Page 90 of Wicked Sinner
"I would try," I say finally. "I would do my best to respect your choices."
"But you can't promise it." It's not a question. And to my surprise, something in her eyes looks sad.
"No," I admit. "I can't promise it."
Bridget lets out a long breath, looking at the breakfast spread with an expression that suggests she’s lost her appetite, too. “I can’t be what you need me to be, Caesar.”
“I need you to be yourself. That’s all.”
“That’s not true. Because I’m never going to easily give in to being watched and managed and controlled, and I’m not a polished beauty queen.Me, day in and day out, not just the fantasy of me, isn’t what you want.”
“Then show me.” I reach for her hand, running my thumb over the back of it. “Show me your life, Bridget. Take me out and show me what you love. Don’t worry about whether we should touch each other or not, if our worlds are compatible or not… for a day, let’s just be you and me, and you show me who you are.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “If I do that, will you show me who you are? Tell me about yourself? All of it?”
Something pings in the back of my head at the way she asks, an instinctual feeling that there’s a reason for her question. But I push it away. “Yes,” I tell her honestly. “I will. If you’ll just be yourself with me for a day. If you’ll touch me when you want to and kiss me if you feel like it, and show me what you’d want to do if we spent a day together. I’ll be honest with you if you’ll be honest with me.”
Bridget looks at me, and I know she’s not sure if she believes me. But I just need a chance… one more chance. If this doesn’t work, I tell myself, then I’ll let it go. I’ll give up.
“Okay,” she relents, and I feel my chest lighten, as if all the tension there has let go for a brief moment. “We’ll spend the day together.”
“After you eat breakfast.”
She gives me a narrow look, but nods, reaching for her tea. “And I take a shower.”
“Wetake a shower.” I raise my eyebrows, and Bridget laughs.
All I can think, as she turns back to the tray, is that I want to keep hearing that sound.
I’m much further gone for this woman than I ever meant to be… or could ever be good for either of us.
23
BRIDGET
Caesar’s words are still rattling around in my head as I finish the breakfast he brought up for us and go to get in the shower. True to his word, I’m not left to ruminate over it for very long before he joins me, muscles rippling as he steps under the hot water and runs his hands over my body.
“I’m sore,” I warn him, and it’s true—I can feel the ache spreading through me from the relentless thrusts of his cock since yesterday. Even without the piercings, it would be hard to take a man like him as many times as I have, but the piercings add to it, especially when I’m not used to having sex this much.
Caesar relents, releasing me to focus on washing, but by the third time I bump up against him in the shower, I can see that he’s rock hard again. I look at him, feeling my body tighten with arousal despite myself, and his hands land on my hips, backing me up against the shower wall as he sinks down to his knees.
“I know a way to soothe that,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is between my thighs, tongue sliding over me without giving me a moment to protest before my pleasure is already climbing.
He’s too good at all of this, and he knows it. He’s far too aware of what he can do with his body, with his mouth, with his fingers. And it’s so hard to resist—especially when I just agreed not to, to have one day where we act like all of the problems that make our relationship untenable don’t exist.
So I let him push me over the edge, let his tongue send me into another mind-blowing orgasm as he strokes his cock, kneeling in front of me, only to stand up and finish on my stomach and breasts, coating me in his cum before guiding me under the water to wash me off.
If Caesar wasn’t a mafia boss, I think as he runs a washcloth over the taut plane of my stomach, if he weren’t a man with enemies who want to hurt me and his child, if he were a normal man with a normal job—I wouldn’t be able to walk away from this. I wouldn’t be able to say no.
But if that were true, he wouldn’t have kidnapped me. And who knows what would have happened? He wouldn’t have made me some ridiculous offer to be his mistress instead of his girlfriend. Thinkingwhat ifis impossible, because if Caesar were a different man, so many other things would be different that none of it makes sense.
I wrap a towel around myself as I get out of the shower, leaving my hair to air dry as I go in search of clothes in my own room. When I emerge fifteen minutes later in blue jeans, a favorite band T-shirt, and Vans, Caesar is just stepping out of his room as well. He looks me up and down, his mouth curling at one corner, and I glare at him.
“What? You wanted me, you said. A day that I’d enjoy. So I dressed like me. What’s the problem?”
Caesar chuckles, striding toward me with a heat in his eyes that instantly tells me I’ve read the situation wrong. “No problem,” he murmurs. “I like you like this. Just as much as I like you in silk and diamonds.”
My traitorous heart flutters despite myself, and I look up at him as he reaches me and puts a hand on my waist, leaning in to kiss me.
