Page 86 of Dangerous King
He cocks his head and studies me. "What are you saying, tesoro?"
He's going to make me say it. I swallow and rub my damp palms together under the table. Fear and thrill war inside me, but I think it's the thrill that's winning, because I hear myself say in a steady—not quite as seductive as I would want it—voice, "I want to stay with you, tonight."
His eyes flash with heat and somethingelse. Possession. Hunger.
I bite my lip, my heart slams against my chest, like it wants to be let out. "I know what I'm saying," I add, softer. "And I… I know I'm not like the women you've had before. But I want this. I wantyou."
There's a beat of silence. Then two.
And I realize, even if he turns me away now, I won't take it back.
Because for the first time in my life… I'm choosing something forme.
His eyes go sharp; all the warmth burns into something hotter. He leans forward slowly, takes my hand, and in a low, dangerous voice, demands, "Piccolina," he breathes, "say that again."
I blink. "What?"
His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, and it's suddenly hard to breathe.
"Say it again. Say you want to stay with me tonight." His eyes flick over my face, down to my lips. "Because if I let myself believe you mean that—there's no going back.I won't pretend I'm not starving for you."
He shifts closer. His voice drops to a near-growl.
"You come with me, and you become mine. Not for a night. Not for a memory.Mine.Is that what you want?"
His question sends a ripple through me—a flood of nerves and heat that pools low and deep. "I think so," I whisper, my voice barely holding steady. My eyes drop to where his hand covers mine, his thumb dragging over the inside of my wrist, slow and reverent, like he's memorizing the beat of my pulse. Like he owns it now.
He doesn't speak right away. But he's watching me, hungry, like a predator who has cornered his all-too-willing prey but is still deciding on where to start feasting first.
The silence between us thickens, wraps around my ribs until I can barely breathe. Then, with that same quiet intensity thatunravels me thread by thread, he murmurs, "This place has rooms upstairs."
My breath catches hard in my throat. His eyes are pitch-black now, dark enough that I can't tell where the iris ends and the pupil begins. He lifts his other hand to my chin, tipping it up with infuriating gentleness until I'm forced to meet his gaze.
"I need the truth, Piccolina," he says, low and brutal. "Are you saying this because you want me? Or because you think you owe me for being kind?"
"I know what I'm saying," I breathe. "And I know what I want."
He leans in, and his mouth brushes my temple. His breath against my skin is a shiver. "If we go up there," he murmurs, "I won't stop with a kiss. I won't stop until you're writhing under me, shaking, screaming my name. You ready for that?"
A pause. My heart stutters. My body reacts with hot waves spreading through me, intensifying the pulse between my legs. I nod. "Yes."
He stares at me for a beat longer, then pulls back just enough to smirk—slow, male, utterly sure.
"Good." His expression changes. Something raw and unfiltered flashes through those dark eyes, followed by a flood of emotions, desire, restraint, reverence, all of it mixed together in one delicious cocktail that makes me tipsy and dizzy. He stands, tossing a stack of hundreds onto the table without even glancing at the bill.
He takes my hand and helps me up, keeping his fingers laced with mine, and leads me through a hidden hallway, directed by the hostess—thankfully, a different one—who gestures witha knowing smile. I don't spare her a glance. My world has narrowed to one man and the thrum of anticipation that has taken over my entire body.
We step into a private elevator. The doors slide shut. It's just us. The air between us fills with electricity. This time, when he looks at me, he's not holding anything back.
"Tell me again, Cat," he rasps, his hand cupping my jaw. "Tell me you want this."
I reach for him, pressing closer. "I want you."
That's all he needs.
His mouth crashes against mine without any hesitation or restraint. No gentle teasing. His kiss is fire and possession and everything I've been aching for. His hands are everywhere, cradling my face, splayed on my back, pulling me tight against him. I gasp into his mouth, and he groans like the sound drives him insane. The elevator dings softly, but neither of us moves.
Until he finally pulls back, forehead resting against mine. His breath is ragged. "This night belongs to you."
