Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
"Me neither. How convenient."
"We agree then.” Any other woman would be flushing as red as a beet right now. Quinn looks like if she were wearing a scarf, she’d fling it over her shoulder and put on a pair of shades.
"Do we?"
Her eyes spark at me. "Adriano," she says in a purr of a whisper. "You want me to submit to you because you want to enjoy our time together. Your kinky needs are met, and my kinky needs are met." She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. "Some people use drugs. Some people use alcohol." She shakes her head. "Neither of those are my drug of choice."
I already know the answer, but boy do I want to hear her say it. “What is your drug of choice… Quinn?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“SPEED DATING MR. HIGH AND MIGHTY”
Quinn
“Pain. It’s pain.”
Well, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest… I mean, if we aren’t going to the club, I need my fix, and I’d bet good money he will be excellent at dominating. He’s got the stern part down, that’s for sure.
We walk to a balcony with a table set for two. The vast expanse of the sky above is better than a roof, any day. "I am starving, buddy."
Adriano gives me a look. "I am many things, Quinn. I am not your buddy."
I stifle the urge to roll my eyes at him. Here we go again, Mr. High and Mighty.
He doesn't sit down at the table but pulls out one of the chairs and places it in the center of the balcony. I wonder what the hell he's doing, and I further wonder why my heart is beating faster. Usually when men with a sadistic streak pull out a chair, they have seriously devious plans up their sleeves.
Ask me how I know, sometime.
I can usually talk my way out of tricky situations. "Well, it feels a little odd calling you husband. So, I'll settle on Adriano. Does that sound good? Also, why sit there when all the food’s over here?”
"Come here."
I'm starting to think it was probably not such a good idea to tell this guy that I like pain, because that look in his eyes tells me he likes it too, but maybe when he's on the delivering side.
On the one hand he says we don't have to have sex. But…I like sex. I like it a lot, especially when it’s paired with my other drug of choice. On the other…
“Quinn.”
Right, so he just told me to come over to him and I'm still over here, which means that I'm technically disobeying him.
Huh. I'm a little curious what… disobedience will mean.
But when he begins to narrow his eyes and roll up his sleeves, I think better of it.
I stand and walk across to him on wobbly knees with my belly doing flip flops. By the time I reach him my mouth is dry and my heart beats faster.
My new husband is Italian-fold-out-model hot. When his gaze roves over my body I can tell he likes what he sees.
Would it be uncouth of me to ask him to take his shirt off? He can keep the money, but if he has the abs I think he’s hiding under those clothes…
What do those vows get me, anyway?
He’s loosened his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his dress shirt. There's a little “V” of olive-colored skin in sharp contrast with the white fabric of his T-shirt. His shoulders are broad enough that he would dwarf my small frame.
I wonder what it would be like to be under his weight. I wonder what it would be like to be pinned beneath him.
I wonder what his chosen method of inflicting pain will be…
Something tells me he knows how to make it better, with those large fingers of his, those warm, strong, capable hands that are going about my waist just about now.
My hands come to rest on his shoulders. We stare at each other.
He would make it all better with those lips, too, I'm sure of it. His mouth is all curves and sensual seduction. The masculine cut of his chin makes him look stern, but his eyes dance in a way that's almost boyish, like a cat who’s just cornered a mouse and is planning on having a little fun.
Cats eat mice, Quinn.
I swallow.
A shock of dark, longish hair hits his forehead. A scruffy beard lines his jaw, and though he's neatly groomed, he looks a bit roguish, like… like a criminal should, I suppose.
Because make no mistake, Adriano Bruno is absolutely a criminal.
He doesn't care about modern conveniences, he doesn't care what people think. He doesn’t care about niggling things like the law, and I am fully confident the way he’s earned his money is well outside the status quo. He might be an asshole, but God do I admire the level of do not give a fuck that makes the men of the Montavio Brotherhood fearless.