Page 99 of Their Reckless Thief
The fire in his eyes was intense. “Did you hear what he said about you? About us?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “But I can handle it. You don’t need to tear him apart for mouthing off.”
His jaw tightened, his fingers digging into my wrist like he couldn’t quite let go, couldn’t loosen the intensity he was holding onto. “I can’t just sit back and let him treat you like that. Not when—” He stopped short, his gaze burning into me with an intensity that stole the breath from my lungs.
The anger in his eyes softened, replaced with something darker, more primal. The pull between us built like a magnet, impossible to resist. With a low growl, he backed me up against the wall, pinning my arms above my head. He pressed himself against me, every inch of him hard and unyielding.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin, “how close I am to ending him for looking at you like that.”
I swallowed hard, my anger melting into a raw need I couldn’t contain. “Don’t ruin this deal for it. Channel that energy somewhere else.”
Cursing under his breath, he pulled me down the hall.
Finally, we reached the women’s bathroom, a luxuriously appointed space with marble counters and mirrors lined with soft golden lights. Vincenzo slammed the door and locked it with a swift turn of his hand, and I suddenly realized just how alone we were.
I glared at him. “What the fuck was that? You can’t just blow up important business deals because the big bad boss guy flirts with your girl and gets your panties all in a wad! I can handle?—”
Vincenzo’s eyes flashed dangerously. He moved so fast I barely had time to register it. One moment I was standing there, furious; the next I was pinned between Vincenzo and the marble counter.
“You think you can handle yourself?” he growled, gripping my hips roughly. “You think you don’t need me to protect you?”
The fire in his eyes was undeniable now. He was furious, but there was something else there, something far more dangerous. Possession. Obsession.
“I don’t need anyone to?—”
“You’remine,” he hissed, his mouth suddenly at my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “No one else touches you. No one else gets to look at you like that. Understand?”
My breath caught in my throat. His words sank deep into my core, making it hard to think straight.
“Vincenzo...” I started, but my voice faltered as he pulled the zipper of my dress down slowly. His touch was rough, deliberate, and the heat between us was unbearable.
His lips ghosted over my throat, and every nerve in my body came alive.
“You can try to fight this,” he whispered darkly, his lips grazing my ear, “but you know you belong to me.”
Before I could respond, his mouth crashed against my neck, hungry, claiming, and I felt every ounce of his obsession. His hands moved with a possessiveness that made my head spin. It was rough, frantic, and overwhelming, and I fucking hated how much I wanted him.
He lifted me onto the counter and parted my legs.
“I hate you,” I whispered, even as I pulled him closer.
“Good,” he growled against my lips. “But you’re not leaving me. Ever.”
And then, there was no more talking—only the heat, the anger, and the undeniable pull that kept us both locked in this dangerous, dark dance.
I hated him. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. It was the only way I could justify my body’s betrayal whenever Vincenzo was near and the quickening of my pulse when his voice dropped into that dark, commanding tone. Except, hate wasn’t what made my breath hitch when he pushed my dress up over my hips. Hate wasn’t what made me lean into his touch, what made me tremble under the weight of his gaze.
I hated him because he made me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel—things I didn’t want to feel. And yet, as his hard length pressed against me, his groan rumbling through both of us like thunder, I realized I hated myself even more for how desperately I wanted him.
His hands slid under my dress, warm and rough, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he finally shoved my panties down, baring me to him completely, I bit my lip to keep from moaning. The cold air of the bathroom was nothing compared to the heat between us, to the burn of his eyes as they roamed over every inch of exposed skin.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, his voice low and reverent, like he was speaking a truth he hadn’t meant to say aloud.
I should’ve said something sharp in return, something to deflect the intensity of his words. I couldn’t because his hands traced every curve and hollow of my body, stealing the very breath from my lungs. We were a mess of groans and touching and limbs with no proclivity toward modesty. His thumbs brushed over my nipples through the lace of my bra, teasing until they peaked under his touch. My head fell back against the cool marble wall as heat pooled low in my belly, a slow, aching pulse that matched the steady press of his fingers against my skin.
“Vincenzo...” I wanted to push him away, to remind him—and myself—that this was just physical. But his name left my lips like a plea, and the smirk that tugged at his mouth told me he knew exactly how much I was fighting myself.
“Say it again,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against my neck. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “Say my name,dolcezza.”
