Page 487 of Hate Mates

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and threw it onto the table. To his left was a manila envelope, which he picked up before striding toward me, footsteps echoing on the floor.

He dropped the envelope in my lap.

I let out an exhale.

“Open it.”

With clumsy hands, I worked at the metal prong and pulled out the contents. Photos. All of the things from my apartment were packed into boxes. All of it, heaped into overflowing piles in cardboard.

My heart seized in my chest.Mamma’s dishes. The paintings of countryside sunsets that she had made for my room. The photo albums that contained memories of us.

Tears pricked my eyes. “I-I thought you sold everything.” My fingers fumbled as I flipped through the photos.The quilt Mamma knitted for me.

Bending down, he whispered, “I can give you anything you want.” His lips grazed the outer shell of my ear. “For a price.”

Anything.I’d have done anything to get it all back.

“Tell me who you work for.”

My stomach dropped. “I already told you, I’m not working for anyone.” He blamed me for the explosion that had nearly killed him and his men, but I had had nothing to do with it. I had blacked out in the alley when the explosion happened and had woken up as Lazaro’s prisoner. He was convinced I had been the one to detonate the explosives.

Unsatisfied, Lazaro shook his head. “I suppose you don’t want your belongings badly enough; otherwise, you’d talk. If they mean nothing, I’ll just have Dante burn them.”

“No! I do. I want them. Please. Please, don’t burn them.”

He grabbed my upper arm, hard. “Then talk fast!” he shouted.

Tears filled my eyes but never fell. “I told you everything I know. Please, why won’t you believe me?”

In one sweeping motion, his forearm sent dishes flying off the table. My hands flew to my face for protection. Glass shattered in a hundred little explosions on the ground.

Suddenly, I was thrown onto the table and pinned down by his hand around my neck. My ass barely rested on the table’sedge and my legs dangled helplessly below. Screaming was futile. There was no one around to save me, nor would anyone have dared try. I was at his mercy.

His face hovered over mine, nostrils flaring and lips pulled back into a snarl exposing his teeth, like a vicious animal ready to tear me to pieces. “Aren’t you tired yet of these fucking games you’ve been playing? You thought you could get under my skin by traipsing around here like you’re in charge? I torture men for the shit you’re pulling right now.”

I tried to buck him off with my hips, but he was too strong. Too powerful. But this couldn’t be it. To have made it this far, just to give up at the very end. I would fight until my heart stopped beating and my body had grown cold.

“You’re a very difficult woman, signorina.” Lazaro rubbed himself between my legs, his hardness pressing against my core. “No matter what I do or how hard I try to break you, you still walk around here like you have bigger balls than any man. Why is that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

I struggled to suck in full breaths of air. His hold on my throat was tight, but I managed to strangle out the words. “Because I am tougher. I’m a woman.”

“Ahh, yes, I know.” His cock rocked against my pussy, delivering startling friction that set off my nerves. “I see it with my own eyes. You are all woman.”

He released my throat, and I gasped to regain my breath, heaving to expand my lungs.

“These lips.” His calloused thumb caught my parted lips and massaged them roughly, uncaring about my comfort.

His body caged me in, forming a forcefield that I couldn’t break. I was his prisoner in every sense of the word.

Goosebumps broke out over my neck as his nose skimmed my skin, traveling down to my chest. “This soft neck, so feminineand elegant.” His words vibrated through my chest, signaling my heart to pump faster.

“And these breasts.” He pinched my nipple hard through the silky fabric of my top. A strangled yelp escaped my lips, eliciting a deep, dark chuckle from him. He lifted the hem of my shirt over my bare chest, and instantly, his eyes darkened with a hunger that I knew I could never satisfy.

“Men dream of tits like these.” His large palms kneaded me, ripening them for his enjoyment. I melted when his tongue flicked my nipple and then swirled around the tip.

I was no longer panting due to the absence of air, but in anticipation—anticipation of what part of me he would touch next.

He lazily worked my other one, pinching it to a peak with his fingers, then massaging the tension away with his mouth. At some point, he was no longer forcing me down. I willingly lay before him—submitting to his whims.

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