Page 5 of He Should Be Mine
Molly lifts one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Why?”
No fear. No regret. No remorse.
“Because you left without permission,” I all but spit out through my clenched jaw.
He rolls his eyes and takes another sip of my drink. “I was going to come back.”
“That’s not the point.”
Molly stares at me for a moment. Then he shrugs. Actually shrugs.
My fists clench by my side. “You belong to Riccardo. You cannot shake your ass for anyone else. Let alone an entire fucking club full of strangers.” I shouldn’t have to explain this to him. His self-preservation skills have to be better than this.
A flicker of disgust crosses his beautiful blue eyes. There and quickly gone. Replaced by a feral, dangerous gleam.
“So what you gonna do, Daddy? Spank me for being a naughty boy?”
An image flashes in my mind. Flaring to life far quicker than I can stop it. A picture of Molly over my knee. My hand slamming down on the‘Psychoanalyze Me’. His ass bouncing under my palm. Molly squirming against my thighs.
I suck in a deep breath. “It’s not a punishment if you enjoy it.”
Molly laughs. A pure, joyous sound. It bubbles out of him and fills the air between us.
“You know me so well,” he smirks in sheer and utter delight.
My blunt fingernails dig even deeper into the curled palms of my hands. The slight discomfort is no help at all.
I glare at Molly and wait for him to realize how serious this is. I also glare because I don’t trust myself to find words right now. Not the right ones, anyway.
“So what are you going to do, Mafia-boy?” Molly teases. “Kneecap me? Break my fingers?”
He steps forward, right up close to me. His finger jabs out. It runs slowly down my chest. The red sparkle of his nail polish is stark against the white of my shirt. His touch is like fire. It burns through the expensive material, straight through to my skin, where I swear it is leaving scorch marks.
“I don’t think Rick will like it if I’m damaged,” he says sweetly.
My eyes narrow. I fucking hate that English nickname Riccardo tells everyone to use. It is cheap and tacky and a blatant disregard of his roots and heritage.
“Riccardowon’t like you thinking that you may do as you please.”
Molly frowns a little. His finger has stopped on the waistband of my trousers. It’s resting there. I have a ridiculous urge to suck in my stomach, so his finger slides a little lower.
“Rick doesn’t have to know anything happened.” Molly’s voice is husky.
It’s dropped an octave. It’s his come-to-bed voice and I hate it. It’s false and pretend. Like something from a cheap porno. It’s probably what all the men who have used him like to hear, and that stirs my rage.
“What about the cameras, Molly? What if he decides to check in?”
Molly snatches his finger back and the absence burns worse than his touch. He glances up at the camera on the ceiling and scowls. He managed to disable it one time, but Riccardo lost his shit and Molly actually learned his lesson for once.
He won’t be trying that again. I’m almost sad that Molly’s tech skills don’t seem to include knowing how to run a continuous blank loop. I for sure don’t have a single clue. Using a smartphone is the height of my technical abilities.
Molly pulls his gaze away from the camera to give me a defiant glare. There is a challenge in the tilt of his chin. As if he is daring me to punish him. It’s a very different look from the one he was giving me a few moments ago, when he was laughing and saying, ‘You know me so well.’ I liked that look more.
But he has brought this on himself. He shouldn’t have run away to play stripper. He should have run away properly, and stayed gone.
Because he is right. I do know him well. Six months of being trapped in this apartment with him. Six months of listening to Riccardo fuck him. Six months of living together like a married couple.
I know Molly better than I have ever known anybody.
