Page 46 of Salvatore

He’s moan-worthy, every last inch of his chiseled chest and stomach made up of sculpted lines and hardened plains that even Michelangelo couldn’t recreate.

And as sickeningly disturbing as it is, I feel myself wanting to claim him as my own.

I know it’s evolutionary impulse.

Basic human nature.

Women have instinctively sought strength and power in their partners since the dawn of time because it’s associated with safety and security. It’s obvious my body is all up in its primal phase.

The thing is, I don’t think I want it to stop.

“Feel free to start your critique.” His fingertips tease my pussy with delicate strokes. “Tell me what I need to improve.”

The facetious prick deserves an eye roll, because nothing in my line of sight would draw criticism from even the most critical person. But I’m not in the business of boosting egos.

“Well, for starters, one of your pecs looks more defined than the other. It’s really fucking with your symmetry.”

His lips twitch, the humor adamantly contained as two fingers slide inside me. “I’ll work on that.”

I bite my bottom lip while my pussy clamps around the intrusion, his slow come-hither motion igniting a cascade ofgoose bumps down both my arms. “And your… belly button,” I pant, struggling to maintain composure. “It lacks character.”

He snickers, those fingers continuing their manipulative onslaught. “And how do you propose I fix the issue?”

“Umm…” I clear my throat, my breasts yearning to be touched, my neck tingling with the need to be kissed. “Surgery.” I nod, trying to dissolve the lust haze. “Definitely surgery.”

The smirk he gives me is pure sin.

It’s unfair. Unholy.

A morally corrupt man like him shouldn’t get to be this enthralling.

I lean back, placing my palms in a less triggering place against the benchtop, then close my eyes.

I pretend I’m elsewhere. With a different man. Someone incapable of turning me on mentally as well as physically while I grind against the heel of his palm.

I feel his gaze on me though. His fascination.

It haunts me in the darkness, the thought of being adored by him drawing another whimper from my lips.

Everything about this is too… flawless. It’s the only word I can think of to describe it.

By some cruel twist of fate, Salvatore seems to be my perfect match. At least where sexual chemistry is concerned.

I wrestle with the need to come as I sense him leaning into me, his proximity pleasurably intimidating, his breath brushing my ear.

“And what about the way I touch you?” he asks. “Do you have any commentary on how my fingers are fucking you,mi reina?”

My core clamps harder, his psychological warfare slaughtering the flimsy hold I have on fortitude.

“It’d be nice if you knew what you were doing,” I whisper, my words pathetically husky, “instead of fumbling around in therelike a blind man searching for salvation.” I struggle for breath. “But I give you points for trying.”

“Forgive me,” he growls. “Is this better?”

His hand cups me tighter, the added pressure of the heel of his palm against my clit skyrocketing my pleasure as his fingertips rub quicker over my G-spot.

“Oh, God.” I throw my head back, my nipples throbbing.

“I truly am bad at this, aren’t I?” he taunts, nuzzling the sensitive skin of my neck. “It’s as if your soaking wet cunt can’t stand me.”

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