Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Oh, piccola. This is going to hurt.”
“Fuck you, Giovanni.”
Without warning, he grabbed my hips and tossed me over his shoulder.
“Gio!”
No one did anything to stop him or to help me. If anything, they looked away, and I wanted to scream in rage. Fuck him, fuck them, fuck all of this.
He walked back upstairs and into his office—his empty office—slamming the door behind him. My ears rang in the sudden quiet as he lowered me to the floor. My body slid against every inch of his, but when my feet hit solid surface, I got no reprieve. He pressed me up against the glass, caging me in. Every inch of him was strung tight, bristling with tension.
“Get away from me.” I shoved at him, and he gripped my wrists, pulling them above my head.
“Now is not the time to fucking push me, Emilia.”
“Oh, sorry, I forgot, I’m supposed to just lay down and take whatever you dish out.” I glared at him. “Did Laylah lie down and take it like a good girl?”
He cocked a brow before a slow smirk cut over his lips. “Tsk, tsk. Are you jealous, princess? No, you’d have to care to feel jealous.”
“I don’t care.”
His fingers wound around my throat. “So, you didn’t let that piece of shit touch you because you thought I was fucking her?”
Had I done that? No, not really. Maybe…
His eyes flickered with something dangerous that had my pulse ticking up. “Is that why you took off your ring?” he said through gritted teeth.
“I can dance with whoever I want.”
“Oh, princess…” He let out a humorless laugh, running his tongue over his teeth. “Wrong.”
His grip shifted to my jaw before his lips slammed over mine, hard and vicious and claiming. That kiss said that every part of me was very much his, and he would have his pound of flesh if he had to strip it from my bones. He tasted like danger and safety, and I wanted to run from him every bit as much as I wanted him to never let me go. He tore away from me, and I dragged several burning breaths into my lungs before he fisted my hair and forced me over his desk. “Grip the edge of the desk, Emilia.”
“No.” I defied him on principle, though really, I just wanted to incite him. I needed him to hurt me, to control me, to ground me. But I couldn’t ask for it, couldn’t submit to it. It had to be like this—angry and violent and dominating.
He wrenched my head to the side, grinding my cheekbone into the wood. “Grip the desk. Now.”
My pulse skyrocketed, anticipation making my head spin. I stretched out my arms, fingers wrapping around the edge of the wood.
“Good girl.”
I preened under the praise, and I hated myself for it. It was a constant battle, caught between wanting to defy him and please him. He dragged my skirt up my thighs, and cool air met my skin right before the crack of his palm. I cried out in surprise, then heard the clink of his belt. Was he going to fuck me? Did I want that? No, he’d just fucked someone else, for God’s sake.
Everything came to an abrupt halt when a crack filled the air, followed by intense pain across the back of my thighs. I screamed and let go of the desk as it felt like fire ripped over my skin. He pinned me back down by my neck.
“Let me go!”
“Five strikes, princess. I’m going to give you five strikes, and you’re going to count them.” The pain was throbbing over my thighs, but I lowered my chest to the desk once more and resumed my grip. Maybe it was the challenge, or maybe I had just become messed up because I secretly liked the pain, craved it. And only he could deliver.
“One,” I breathed.
The next two blows hit my ass, and tears stung my eyes as it felt like a hundred tiny razor blades dragged over my skin.
By the last strike, I could hardly breathe, my body wired on endorphins and adrenaline. My skin burned, tears streaked my face, and yet I felt more at peace than I had in days. Weeks even.
Gripping my hair, Gio yanked me up onto my hands, angling my head so he could kiss me. His lips were a punishment all of their own. Demanding, controlling. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a claim, as if someone had intruded on his territory and he needed to mark it. His hips pressed hard against my abused ass, trapping me against the edge of the desk.
In the violence of it all, I’d forgotten everything that wasn’t him. I barely noticed the smooth glide of leather around my neck until it snapped tight, cutting off most of my air.