Page 46 of Keeping My Bride

“He would never tell you the truth,” I say with a shake of my head. I take several steps forward until I’m standing directly before her. “You really think he’d admit something like that to his own daughter?”

“He didn’t do it. Someone wanted it to look like he ordered the hit,” she says vehemently, and I can hear the conviction in her voice. She believes him so wholeheartedly. She has no idea how wrong she is.

“He had my mother murdered to throw my father off of his game. They were fighting over territories. Your father ended up winning in the end. My father was crippled after my mother died. And that’s exactly what your father wanted. That was his goal, and he achieved it triumphantly.”

Tears fill her eyes as she stares up at me. “You’re too blinded by your hatred to believe anything other than what you want to believe. There’s no evidence that my father had any involvement. You can’t prove anything.”

“I’ll prove it someday,” I promise her. “And when you realize what a dirty bastard your father truly is, you’ll —.”

My words end abruptly when Verona suddenly slaps me in the face.

“You’re the bastard!” she screams at me.

She raises her hand to hit me again, but I snatch her wrist. And then I capture the other wrist when she tries it again. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” I sneer. Pushing her roughly, I toss her backwards onto the bed.

She sprawls onto the mattress, and her towel opens slightly, revealing a silky thigh and part of her shaved pussy. My mouth instantly waters at the sight.

“Don’t,” Verona warns, but I can hear the uncertainty in her tone.

“Don’t what?” I ask, climbing onto the bed and hovering over her. “Don’t make you come with my mouth on your pussy again?”

“Stop,” she whispers, her breath coming out in short, quick pants.

I trail my tongue from her ear, down her neck and down to between her breasts. She shudders under me, and my cock pushes painfully against my zipper.

“Please,” she begs, and I stop to look at her.

“Please stop…or please continue?” I ask her, my voice deep and full of animalistic hunger.

Her honey-colored eyes are glittering in the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains, and she has an unreadable expression on her face. Hell, I don’t think even she knows what she wants at this point.

And so, when she doesn’t verbally answer me, I reluctantly pull away from her. I’ve never forced a woman to do anything she doesn’t want to do, and I’m not about to start with her.

“Goodnight, Verona,” I tell her before I leave her room, slamming the door behind me.

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