Page 16 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Have you ever worn a corset for thirty hours straight? I’m afraid my ribs are permanently bruised. And I would happily murder someone for a shower.” The elevator doors slide open as he’s saying that last bit. The woman on the other side gives him a wide-eyed look and carefully skirts around us, keeping one eye on Sal, then hurries away.

I snort a laugh, and he calls after her, “It’s just a figure of speech.”

Somehow, he managed to talk his way into getting us the honeymoon suite. I’d bother feeling bad for the couple who must have gotten downgraded to make that happen, but if they’re getting married in Los Vespar, I doubt it’ll last anyway. They can try again to score a honeymoon suite on their second marriages. The elevator doors open on the top floor and before I can even step out, he slides his hand around my waist and stoops to hook the other behind my knees, sweeping me into his arms in a bridal carry.

“Hey,” I yelp. “Are you fucking insane?” I squirm and swing the bags wildly, trying to get him to put me down, but he just tightens his hold.

“Says the man who drugged and kidnapped me,” he deadpans.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” I grumble but stop fighting him.

“Hard to say since it only happened last night. I might need to hang on to it for another day or two before I’m ready to move on.”

I huff. Iguessthat’s fair. Annoying, but fair.

“Do me a favor and fish the room key out of my pocket, Angel?” he purrs.

“Nope.” Like hell am I going to help him with this asinine, fake romance bullshit he’s using to torment me about my marriage scheme. “Put me down or figure it out yourself.”

He nuzzles my ear before catching the lobe between his teeth and biting down gently. I clench my jaw against the gasp that threatens to escape and stubbornly ignore the jolt of heat it sends through me.

“Challenge accepted,” he murmurs.

I’ve never seen Salvatore in anything except a suit, but I’ve never thought of him as a particularly strong man. Not that he looksweak, just average build if I had to guess. Which makes it all the more surprising that he doesn’t even grunt with exertion as he hoists me over his shoulder in a fluid motion that has the room spinning and a startled squawk spilling from my mouth. He grasps the back of my thigh to keep me in place, my hardening cock pressed against his shoulder and his ass directly in my face, and then he casually uses his other hand to pull the room key from his pocket. Seconds later, I hear the beep of the door lock.

Things are seriously getting away from me. I’m the one with the gun tucked into the back of my pants, I’m the one with the balls to kidnap a Moretti and come up with this whole marriage plan, and, goddammit, I’m the one who put Don behind barsin the first place. So how the fuck did I end up hanging over Salvatore’s shoulder like an unruly child feeling like he holds all the cards here?

As soon as we’re over the threshold, I growl and bite down hard on his ass cheek. He yelps and as his fingers twitch around my thigh, I leverage my weight, grab his hips, and flip myself down off his shoulder. I should get extra points for the exceptionally graceful landing under the circumstances. I even managed to keep hold of the bagsandkeep the gun in my pants. I spin around to face him just as fluidly, the movement feeling like a choreographed dance the way it flows through my muscles, fueled by my annoyance. It’s a hell of a lot easier than dismounting the pole. Salvatore isn’t even greased up or spinning.

I drop the bags and take a step forward just as Salvatore turns around, putting me right in his face… or close to, given our height difference. I need to remind him who’s in charge here, which one of us holds the power.

“Let’s get one thing straight. Just because I agreed to your terms for this marriage doesn’t put us on equal footing. I’ll fucking shoot you, Sal.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but it’s not fear.

“I don’t think you will,” he whispers with a smirk, tilting his head down and nuzzling the tip of his nose against mine.

My fingers twitch for the gun. I should at least graze him—a small flesh wound to prove I mean business—but… fuck, he’s right, I’m not going to do it. A frustrated scream rises in my throat, but I manage to choke it back down. If hurting him isn’t an option, there has to be another way I can re-assert my dominance in this situation.

Sex.

He thinks he’s going to extort sex from me in exchange for protection? He thinks I’m just a brat dying to be Dommed by aself-important mafioso like him? I’ll show him how I like to play, and then we’ll see who’s using who.

I press up on my toes another inch, bringing my lips close to his, and echo his gesture, bumping my nose against his and holding his molten hot gaze.

“Fine, sweetheart, you’ve got me there. I need you, so I won’t shoot you. But don’t think that means you own me or control me in any way. Now, be good and go take your shower. When you’re done, you’re going to get on your knees and suck me.” I catch his bottom lip between my teeth and tug it roughly, savoring the hoarse growl I draw out of him, my eyes boring into his, watching the embers of his lust spark into a full-on inferno. “Say, ‘yes, master.’”

He rumbles with amusement and then cups the back of my neck the same way he did before he kissed me earlier. My pulse jumps but I stand firm, refusing to give up the ground I just started taking back. Salvatore brings his lips to my ear.

“I’ll get on my knees and suck you, Angioletto, just like I’ve been dying to do since the first time I saw you dance. We can decide afterward which one of us will go by ‘master.’” He sinks his teeth into the edge of my jaw, and I gasp, swaying on my feet, my cock throbbing violently.

He lets me go, winks, and then disappears into the bedroom without another word.

SALVATORE

I ignore my heavy, insistent cock and the fluttering anticipation in my gut, focusing instead on taking my time under the luxurious waterfall showerhead, letting the hot water work out the kinks in my muscles from too many hours in the car. While I painstakingly wash every inch of my body with the eucalyptus and mint soap the hotel provided, I picture Dante waiting for me on the other side of the door.

I try to guess his strategy. How does my angel play the part of a Dom when it’s obvious to anyone with sense and experience that he’s begging for someone to finally make him feel safe enough to submit? Maybe he’ll stay in the living room, forcing me to come find him, to crawl on my knees across the cheap, rough carpet for him. My deep, rumbling laugh echoes off the tiled walls. It might be fun to watch him try to make me crawl. Or maybe he likes to play rough. His cock was already hard. Is he lying on the bed, playing with himself, waiting for me so he can tangle his fingers in my hair and force me to my knees? Does he want to use my mouth like a fuck sleeve, chasing his own pleasure and leaving me hard and needy just to prove his point about who’s in charge?

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