Page 307 of Rosetti Family New York
"Tell me what you're thinking," I demand, feeling pleasure build and make my back arch against the pillows.
"That I want to replace your fingers with my tongue," he growls, his voice rough with need. "That I want to taste you while you come apart beneath my mouth."
"What else?" I increase the pressure, chasing the edge while his words ignite more fire inside me.
"That watching you take control is the most erotic thing I've ever witnessed." The admission is raw and honest. "That I'd endure this torture just to see you claim your power."
His words push me toward climax, but I make myself slow down, prolonging his exquisite suffering. "Torture? Just from watching?"
"From wanting what I can see but can't have." His knuckles are white as he grips the chair. "From knowing how you look when you surrender, but being unable to make that happen myself."
"Poor predator," I murmur, adding a third finger while my thumb moves in slow circles. "Now you know what it's like to hunt something you can't catch."
That breaks him. A sound escapes his throat, a mix of growl and plea, that sends me spiraling toward release.
"Tell me what you want," he says, his voice rough with barely contained need.
"I want you to tell me what to do," I admit, the words torn from a place I didn't know existed. "But I need to know I can say no."
"Always," he breathes. "You can always say no. But when you say yes..."
"When I say yes, you take control."
"Come for me," he commands, even though he has no power. "Let me see what I've been missing. Show me what it looks like when you choose to surrender instead of being forced into it."
His plea, filled with desperate authority, breaks the last bits of my control. I come with his name on my lips, my back arching as waves of pleasure crash over me, leaving me trembling against the pillows.
But unlike the footage we'd watched, this time I keep my eyes locked with his throughout the entire climax. I let him see not just my physical response, but the choice to share this moment with him, to allow him access to the vulnerability I've protected.
When I become aware again, I find him watching me with a look I've never seen before, hunger mixed with something that seems dangerously like reverence.
"Now you know," I say softly, picking up the silk pajamas with hands that shake slightly from aftershocks.
"Know what?" His voice is hoarse, strained.
"The difference between taking and being given." I dress slowly, noticing his eyes following my every move. "Between surveillance and trust. Between watching someone and being chosen by them."
I pause at the door, turning back to look at his face. "When you decide you want the real thing instead of just the show, let me know."
The predator sits still in his chair, surrounded by technology that's given him access to everything except what he wants most. Permission to stop watching and start participating.
But that's a choice he'll have to earn. And for the first time since arriving at his penthouse, I'm the one holding all the cards.
13
Mara
Bergdorf Goodman after hours. It's empty. Golden light highlights the lush displays. Through the private entrance, my breath catches at the luxury around us, but this time, there's more than just surprise. Something has changed between us over the past few days, and I'm starting to grasp what it means when Emilio Rosetti decides to court someone.
"Excessive?" I feel my pulse quicken in my throat, very aware of how his attention follows the movement. My body still tingles from his gaze devouring me yesterday while I touched myself for his viewing.
"Perhaps." He places his hand at the small of my back, the touch burning after hours of wondering when he'd touch me again. "Everything I do for you is intentional, Mara."
The certainty in his voice warms me despite the cool March air. The dynamic between us is evolving, and I'm curious about where it's headed.
"Mr. Rosetti." A man approaches with the confidence of someone used to dealing with Manhattan's elite. "I'm MarcusLaurent, your personal stylist. Everything's prepared to your specifications."
I notice how Marcus's eyes linger on my face with appreciation that feels too intimate, too assessing. Something flickers across Emilio's face—irritation at another man's attention.
