Page 84 of Bittersweet Endings
I stopped speaking when Carmine took a step closer, holding the photo between two fingers like it was something precious. His gaze flicked over me and it made my skin prickle.
“You’re rambling,” he murmured. “Do I make you nervous, little doll?”
I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest in a poor attempt at nonchalance. “Of course not.”
“Liar.” Dark amusement flickered in his eyes as he took another step, closing the space between us.
Suddenly the air felt thinner, and it was hard to breathe. My body bumped into his chest as he pulled me close.
“I’ve seen, tasted, and explored every part of your naked body. Licked every scar. Discovered every secret.” He tilted mychin up to look him in the eye. “And this, me in your space, this makes you nervous?”
“I-I…” I cleared my throat. “I don’t have a scalpel.”
The smile he gave me was slow, predatory. Something dark and all-consuming, threatening to drown me. It stole the air from my lungs. My pulse hammered against my ribs. My heart threatening to give out.
With excruciating patience, Carmine lifted my arms, peeling away my clothes. One piece at a time—deliberate, methodical—until nothing remained. His eyes roamed over me, burning a path across my skin, possessing me. I felt bare down to my soul. And it had nothing to do with being naked. He was unraveling me thread by thread, ready to claim what he already considered his.
And I needed to be honest. No matter how much I fought it—us—I knew I belonged to him the moment he picked up my books from that dirty club floor.
Threading his calloused hands in my hair, Carmine tugged. “Tell me you want me.”
Instinct told me to fight him. To not make it easy on him. But I was already naked, and my body was practically howling. His knowing grin made me angry.
“Don’t you fuckin’ get cocky,” I hissed.
“Cursing is unbecoming of a lady, Octavia,” he snarled, placing a hand on my shoulder and forcing me to my knees. “Open that mouth and let’s put it to good use.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
CARMINE RAGETTI
Her naked form, kneeling in front of me… It was a sight that settled something dark and primal inside me. The air in the room evaporated as I watched her follow my commands.
I sank onto the sofa, stretching out and watching her as she waited for my touch. Her instinct was to fight me, but she wouldn’t. Because she would be fighting more than just me. She’d be fighting that part of herself that craved me just as much as she loathed me.
She needed it. My touch. My approval. My attention.
And that? That was the sweetest fucking thing of all.
“Tell me, little doll.” My voice was low, edged with a roughness only she could bring out of me. “Did you get what you wanted tonight?”
She swallowed, her jaw tightening.
I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I ran my fingers through her hair before grabbing on to it. “No, I don’tthink you did,” I murmured. “You’re still chasing something. Still fucking starving for it.”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.
I tugged harder. “Say it.”
She wet her lips, her eyes flickering between defiance and surrender. “I…” She faltered, and I smirked.
“You want me.” I didn’t pose it as a question. It was the truth. The kind neither of us could deny.
She exhaled sharply, her body betraying her even as her mouth pressed into a stubborn line.
I let go of her hair and leaned back against the couch, spreading my legs wide in invitation. “Come here.”
She didn’t move.
