Page 30 of His Ruthless Vow

"You think I treat you like a pet?" He sets his glass down, moving closer. "If that were true, you'd be much better behaved. My girls are downright spoiled."

"Then what do you want, Enzo?" The words fly out before I can stop them. "I'm not one of your soldiers who jumps when you say how high."

"No," he says, voice dropping dangerously. "You're much more interesting than that."

I roll my eyes. "Spare me the charm. It doesn't work on me."

"Evidence suggests otherwise." His eyes flick over me, and I hate how my skin heats under his gaze.

"I don't belong in your world," I say, setting down my glass harder than necessary. "And you don't control me."

"Don't I?" He moves closer, closing the distance between us. "The way I see it, Kendra, you gave me control the moment you signed our deal."

I grind my teeth. "You have no control over me."

My stomach flips when he grins. "I'd love to show you how wrong you are."

I open my mouth to argue, but he's already prowling toward me, guiding me backward until my legs hit the couch. In one swift movement, he pulls me down, positioning me so I'm sitting on the edge. His large hands grip my thighs, spreading them apart as he drops to his knees between them.

"What are you doing?" I manage to ask, my voice embarrassingly breathless. But God, every time I've seen him the tension has only grown more unbearable.

Enzo looks up at me, and the intensity in his gaze only has me growing more eager for him. "Proving a point."

His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher. My skin burns everywhere he touches. I should stop this. I should stand up and walk out. Instead, I watch, mesmerized, as he hooks his fingers into my panties and slides them down my legs with agonizing slowness.

"Are you going to tell me to stop, Kendra?" he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

The challenge in his voice ignites something in me. "Would you, if I did?"

"Immediately." His answer is instant, serious. "But you won't."

He's right, and we both know it. The power he has over me isn't from our deal—it's from whatever this electric tension is between us. It's been building since the first moment we locked eyes across Skye's boutique.

When he lowers his mouth, nipping at the insides of my thighs, my head drops back. Heat pools low in my stomach, tension building until finally—finally—his mouth closes around my clit and my back arches involuntarily. His hands grip my thighs firmly, keeping them spread wide as his tongue explores with devastating precision. Every stroke is deliberate, like he's memorizing what makes me gasp and shudder.

I bite my lip to hold back sounds, but when he finds a particularly sensitive spot, a moan escapes. "Enzo..."

He looks up, maintaining eye contact as his mouth continues its relentless assault on my senses. The sight of him between my legs, those dangerous eyes watching my every reaction, is almost too much to bear. My hands find their way into his dark hair, gripping tightly, and a growl of approval vibrates against me.

The pressure builds quickly, embarrassingly so. His skilled tongue pushes me higher and higher until I'm balancing on the edge of something monumental. When he sucks gently on my clit, the world shatters around me. My thighs tremble as waves of pleasure crash through my body, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.

As I come down from the high, trying to remember how to breathe, Enzo sits back on his heels. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"You can go now," he says with that infuriating smirk.

Humiliation and rage wash over me, dousing the lingering embers of pleasure. I stand on shaky legs, yanking my dress down while searching for my underwear.

"You're an asshole," I spit, spotting my panties near his knee.

"Never claimed otherwise." He holds them out, dangling them from one finger.

I snatch them away, stuffing them into my purse rather than giving him the satisfaction of watching me put them back on.

"This meant nothing," I say, grabbing my bag. "And it won't happen again."

His expression shifts almost imperceptibly—a flash of something that might be disappointment before the mask of smug satisfaction returns. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I turn on my heel and storm toward the door, refusing to look back, refusing to acknowledge how my body still tingles from his touch. Refusing to admit, even to myself, how much I want to stay.

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