Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
I tug the sheet down, gently.
She’s naked. Grazie Dio. I love this woman. She was fucking made for me.
I shuck my clothes and climb in beside her. My dick is hard but I’m not going to wake her. It’s enough to know she’s here. She chose to be here this time.
That’s all that matters.
I fit my body around the back of hers and drape an arm over her waist, resisting the urge to cup her breast. If I go there, all bets are off. I’m going to be pinning her to her belly and thrusting until the sun rises.
She mumbles something that ends with my name.
I fucking love hearing her say it in her sleep.
“What’s that, bella?”
“I’m sleeping with the boss,” she mutters on a laugh. “Big mistake, isn’t it?”
My chest tightens. “Is it, doll?” I nibble her ear. “I thought you liked veering off the main road.”
Her eyelids flutter and lips tug into a smile. “Mmm.” She falls back asleep, but I’m glorying in the smile.
Because I know I said the right thing. I might be the wrong guy—a Tacone. Trouble. But she didn’t want ordinary. She prefers exciting.
I can be all that, and more for her. All that and more.
Chapter Ten
Stefano
I stand out on the floor, scanning it for Corey. She’s not late, but I’m impatient. I texted her and told her she wouldn’t be out on the floor tonight and to wear a dress. She didn’t respond. I probably should’ve given her a little more. She’s thinking I’m going to make her deal another private game, I’m sure. But my big plans for her tonight don’t involve her dealing or staying at the Bellissimo.
And then I see her. Madonna, every time the woman enters a room the heads turn and whatever’s playing on the sound system becomes her own personal soundtrack. Right now it’s some old Pat Benatar song and someone needs to grab a fan to run ahead and blow Corey’s hair back. Strike that, her hair’s moving on its own, bouncing and brushing her inviting tits.
It’s been two weeks of mad sex. I let Corey set the pace, still making it clear I want a piece of her every chance I get. I find her in my bed at least three nights out of the week and I always make sure to reward her for it.
Multiple, blinding orgasms are just the beginning. I treat her to room service and book her appointments at the spa or salon. She’s had mani/pedis, facials, massages, reflexology. I bought her a gold thumb ring and diamond studs for the second piercing in her ears.
Tonight she’s in a sapphire blue dress, clingy around the hips with a deep V neckline.
I make a beeline for her and catch her hand. She darts a glance around.
“I don’t give a fuck who sees us,” I snarl. I’m on edge because it’s been thirty-six hours since I’ve been inside her. Plus, I’m nerved up about my plans for the night. They may flop. And it’s not like me to ever worry about a date with a girl, but hey, this woman’s different.
“You may not, but I work here,” she complains.
“Like they don’t already know.” I lead her to the jewelry shop in the casino because her neck looks bare.
“What are we doing?” She fingers the diamond earrings I bought her.
I saunter over to the case as the manager hustles over with a simpering smile. “That one.” I point to a blue opal necklace set in white gold. It’s a series of three descending pieces, the largest on top.
The manager takes it out and gives it to me. I put it around Corey’s neck and hand her the mirror. “What do you think?”
She touches it dubiously. It’s hard to know if she doesn’t like it, or doesn’t want to accept the gift. There’s always a slightly suspicious air from her for anything I do, like I’m tricking her into something.
Maybe I am.
Her eyes slide to the glass cases. Okay. Not the right necklace. I take it off her, scanning the merchandise. Corey doesn’t seem interested in anything. Maybe jewelry’s not her thing. It’s not going to stop me from trying to spoil her, though. I catch sight of an unusual piece in the corner. It’s a collar. Not really, but thinking of it that way makes me sprout a chub. It’s actually a beautiful piece with moonstones strung in a delicate daisy chain. But it’s short. Slave collar short. And the tiny white gold chain hangs down in back like a leash. I point to it and the manager scrambles to get it out.
“This is the one,” I say as I put it around Corey’s neck. She doesn’t even get a say. I want her to wear my collar tonight, and she’s going to wear it.