Page 12 of His Little Spitfire

“You can’t make me,” she adds, her voice wavering. “Your brother said so himself.”

“I’m not going to make you do anything. You’re going to willingly put your name here.” I tap on the sheet. “Your sister has my brother wrapped around her finger. He won’t force this union to happen if she convinces him otherwise. However, I’ve put up with your shit for too long. You’re not leaving this room until you’ve agreed to this marriage.”

I won’t have her fighting me after I’m forced to pick out a ring for her.

“Hope you’re ready to wait this out, then.” She jerks her head away from me and tries to find something more interesting to look at.

I growl, and she doesn’t cower. However, I can’t miss the way her arms prickle up with goosebumps.

“I don’t have the patience for this,” I warn, the words clipped and sharp as I inch closer. What little space was once between us is now nonexistent.

Whenever I’m left alone with this woman, I become someone I don’t know.

“T-Then I guess you better learn.” She stumbles on her word before cursing at the first sign of weakness.

We both know I’m going to get what I want.

Breathing in, I can smell the sweet smell of body wash on her skin. Whatever her sister gave her to use is almost as mouth watering as her own scent.

Closing my eyes, my cock stirs as I steal one more inhale. My head spins and I open my eyes.

This woman drives me crazy.

“Sign the document,” I order, my voice hardly my own. I don’t recognize the throaty demand, or the need to see her name along the line.

Eliza’s groan echoes in the room as I press her against the table and my body. With the fire within her still burning hot, she tries to shoot a glare at me. “Or else what, you’ll humiliate me again?”

She doesn’t want to say it outright. Bending her over my knee was a punishment we both enjoyed.

And now, it feels like she’s seeking another punishment because she doesn’t want to do as I say.

This woman infuriates me. The way she makes keeping control impossible pisses me off.

“You are going to be my wife. There is nothing else to it. If it’s not me, it’s going to be to another man, you understand that?” Anger is seeping into my words. Something else lingers there, something from the thought of another man trying to claim her as his own. “Santino chose me because he knows I can make sure another man won’t dare lay his finger on what is mine.”

The words leave my throat feeling hot as something else drips out like venom.

Jealousy.

Growling at the realization, I cup her face and stare at her mouth as I turn her jaw to face me.

I hate her mouth.

Hate the way she uses it to anger me. Hate the way she uses it to make me want things I haven’t before.

“Fuck you.” Seething from the harsh truth I’ve given her, she looks like she’ll spit on me if I let her. Maybe she wants to say worse. I don’t give her the opportunity to do either. Instead, I cave to the inner demand to silence her by pressing our mouths together.

It’s not a kiss of lust, or romance, or whatever the fuck the purpose of kissing is.

Yet, it causes the tension in my chest to snap, leaving an open hole, forcing me to acknowledge that I’ve discovered a reason tolikeher mouth. However, she’s not feeling the same thing as I am.

She bites my lip hard, nearly enough to draw blood. However, a little pain isn’t enough to deter me. The rumble of a growl makes her shiver.

“Open up,” I order without realizing. Foreign desperation consumes me; I ignore the need to hide my hunger. No longer using my head, I cup her jaw and pinch, causing her mouth to open before invading the space with my tongue.

For a big bundle of a sour personality, she tastes too fucking sweet. Only one word fills my head as I lean into her.

More.

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