Page 60 of Bitter Poetry
“Not a problem,” he says, slipping his phone into his pocket and offering me a charming smile. He cracks his knuckles. “Any issues, I’ll just go ahead and put her in there.”
I run my fingers through my hair and fail to curb the pulse of interest at the thought of him manhandling her into the room and bringing her to me so I can take her first. I want to smack the maniac up the side of the head for even putting this sick dilemma in my head.
Leon’s words about resisting temptation hold me only briefly. It’s not much of a dilemma, is it?
I grab the back of Christian’s neck and lean in close. “You’re fucked up. Do it.”
CARMELA
I exit the alcove.
A hand wraps around my mouth from behind, and another snags my waist.
Panic slams into me, barely tempered as I recognize the scent.
Christian.
“Hush, babe.”
Babe! I try to kick him, but my long gown gets in the way, and I nearly go down.
Then I’m weightless as he plucks me up, leaving me hanging from his arm, and pushes through a door.
He releases me. I stagger forward, throwing a look over my shoulder just as the door swings shut.
“What the hell!”
I’m about to pound on the door when a dark shape emerges behind me. A hand wraps around the back of my neck, propelling me forward against the door. His body crushes mine against the hard surface, a wall of heat holding me immobile, holding me hostage.
I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, my mind reeling. Christian hates me. But enough for this, whatever this is… to hurt me?
A hand enters my vision to the right where my cheek is pressed up against the door. As he brushes a tendril of escaped hair behind my ear, I see the blood splatter on his cuff.
Dante.
Should this make me more or less frightened? I can’t quickly decide.
His fingertip snags the chain on my necklace, then runs down the length at the side of my throat.
My body is going haywire, a heady mixture of fear, danger, and lust. “What are you doing, Dante?”
His lips brush against the column of my throat. My breath catches. I feel like I’m falling.
“I made you a promise,” he says, voice low, lips feather-light against my skin, making me shiver in anticipation of where they will touch next. “That your firsts would be mine.”
The feel of him pressed against me, the gentle assault of his lips, and his scent are bitter reminders of what might have been. “You’re going to have to miss out on one.”
His weight disappears. I sag briefly before I’m spun around and pressed back against the door. His fingers wrap around my throat, his chest heaving, his dark eyes searching mine.
I blink back the gathering tears. Why did I say that? Why did I poke at the wound? I lower my eyes first, shame bringing heat to my cheeks.
CHAPTER 20
DANTE
I’m going to lose it: my sanity and my fucking head, in more ways than one.
Then a single tear trickles down her cheek.
