Page 82 of The Forbidden
“I. Have. Never. Been. To. Your. Penthouse.” She repeats, slowly, mockingly. “Why is that? Because I’m your dirty little secret?” It’s not a question though it’s presented as one. She nods to herself. “Yeah. Good enough to fuck in the dark, where nobody knows about us, but not good enough to hang off your arm at an event, like Valentina does.”
Rage ignites inside me. Does she really think so little of herself? Sure, I’ve never given her a reason to think otherwise. But she knew the score from the beginning. Anais knows why we have to keep this quiet. Her brother being the main reason.
I work my jaw, inhaling, then exhaling. I try to remain calm, try to remind myself that she’s hurt, lashing out after seeing a picture she’s taken out of context.
“I did not take Valentina to the fundraiser.” I tell her. I don’t owe her an explanation so why I’m explaining myself, I’m not sure. Relief flashes across her expression, but I still see a hint of suspicion. “She was there with a date and ambushed me. Look closely at the photo. You’ll see disgust on my face not love.” My eyes roam over her and my jaw tightens. The image of that motherfucker with his hands all over her, in a dress that should be illegal, flashes in my mind. She acted out, put herself in danger because her brain told her lies. “Instead of acting likean adult and asking me, you decided to act like a fucking brat.” My eyes drop to the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Do you know what happens to brats, Anais?” I drawl nonchalantly.
“They get punished?” she breathes.
I smirk. “Smart girl.”
Instead of going to Anais’s apartment, we end up at my penthouse.
She was so worked up about having not seen my home, I thought I’d show her that she’s not missing much.
For the rest of the journey, she stayed quiet, the charged anticipation of what I was going to do to her, how I was going to punish her, hanging heavy between us.
Her heels click on my marble floor as she steps out of the elevator that opens straight into my penthouse. Whether it’s the liquor or the fact she’s with me, she didn’t panic in the elevator.
“Wow,” she breathes, eyes locked on the view through the floor to ceiling windows.
My eyes rake over her back, taking in all the flawless skin exposed by that fucking dress. My jaw tightens; I hate that other men have seen her like this. The flimsy material barely covers her body.
“Funny, I was just thinking the same,” I drawl, eyes on her body.
She turns to face me. A smirk pulls up one side of my mouth when she glares. “I meant the view outside those windows.”
Closing the distance between us, I grip her waist, enjoying the gasp that falls from her full lips when I pull her close. “AndI was talking about you. Fuck,” I growl. “What made you think this dress was acceptable to wear in public?”
Anais laughs, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I wanted to piss you off.” She admits quietly.
“Mission accomplished.” My nose drops to her neck, inhaling her scent. Only now it’s mixed with the smell of sweat and liquor. “You let another man touch what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours,” she murmurs. “You made that clear.”
“For now, you are,” I throw back. “And you still let that asshole touch you. Grind on you.” I lick a trail up her neck, nipping her pulse point, before smoothing the sting with my tongue.
“Do you hate me for letting him touch me?” she pants.
Sardonic amusement washes over me. “Oh sweetheart,” I murmur. “With how angry I still feel after seeing that fucker’s hands all over your body,my body. I just might hate you.” Not true. But she needs to understand the gravity of what she did tonight.
She pulls back to look at me. Her gaze wild as she swallows down her nerves. Her words a breathy whisper when she speaks. “Then fuck me like you hate me.”
A growl tears from my throat. I nip her bottom lip. “Oh Brat, so innocent. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
Her breath hitches. She steps out of my hold, gripping the hem of her dress and pulling it up her body and over her head, leaving her in just a small thong and heels. Her tits, so round, so fucking perfect, beg for my attention and they’ll get it. But first, I’m curious to see what she’ll do next.
“I do know,” she insists. “Take me to your bedroom and fuck me like you hate me, Evan. Please.”
I run a finger across her bottom lip, drawing it out then letting it go. “You don’t have to beg.”
“Please,” she repeats, desperation leaking from her.
Rationality shatters. Without thinking I dip down, throwing her over my shoulder and stalking down the hall to my bedroom. I throw her down on my bed, my gaze locked on her.
“Just remember, you asked for this. I won’t go easy on you,” I warn, my voice guttural.
“Don’t want you to,” she taunts.
