Page 32 of Ruthless Redemption

Her delight vanishes. Her eyes bug.

She turns. Lunges. But I’m on her in a heartbeat, my hands snatching her wrists behind her back before she can flee.

“Is this what you want?” I drag her hips flush against my crotch, her heat seeping into my hardening dick. “Don’t play pretend and tell me you weren’t goading me into this.”

“Why am I not surprised you think standing up for myself means I’m begging for assault? I should’ve known forcing women would make you hot.”

“Not other women.” I walk her forward, each step marked by her resistance until she’s pressed against the wall. “Just you.”

History repeats itself. I had her up against my front door in D.C. But back then, her anger was mindless. A tart storm to this fine wine of protest. “When are you going to give in to me, Layla? When will you forgive me?”

“Never.” She bucks, her ass rubbing against my erection.

“Do it again,” I growl in her ear. “I dare you.”

“Get your fucking hands off me,” she grates. “I swear to God, Matthew, I’ll end you.”

“Then end me.” I release her wrists, placing my hands on the wall on either side of her head. “Because I’m not going to quit attempting to earn redemption until I no longer see hunger in your eyes.”

“There is no hunger.” She turns to face me with a scowl. But I still see it. It’s right there. The flames of her desire warm every inch of me. “And for all the sane people in the room, can you please explain exactly how you’re earning redemption?”

“Ruthlessly,amore mio. Just the way you like it.”

She raises her chin, denying the truth, pretending she isn’t tangled up in the heat of this moment just as much as I am. It’s fucking clear she still wants me.Needsme. But it’s also evident she has to see me suffer for my mistakes.

If only she understood how brutal my demons have punished me for the pain I’ve put her through.

“Do you want me to knee you in the balls?” she threatens. “I’ve done it before. I can do it again.”

“If you want me to bow before you, you only have to ask. There’s no need to attack your favorite asset.”

She scoffs.

“I’m not kidding. I’d kneel. I’d bow. I’d kiss your feet.” I lean closer, making her inch back into the wall. “Want to know what I did last night after you fucked my fingers?”

“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“I resorted to fucking my own hand because I couldn’t pacify my desire for you.” I’m so close I can taste the toothpaste on her breath, can feel the lust mingling between us. “You’ve reduced me to adolescence, Layla. You’re all I think about. You consume me.”

“Such sweet lies.” Her smile returns, slow and sinister. “How long did it take your father to teach you how to manipulate women?”

“I must be wearing you down if you’re resorting to the lowest of blows.” There’s a growl in my voice. A resentment I can’t hide. “Let me guess—next you’ll start calling me by my birth name.”

“Is that what it will take to get you out of my face?” She inches from the wall, her cheek grazing the stubble of my jaw as she whispers in my ear, “Dante.”

I close my eyes against the violence inside me. “Say it again.”

“Dante.” There’s laughter in her voice.

She’s playing a dangerous game. Poking a monster.

I should leave. Back away. Flee.

My hands itch to grab her. Sweat slicks my brow.

And my dick—fuck—it throbs for relief. Forher.

“The Butcher,” she whispers. “DantefuckingCosta.”

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