She didn’t do it.
But she thought about it. She imagined her new life without me in it.
She chose you.
A growl tears its way out of my throat, and I grab her, pull her on top of me, shove the skirt of her dress up so that she can straddle my thighs.
Her wide eyes meet mine. She looks like a deer in the headlights, unsure about whether to stay still or try to run.
I shove my hand into her hair and kiss her. It’s rough and raw and dominating. Meant to stake a claim. Meant to remind her who she belongs to.
She chose you.
Her mouth parts for me. My tongue slides in. I bite on her lips, pulling on them with my teeth. I kiss her until we’re both panting, until my anger mixes with arousal, the kind that makes one burn.
I’m furious with her, and I’m so fucking hard.
She chose you.
Cleo brings her hands to my chest, her right palm over my pounding heart. I pull them off me. Why should she know how she makes this damned thing race?
I guide her wrists behind her and press them to her lower back. I dip my other hand into the pocket on the back of Sandro’s seat and pull out one of the zip ties I always keep there. I’m still kissing her as I wrap the tie around her wrists. Pull it tight.
She rears back, her lips puffy and her cheeks pink. “What are you doing?”
Sandro’s gaze flicks to us in the mirror. We make eye contact for a split second before he swallows and looks back to the road.
“You called me your jailer. Maybe it’s time I start acting like one.”
Her mouth parts in shock. Her arms flex as she tests the restraint, but it’s no use. She’s at my mercy now.
“Take it off.” Her voice shakes.
“No.”
I drag my gaze over her body, down to where I can see the triangle of her underwear peeking out. My thumb brushes her slit through the fabric. She whimpers. I do it again. And again. Until she’s shaking, struggling to stay still.
She glances over her shoulder like she’s worried Sandro’s watching us. He can’t see anything from the angle he’s at.
I dig my fingers into her thighs and lean forward, pressing my lips to her ear. “I should fuck you right here and have you bleed all over the seat. Maybe I’ll ask Sandro to clean it up afterward.”
I expect her to curse me, but she doesn’t.
When I lean back, indignation burns inside her eyes. Like she knows I’m not this, that I’d never do this, and that I’m not fooling her, so why am I saying it? Just to hurt her? The way she hurt me? My chest spasms.
No, nothing hurts you.
She leans forward and kisses me.
This time, it’s different. Soft. Apologetic. Conciliatory.
I turn my head, ending it. I’m not done being angry at her.
“I want to punish you,” I whisper.
“Then do it,” she whispers back.
CHAPTER 29
CLEO
Rafaele stares at me over the low hum of the car’s engine and the barely there song playing on the stereo. The silence clogs my throat, but I don’t dare break it. We hit a speed bump. I bounce in his lap and make contact with something hard.
My tongue darts out past my lips, and his gaze dips to my mouth.
The air in the car feels more charged than the sky before lightning strikes.
See the problem with not thinking about consequences? It’s how you end up in the back seat of a car with your wrists zip-tied, lips raw, and heart aching.
I should have known he’d get angry about how long it took me to tell him the truth, but I needed that time to sort through my feelings. I’m taking a huge leap of faith here.
His hands, big and warm, are on my thighs. He traces the edge of my panties with his fingertips. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. He’s so far gone inside his head. The tendons in his neck are taut, and his jaw hasn’t unclenched since I whispered into his ear.
Is he thinking of the ways he’ll punish me?
“What will you do to my father?” I ask, if only to pretend like I’m not buzzing with anticipation.
My husband is a killer. I should be scared of what he’ll do to me. But it’s not fear that’s making my pussy clench. There’s a dark promise inside his gaze, the kind that makes me think of tangled sheets, bite marks, and filth muttered against my ear.
“He will die, but I’m done talking about him tonight.”
I nod. I guess, so am I. What happens to my father now is out of my hands. He dug his own grave.
The car glides to a smooth stop.
“We’re here,” Sandro says.
Heat travels up my neck in a wave. I don’t know how much Sandro saw or heard, but I know it’ll be a while before I can bring myself to look my driver in the eye again.