Page 10 of Bloody Vows
She smirks, and the curve of her full lips makes me hard in an instant, uncomfortably so. “I don’t think you would.”
“We’ll never know if you choose a bullet over a bridal bouquet.”
“Do you enjoy this, Mr. O’Malley? Trading verbal blows with me?” She cocks her head. “I don’t enjoy it. I want to be left alone.But it’s clear that the only way I’m going to get that is if I accept an early grave.”
I watch her carefully as she speaks. She’s afraid. She’s doing a very good job of hiding it, but I can hear a slight quiver in her voice, see the faintest tremble in her lips. She’s afraid of death, and she wants me to believe she might choose it over marriage to me, but I don’t think she will.
"You won't say no," I tell her confidently. “You’ll marry me in two weeks, Simone Russo.”
"You sound very sure of that." Her gaze meets mine, unflinching, and I feel my cock throb. God, I can’t wait to have this woman under me, to turn her sharp tongue to soft moans.
"I am sure of that.” I take a step toward her, waiting to see if she’ll flinch back. She doesn’t. “Do you know why, Simone? Because you're smart enough to know that marrying me is your best option, and you're strong enough to make the hard choice, even when you don't like it."
"My best option," she repeats. "How romantic."
"I'm not trying to be romantic, Simone. I'm trying to be honest." I smile at her. “And your best option, whether you like it or not, is to marry me and make me the happiest man in the world.”
She snorts. "Honest? Fine. Let's be honest. You don't want to marry me because you care about me or because you think we'd be happy together. You want to marry me because I come with a dowry that includes half of Miami's underworld."
“It does sweeten the deal,” I admit. “I won’t lie and say that isn’t part of it.”
"And the other part?" she demands, not giving an inch.
I study her face, taking in the sharp intelligence in her dark eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she holds herself like she's ready for a fight. She's beautiful, yes, but it's more thanthat. There's something about her that calls to something primal in me, something that makes me want to possess her completely.
No man has ever possessed Simone Russo, and I’ve determined that no other man ever will. That all of her, every sharp word, every glare, every stomp of her foot, will belong to me. That everything else, too—every inch of her body, every moan, every gasping breath, will belong to me, too.
"The other part is that I want you," I say simply. "Not just your inheritance, not just your connections. You. In my bed, at my side, wearing my ring and my last name. Carrying my heir, eventually.” I let my gaze sweep over her, possessive, arrogant. “I want you on your back and on your knees for me, Simone, when I say and when I please. I want to find out the sounds you make when you come. And I intend to have all of that, very soon.”
Just saying it all aloud has me painfully hard, straining against my fly. When I get back to my hotel, the first thing I plan to do is make a stiff drink and stroke my cock to the thought of her. But I want her to be thinking about that, too. I want her to be thinking about everything I’m going to do to her, until our wedding day.
Color floods her cheeks, but she doesn't look away. I’m impressed by her resolve. "Want and get are two different things,” she says coldly, and I smirk.
"Not for me. I'm very good at getting what I want."
"Is that a threat?" Her chin tips up defiantly.
"It's a promise."
The air between us seems to crackle with tension, thick with unspoken possibilities. I can see her pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat, can see the way her breathing has quickened. She's affected by me, whether she wants to admit it or not.
“Get out,” she says softly, her voice hard as steel and sharp as the crack of a whip. “I have twenty-four hours. For thosehours, this house is mine. Not Konstantin’s, not your father’s, not yours.Mine. And I am telling you to get out, Mr. O’Malley.”
I don’t flinch. I smile at her, slow and knowing, and I see the recognition of that smile shiver over her skin.
“I’ll see you in twenty-four hours, Miss Russo.” I give her a polite incline of my head and back out of the library, leaving her there fuming.
—
Back at the hotel,I know I should focus on business. I took a separate car from my father, so I at least wasn’t forced to listen to more of his opinions on my marriage, but I know there’s plenty I could be doing to further the business interests of this takeover.
But, as I thought earlier when I stood across from Simone in that library, nothing is getting done until I’ve given myself some relief from the effect she has on me.
I stride into my hotel room, undoing my suit jacket as I pour myself a glass of whiskey, straight, from the minibar. I toss it back in one burning gulp, shrugging off my jacket as I pour a second, and reach down for the buckle of my belt.
Fuck. I’m still half-hard, and all it takes is a single thought of her to bring my cock back to full attention, rock-hard and throbbing. I sink onto the edge of the bed, kicking off my shoes and leaning back against the soft mounds of pillows as I reach down and free my aching length, wrapping my hand around it with a hiss as flesh meets flesh.
I take another sip of the whiskey, relishing it as I start to stroke my cock, the image of Simone firmly planted in my mind’s eye—her spitfire eyes, her defiant tilt of her chin, her elegant bearing. I can’t wait to bring her to her knees, to have herbegging for me, pleading for the pleasure that only I can give her. I groan at the image of her, hair messy and lips swollen, kneeling at my feet, and pre-cum pearls at the tip of my cock as I stroke all the way down to the base and squeeze.
