Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Holy mother of God.
He’s only wearing black sweatpants.
I’m stunned speechless, as I stare at his bare chest, covered in tattoos. There’s an angel reaching a hand up to the devil while they’re surrounded by a spray of bullets inked on his skin.
The sight makes a shiver crawl up my spine.
Angelo pushes away from the doorjamb, and as he slowly moves toward me, his steps seem predatory, as if he’s hunting me.
Instantly, my breaths speed up until they come in shallow puffs over my lips.
His muscles ripple beneath his golden skin, and the veins snaking down his arms make my stomach clench with a sensation I’ve never felt before.
Angelo stops an inch from me, and I smell the fresh scent of his shower gel. A drop of water falls from his damp hair, and it trickles down his chest, only to disappear into the waistband of his low-hanging sweatpants.
I become overly aware of the dominance filling his dark aura and swallow hard as I lift my eyes to his face. The golden flecks in his amber irises burn like flames, and I feel the heat on my skin.
When he lifts a hand to my face, I accidentally flinch, and it has his eyes narrowing on me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper before my tongue darts out to wet my dry lips.
His palm settles against my cheek, and he leans down until I feel his clean-shaven jaw brush against mine.
“Take a deep breath, piccola ceviatta. I don’t want you passing out on me,” he orders, his voice sounding like a rumble of thunder.
I do as I’m told, but with my anxiety threatening to spiral out of control, it’s not helping much.
When Angelo pulls back an inch, my eyes dart to his, and I blurt out, “Will it hurt?”
His thumb brushes over my bottom lip before he says, “I don’t know. It’s different for everyone.” His gaze lowers to my mouth as the pad of his thumb tugs at my lip again. “I’ll make you as comfortable as possible before taking your virginity.”
Yeah, I don’t think that’s a possibility.
His eyes grow darker as he says, “About your no-kissing rule. Does that only count for your mouth?”
When I nod, he whispers, “Thank fuck.”
He lowers his head again, and when I feel his lips brush over my jaw, goosebumps erupt on my skin.
I don’t even realize what I’m doing as I grip hold of his biceps, but when the heat of his skin warms my palms, tingles spread through my insides.
Angelo lets out a growl, but it doesn’t sound dangerous. Instead, he seems satisfied that I’m touching him.
Suddenly, his mouth latches onto my racing pulse, and his teeth sink into my skin.
When I feel his tongue brush against my throat, a gasp escapes me, and my eyes fall shut.
Oh, God. That feels…intense.
He leans more into me, and I feel his hands on the outside of my thighs before they bush upward to my hips and slip beneath the shirt.
As the fabric moves up my body, he pulls back and orders, “Lift your arms.”
My chest rises and falls with desperate breaths, and slowly, I raise my arms above my head.
The air kisses my heated skin as he tugs the shirt off, and standing naked before him, I quickly try to cross my arms over my chest.
Angelo takes hold of my wrists and pushes them to my sides, so I’m fully exposed to him.
“Don’t cover yourself.” The command is another rumble of thunder as he takes a step back before letting his eyes burn over every inch of me.
I begin to tremble uncontrollably, and when I see a flash of anger in his gaze, my self-worth sinks to rock bottom because it feels like he’s not happy with my body.
His fingers brush over the ugly brown bruise on my hip, then his voice strikes like a bolt of lightning. “I should’ve taken the fucker’s other arm as well.”
My eyes widen, and for a split second, I wonder what he means by the threat, but then I realize he’s not angry because he thinks I’m inadequate. He’s upset because of the bruise.
Only then does his gaze move to my breasts, and I watch as the anger drains away from his features. In its place, desire ignites in his irises.
His hand brushes up my side, and when his palm covers my breast, I suck in a quivering breath.
Angelo’s eyes snap to my face, and he searches my expression before saying, “You’re beautiful, Vittoria.” He closes the small distance between us again, and when his mouth brushes against my earlobe, he whispers, “You’re an exquisite work of art.”
My self-worth soars sky-high from his praise, and it makes me feel special.
This man can have any woman, and he’s probably been with dozens – and even though my body is marred with bruises, he thinks I’m beautiful.