Page 116 of Hate Mates

I brush my hand farther up her inner thigh, fingers grazing the soft heat between her legs, lingering just long enough to remind her exactly where we stand.

Her breath hitches, a delicious little tremor, but she quickly schools herself, pretending it didn’t happen.

“You call your pussy weeping for me tolerance?” I murmur, voice dark with amusement. “Correct me if my memory fails me, but from what I recall of our wedding night—which isn’t much, as it was quite forgettable—your cunt was drenched for me, that little intact entrance of yours pulsing to swallow my cock.”

I’m not gonna lie, the thought of her wet slit is making me hard. Ever since that night, my mind often wanders to the idea of breaking her in, hearing her cries of pain as I tear through her virginity with one punishing thrust.

Her teeth grind together, the slightest tic in her jaw. I’m affecting her, shattering her polished veneer.

But I’m more than surprised when she reaches out beneath the table, cupping my hardened cock. Dark brown pupils beam with poison as she looks at me. “The body can be deceiving, Vincenzo.”

I move my hips ever so fucking slightly, pressing my dick harder against her palm, but she quickly pulls away, picks upher glass, and murmurs against the delicate rim, “Just like your cock swells for me, yet your heart refuses to beat for anyone but yourself.”

Jesus, I could fuck her right here on this goddamn table in front of everyone. It’s like my disdain for her, her challenge, her fight, it’s all morphing into an exquisite hunger that gnaws at my restraint. Her defiance is an aphrodisiac, each barbed word igniting my desire even more.

Since I’m far from done playing this game, I slide my hand all the way up between her legs, brushing my pinky against her heated core, and I smile when I feel wetness there.

“What do you know? You’re soaked for me.”

“I assure you, it’s only the illusion of your ego,” she retorts, her tone sharp as she takes a sip from her glass. Her light retort cloaks the shock underneath, but I can detect the minute dilation of her pupils, the subtle quickening of her breathing.

“I wonder if I can make you say it again.”

“Say what?”

I find her clit, and she sucks in a breath just as I lean close to her ear. “‘Please fuck me…Vincenzo.’”

Abruptly, she stands, the feet of her chair screeching across the lacquered floors. Everyone looks up at her, her cheeks flushed, eyes glimmering.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she says politely, yet I hear the tremor in her voice. “I need to use the restroom.”

She makes her way toward the restroom, her hips swaying with a grace and sensuality that makes me salivate. I can’t help but trail after her, leaving a bewildered crowd in our wake.

The door slams shut behind me, echoing in the silence between us, and my eyes find hers just as a tear escapes.

Something sharp tugs at my chest. “I told you, you don’t belong in this world, Ottavia. You’re far too,” I place my hands in my pants pockets, “delicate.”

“Why?” She wipes at the tear. “Because I cry when my husband’s cruel? Because I hurt when he toys with me, uses my body against me?”

“Because you’re weak. You’re fucking weak, and you don’t have what it takes to survive in this family.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I barely fucking survived!” I snap, and her expression instantly softens. I grind my teeth. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pity me.”

“I don’t pity you, Vincenzo. I’m wondering when you’ll stop pretending.”

I freeze. “Pretending?”

Ottavia tilts her head, watching me like she can see past the surface. “When will you stop pretending like you don’t have a heart?”

“Who says I’m pretending?”

“I do,” she murmurs, and the air slowly evaporates as she steps closer. “And the starling you saved.”

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