Page 69 of Bitter Poetry
“I can’t fucking help myself.”
My stomach takes a slow dip as the admission leaves his lips.
It sounds genuine when not many things that Christian says do.
“I want to taste you. Ever since Dante told me what you taste like, I’ve been fucking obsessed.”
A choked sound escapes me somewhere between outrage and a groan.
“What? I’m not good enough to go down on you? You reserve that for my brother? Or your husband, then?”
“Don’t mention my husband and that in the same sentence,” I hiss. “As if he would ever care about my pleasure.”
CHRISTIAN
The vehemence in her voice unleashes something dark in me.
Of course he doesn’t. He’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve to call her wife or to put his hands on her.
I wanted to kill him before this sham wedding took place, and more so now.
Only, Dante made me promise not to, notyet. Leon said the same. I don’t see them often—the last time was three weeks ago. Leon sat me down and told me in clear, unambiguous terms, that I was not to go off the deep end… that going off the deep end would get me killed… that they had a plan, and I needed to stick to the fucking plan.
But yeah, that piece of shit being with her, touching her, really bothers me.
I take her by the wrists and walk her back until she bumps against the bed. The momentum pushes her back, and she sits down abruptly.
“Christian!” she huffs out.
Her chest is rising and falling unsteadily. She’s not slapped me. Nor has she told me to fuck off.
“Just a little taste, Carmela. I deserve that.” I close my fingers around the front of her throat, feeling her pulse hammering as I press lightly into her flesh. Having my hands here, the way I dream of, sets them trembling.
“Oh God.”
Her words have a low, sultry edge.
She’s aroused.
“I’m not your husband,” I say. “And I’m not my brother.”
“I know that?—”
“Shut up.”
She does, her eyes wide and luminous as they stare up at me. I squeeze my fingers a little—a warning.
“I fucking despise you, Carmela. Just so that we’re clear. But I also want you. And tonight, I want to taste you because my brother told me you tasted sweet, and I want to find out for myself. If you don’t want that, then all you have to do is say stop.”
Her pulse picks up under my fingertips. I’m not squeezing her throat hard, just enough for her to feel the pressure and her vulnerability.
She also doesn’t tell me to stop.
My lips curl in a grin. Fucking game on. My tongue flicks across my lower lip, almost anticipating her taste. I drop to my knees and push her back.
She huffs out a heavy breath.
“Now this is nice. Sweet little princess, all spread out.” If I get the fucking message now that Ettore is on the way home, I’m going lose my damn mind.
