Page 7 of The Don's Proposal

I’ve never shot a gun. Never thought about taking someone’s life before. Just imagining trying to pull a fast one on this man makes my stomach clench and my mouth sour.

I may actually get sick. I want to get off this ride.

Despite my better judgment, I don’t grab at the gun. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. Not without my eyes filling with tears at the thought of killing another person.

I’m really not meant for this life.

Taking all but five more steps, he reaches a door and shoves it open. Stepping inside, darkness swallows us up as the door shuts with a thud. He flicks the light on, and I don’t have enough time to look at where he’s taken me.

A grunt leaves my lips as he tosses me on something with a slight bounce. Amattress. One with a lack of sheets, or blankets, or any signs of being owned.

Oh no.

This man touched me plenty when he had me trapped on his desk. I am still denying what I felt back then. The fear mixed with a sensation I’ve never felt before is one I am not keen on experiencing again.

“It’s your lucky day, little bird.” He sinks his knee into the mattress right next to my hip, and I watch as his thigh stretches out the fabric of his slacks. There’s something else there, the outline of something that makes my heart jump up into my throat. “I can’t decide what I want to do with you more.”

Ever so softly, I feel the warmth of his fingertips on my knee. How can such a terrible, coldhearted man be warm-blooded? My pulse races as he starts dragging the fabric of my dress up the length of my thigh. The bands around his fingers feel more cold and unwelcoming than he does himself.

Staring down at me, he tilts his head as his eyes squint. Looking at me like I’m an enigma, his mouth presses into a firm line.

“I promise I will break you, Camellia. I’ll have you beg me to put you out of your misery.” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, showing off his canines as he offers a smile that contradicts his touch. “I won’t be quick with it, either. Who knows how long it will take until I am bored?”

From the sound of it, I won’t be leaving this place anytime soon, if at all.

He leans in, letting his mouth hover near my throat. Close enough to let me attack if I really want to try again. He’s already proved countless times how easy it is for him to overpower me.

“Or maybe we can make some sort of deal. You can willingly betray your own, and watch me destroy everyone you know and love. Then, out of the kindness of my own heart, I may let you leave.” His breath tickles my ear. “Possibly in one piece. Though I may be a little greedy and take a chunk or two.”

Is this his usual method of negotiating? Does he think painting a gory picture will help give him what he wants?

I won’t. I know this man is untrustworthy, and the absolute worst of mankind. Ican’t.

Then he does something I don’t expect. Hebitesme. Not like some wild animal looking to tear through skin, but a sharp, short-lived sting that is treated with the swipe of his tongue. The grind of his hips against my parted legs drowns out the shock of it all.

What is even more shocking is the noise that leaves my lips. One that I only hear during those rare late nights I find the courage to sneak my hand between my thighs whenever I don’t think anyone is listening.

His hand has somehow made it to my hip, and I only realize it when I feel his fingertips dig into my flesh. Holding me in place, he grinds again. As if the wound on my neck isn’t to his satisfaction, he sucks against the mark and makes the pain transform into a low-strumming throb.

I moan again, the noise breaking past my lips like an act of rebellion.

The pain should help clear the fog, but my body bends to his demand.

It’s his cock digging into where I’m most sensitive, I know that. I’m not completely clueless.

What I don’t understand is how a man who seemed to bristle up at the realization of my identity can react this way. How he can be aroused by causing pain.

Santino Bertelli is a true monster.

“Well? What do you say?” He licks at the aching throb pulsating against my throat, trailing his tongue to my ear. Even that spot feels more sensitive than usual. “Will you give me everything I want?”

I can’t think, not when he’s making my entire body cry for more of his interrogation method.

Santino wants me to betray my brother, the man who sent me here without caring about what would happen to me. He didn’t even send me with a way to defend myself.

He must lose his patience with my lack of answers, because his hand abandons my hip and drifts toward the source of the problems he’s created. Grazing my underwear with his thumb, he applies the right amount of pleasure to make me gasp.

I move, reaching out to grip the thin fabric of his shirt. Instead of reaching for his wrist and demanding he stop, my thighs quiver as he draws controlled circles.

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