Page 71 of Possession

This time when she swallows, I feel every microscopic movement through her shallow breaths. “Why are you the way you are?”

I shake my head. “You can’t know that. Not right now.”

There. More truths.

“But I don’t understand any of this.” She throws her arms out to the side. “I at least need to understand you.”

“I’m the last thing you’ll understand, baby.”

She brings her hand up to mine on her neck and squeezes. “You’ve protected me from everyone and everything.”

I tip her face to mine with my hold. “And I’ll continue to do that.”

“Everyone but you.”

My eyes narrow.

“We’re married.” She breathes lies she doesn’t even know she’s telling. “You’ve made it clear I’m not going anywhere. That I’m a possession to the Marino family.”

My grip on her neck tightens at the thought of her belonging to anyone but me. “You’ll never be that kind of possession, chica. Not the kind you were intended to be. I promise you that.”

She grips my shirt with her other hand and pulls me in closer. Her tone is so low, I’m not sure the audio will pick it up, but I sure do. I feel her words on my lips when she asks, “What was I intended to be?”

I shake my head and say nothing.

“Please,” she begs. “I deserve to understand—”

My lips land on hers, to shut her up, and because it’s impossible to be this close and not claim her.

Her grip on me tightens as she opens her mouth. I take full advantage and press her into the wall, my hand falls from her neck to her tit and down to cup her ass.

When I squeeze the tender flesh there, she hikes a leg up my side, making it easier than it should be to reach under and cup her pussy through the thin material.

Fuck.

I want to touch her again.

All it takes is one swift move, and her legs are wrapped around my waist. My cock is wedged between her legs where it’s begging to be buried deep.

Her hands come to my face and I rip at her dress, needing to touch her. Wanting nothing between us.

Skin to skin.

She moans into my mouth when I finally fist bare skin encased in lace.

Wetlace.

Just like the other night, I slip my finger beneath the thin fabric.

She moans, and not quietly at all. I know everyone in the control room heard that, dammit. The thought of those men watching her, knowing what she looks like and sounds like when she comes…

I’ll go rabid.

“Fuck,” I mutter against her lips. “What am I going to do with you?”

She runs one hand around my neck and holds me as tightly as I am her. “Don’t stop.”

That’s the last thing I want to do.

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