Page 56 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
I remember the way her thighs trembled when I took her apart with my fingers, the way she whispered my name like a secret she didn't want the world to know.
And then her voice, last night, small and steady as she asked me the one thing she shouldn't have.
What would you choose, if it were me or the Salvatores?
The version of the answer that I gave her was a half-truth, because I refused to wonder what could happen if that time came.
But now, as I slide my hand over my cock and tighten my grip, it's all I can think about.
The idea of her belonging to someone else—some rich bastard with a title and a bloodline and the blessing of her father—it makes a ravaging hatred bloom in my chest.
The thought of another man touching her, claiming her, seeing that softness I've only begun to peel back…it sets something off in me that feels almost brutal.
I stroke harder now, letting the image of her come alive again behind my eyes.
Aria with her legs spread and her hands gripping the sheets, crying out for me like she was made to.
Aria with that fire in her eyes and that tremble in her voice, begging me not to stop.
My breath becomes rough.
I dig my heels into the bed, muscles taut with tension.
Every movement is for her, every pump of my hand driven by a possessiveness I've spent my whole damn life pretending I don't feel.
Mine.That's what she is.
She may not know it yet, but the moment I first kissed her, the moment she let me in, that was the end of it.
And I'll be damned if some weak-spined heir or smug diplomat thinks he's going to get his hands on her.
The release hits me hard, hot and fast, dragging a growl from my throat as I spill over my hand and the sheets.
My body shakes with the force of it, the tension breaking like a snapped wire.
But even after, even as I lay back and try to slow my breathing, the fury lingers, because this was never just sex. Not for me, and certainly not with her.
I rise from the bed, wiping my hand clean with a cloth from the nightstand.
The sheets will have to be changed, but I don't give a damn.
The housekeeper has seen worse.
I head for the bathroom, turning the faucet to cold and letting the water hit my face, hoping it'll drown the fire that's still simmering beneath my skin.
By the time I'm dressed, the sharp edge of lust has dulled, but the thoughts remain.
Aria and her questions.
Aria and her silence.
Aria and the fucking power she has over me, and she doesn't even know it.
Luca will be expecting me soon, and I need my head clear.
I reach for my watch, buckle it tight around my wrist, and glance once more at the bed, still rumpled and marked with the memory of what I did there, before I leave the room and head downstairs.
The kitchen staff parts like fog around me.
