Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I find my cheeks heating, which annoys me. “I don’t think about you.”
He smiles because we both know it’s a lie.
I wet my lips with my tongue and he tracks the movement, hunger flaring in his chocolate brown eyes. “So what are you going to do with me?”
He tilts his head to the side. “I’m figuring that out, bambina.”
“Th-there’s something I better tell you.” I don’t want to bring this up—I really don’t. But if he finds out another way, he may shoot first and ask questions later.
He arches a brow.
I lick my lips again. “I don’t talk to my dad. Like, we’re totally estranged, and that’s a good thing.”
Stefano’s eyes narrow. I’m sure he’s wondering where in the hell I’m going with this.
“But he’s a fed. An FBI agent,” I blurt.
Stefano curses in Italian, a long string of words I don’t understand but get the meaning. He tugs my ass off the table and starts searching me in quick, pissed off movements, running his fingers along the neckline of my dress, around the insides of my bra.
If I weren’t more than a little afraid of Stefano Tacone in warrior mode, I might remark at the similarity of my situation with Sondra’s. This was how she met Nico, after all. He strip-searched her for a wire when he found her cleaning his bathroom.
Stefano drags his large palms up my thighs, around to the back, sliding a finger over the G-string through my crack. He checks the gusset of my panties, sparing me any comments about how wet I am this time.
And yeah—my panties are damp again. I shouldn’t be turned on by Stefano’s rough and thorough search, but I am. He lifts my dress up to my waist, hikes it up to my armpits before he realizes it’s not coming off. Not unless he removes the zip-tie.
He pulls me across the kitchen, where he grabs a pair of scissors from the drawer.
I think he’s going to cut off the zip-tie, but instead the fucker slices through the fabric of my dress.
I shove at him, even though it’s too late. “Jesus! You don’t have to cut it, asshole. This is my favorite dress.” The dress falls in shreds at my feet. I’m standing there in a black lace bra and matching G-string, a pair of black thigh-highs and my stilettos. It’s quite an outfit, but he’s apparently unaffected.
He yanks my bra cups down, searching visually as he runs his thumbs inside them for a second time. “Watch your mouth, I’m still your boss. I’ll buy you another fucking dress if you’re clean.”
“I’m clean, dammit. Where else would I hide a wire? Why didn’t you just cut off the zip-tie?”
He catches my jaw with grim determination. At first I think he’s going to punish me for getting too mouthy, but he presses it open. “Maybe I like having you at my mercy.” He flicks his brows and I register the return of his jaunty arrogance, a fraction of humor and enjoyment. Maybe that’s what pisses me off. When he sweeps a finger inside to check my teeth, I bite down, hard.
“Merda!” He yanks his finger back and my teeth scrape over flesh. I pop them open at the taste of blood, instantly realizing I went way too far.
I tense, frozen like a rabbit, but Stefano doesn’t move, other than to shake out his hand. His eyes lock on mine, blazing, but not with anger. No, with dark promise. Excitement. Like he’s glad I bit him.
A shiver races up my spine.
“I think you must want another spanking.” His voice holds deadly calm.
I can’t seem to move. Can’t breathe.
I fear he’s right.
In a flash, he whirls me around and pushes my torso over the table. He doesn’t start spanking hard like he did in the elevator, though. He just runs his hand over my bare ass cheeks and whistles.
“Bambina, if I knew you were hiding this under your dress, I would’ve lifted your skirt for your last punishment.” He circles my ass again.
Anticipation races over my skin, flutters in my belly.
“You’re still wearing my handprints.” There’s a rumble of appreciation in his voice, almost a purr. “Are you sore?”
“Yes,” I say, infusing petulance into my words. I am still sore. In fact, now that he mentions it, my butt is hot and tingling. Of course, redheads register pain more than most people.
He rubs my ass. “Spread your legs, baby.” His voice is no more than a murmur.
I attempt to ignore the direction, like I didn’t hear it, but he kicks my feet apart. To my utter humiliation, he starts spanking my pussy. Short, deliberate taps right over my clit. My inner thigh muscles jump and shiver as he puts a little more wrist into it.
“Stefano,” I gasp.
“That’s right, amore. Say my name.”
My pussy clenches, more shivers run down my legs. He smacks one ass cheek, hard.