I drag the pad of my thumb over one.

“Oh God,” she cries.

I lick a line from the under curve of her breast to her nipple and swirl my tongue around that stiff peak. Just as she’s beginning to sigh with pleasure, I nip at them.

She screams, hips bucking.

Sofia is a delight to touch, generous with the noises she makes and staring at me with blown pupils and absolute trust.

She shouldn’t trust me. If she knew my real motive here, she’d hate me. But I find that I don’t want her to. If she wakes up tomorrow and never wants to speak to or see me again, I know I’d hate it more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life.

And while this should terrify me, given the mission I’m on, I find myself hoping it never comes to that. I want our secret meetings to never end, our intense, on-and-off conversations toremain the highlights of my day. I want to savor this moment with her, kissing her with the frustration I’ve been burying since I saw her in that damned church.

I take hold of her dress bunched around her waist and drag it down, and she raises her hips to allow me. And then I freeze, because Sofia Lucchese is wearing a matching red lace thong. Barely a triangle of material covers her pussy with delicate strings extending around her hips.

When I raise my head and meet her eyes, I find her blushing furiously and I can’t help the smile that curves my mouth. “So, beneath all that, you’re really just a naughty girl.”

I press closer, mouthing at her neck, “You’re a naughty little minx waiting for me to rip your clothes off, slide your panties to the side and fill you up, aren’t you?”

“Hmmm,” she moans, long and loud.

“Tell me, Princess,” I whisper. “Tell me that you’re a naughty girl.”

“I’m a naughty girl.”

“And why are you a naughty girl?”

Her words are shaky and breathless when she says, “Because I want you to rip my clothes off, push my panties to the side and fill me up.”

I grab one string of her thong and pull, ripping it off. Her lashes flutter, mouth going a little slack and then she moans. At the same time, I hear some footsteps outside and faint voices of some men reach me.

“What was that?” she asks, voice trembling in panic.

“Guards,” I smile. “Which means you’re going to have to be silent for me, Princess.”

“I-I can’t,” she cries just as the door to the greenhouse opens and I hear the men step in, still conversing.

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