Page 41 of Bedding Rose
“But—”
He leans down and destroys my protest with another of his life-altering kisses. “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
When I say those words, his grip on me tightens and his eyelids flick up as his expression morphs into pure animal lust, driving me nearly mad enough to suggest we just forego the idea of later and use the table behind him.
“You’ll unlock the window?”
I nod, dazed, unable to believe what we just did, but eagerly anticipating what’s going to come later. Or who.
ANGELO
Rose’s taste still lingers on my lips an hour later. I’m thirsty, but I don’t really want to wash away her flavor with my beer.
Seated at a table where I’ve moved around all of the name tags in order to snag the chair next to hers, I watch her mingle underneath the golden glow of outdoor string lights across the courtyard. She’s the epitome of grace, all except for the wrinkles in her dress, which she’s trying to hide by folding her hands in front of her waist demurely as she stands and chats. I guess it was a good thing she wore black.
Everyone is charmed by her, not a person walks away without smiling. They think that she’s such a good girl.
I know better.
Yes, she’s sweet enough to give you a toothache, but the way she begged me as she leaned against the wall and ground herself against my tongue was anything but the picture of innocence. She even did it with all these dipshits just outside too, which is braver than I expected her to be.
I’d been worried that seeing Nick would push her into a negative head space. Of course, it had at first, but when I’d walked back into the room after dealing with him, the look in her eyes … I’ve never been looked at that way.
It makes me wish I could bash in that bastard’s throat all over again. Of course, her reaction could just be part of a coping mechanism to shunt her trauma aside—Rose is the kind of girl who puts on a happy face for others.
Did she do that with me?
It bothers me that I can’t quite tell. I don’t know if I should be worried or not. I don’t want those bastards to have power over her … but is she actually okay? It’s only been a few weeks. But she’d not only been willing, once we’d gotten started, she’d been an eager little kitten. And so wet.
I’ll have to watch her carefully, try and rein in my dick. I’ll have to let her show me she’s okay because the last thing in the world that I want to do is hurt my girl.
She looks alright just now though. Not hurting, she’s giggling, those breasts of hers swaying a bit and reminding me that I have yet to see them in all their glory. I grin as I watch her, wondering if her wet panties are making that pussy of hers cold in the brisk night air. I’ll have to warm it back up later.
Classical music plays over the speakers, just as stiff and boring as most of the people milling about the room. The most exciting thing about tonight is the ambulance paramedics hauling that fucker Nick off.
This is not my typical scene and if it weren’t for Rose, I definitely wouldn’t be here. Though Dad has as much money as most of these stuffy pricks, we’re more likely to let loose with a pig roast and some kegs down at Elephant Butte—though the sad little lake is really more of a sandbar these days. Dad still loves to go down there though and remember his glory days, back when he got started building vacation homes for fools like the ones swarming around me.
They think they’re better than us, but I know for a fact that Johnny Sargeant over there does coke. He buys from one of the guys who works for us. Another older couple picking at the cheese cube tray is rumored to have trafficked themselves a maid from Ecuador. I don’t know all of the fuckers in this room, but if I had to bet, every single one of them has hands just as dirty as mine.
A hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes. At first, I think it’s in greeting but the grip gets harder and tighter, digging into a pressure point. I tilt my head up to see the Garcias, Jorge and Belleza. Instantly, I push up against Mr. Garcia’s hold and force myself to my feet because there’s zero chance I’m going to let my father’s former partner and my family’s worst enemy, hold me down.
Jorge Garcia is a portly man with leathery skin and an overgrown mustache who deserves to be taken down more than a notch or two.
“Grip’s getting weaker, old man,” I say, eyes spitting fireballs at him as I slide out of his grip and dust his touch off my shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” he growls.
I want to tell him it’s none of his fucking business. I want to ask what he’s doing here. Is he here to spend the money he embezzled from the company he owned with my dad—a feat he framed my father for?
I only hold myself back for one reason: I’m here for Rose. And she wouldn’t like me starting shit.
“I don’t see how that concerns you,” I respond, in as calm a tone as I can manage.
“They’ll let any old riffraff in here,” his plastic wife tries to snub me but her injections don’t really let her face move all that much.
“Clearly,” I agree, gesturing at her.Back at you, bitch.
