Page 31 of The Scars We Keep
But trust isn’t built in a day.
“You think I’d let anyone touch you?”
Her chin lifts.Eyes wild.Shoulders squared as if I’m not the man every other man and woman has learnt to fear.
“I don’t know you,” she spits, her gaze narrowing.“Or your men.I don’t know what the fuck kind of empire you’re trying to run, Lorenzo, but I’m not a pawn in it.I think you’re used to barking orders and expecting everyone to fall in line.”
My name sounds sinful coming from her mouth.I grip her chin, forcing her head up higher.
“Are you done?”
She tries to jerk back, but I won’t let her.I fist my free hand in her hair, pulling until her spine arches.
“You think you’re the first person to go toe-to-toe with me, Bella?”I murmur, voice dropping into something darker.Something that bites.
My eyes drift over her face, settling on that perfect mouth.A weapon coated in pink gloss.“You’re not.But fuck me if you aren’t the only one I’ve ever wanted to lose to.”
She stills for just a heartbeat.I catch it and watch the flicker in her eyes—that tiny crack in the armor she wears better than most soldiers I’ve buried.
“Then maybe you should’ve kept your dick in your pants, Lorenzo, and those fucking bags out of my bedroom.”
Fucking hell.
I stare at her, fury and heat bubbling beneath my skin.She’s got a mouth that could start wars, and I’m standing here, half-hard and completely obsessed.
I press my mouth to hers because it’s the only way to silence her.She tastes of coffee and war—bitter, hot, and perfect.
Her hands hit my chest, not to push, simply to remind me she’s not backing down.
I walk her backward until her spine hits the bench.She breaks the kiss, panting.
“Is this how you settle arguments?”she gasps.
“No,” I growl, sliding my hand up her thigh, fingers dragging rough over the nylon.“But it’s how I fuck difficult wives who don’t listen.”
She hisses when I reach the heat between her legs, my fingers pressing harder, finding the damp patch already blooming through the tights.
“I’m not your obedient bride, Lorenzo.”
“Good,” I snarl, gripping her hips and spinning her around so fast her palms slap against the marble.“I’d get bored.”
She gasps, her spine arching as I push her forward, her tights stretching taut over her perfect ass, seams begging to be split.
I hook my fingers into the waistband, yanking them down to her knees in one sharp motion, dragging her panties with them.
She’s soaked.
“Fuck,” I mutter, breath hot against her ear.“You’re gonna pretend you hate me while you’re this fucking wet?”
“I’m not,” she says.
“Liar,” I mutter, voice thick with heat, with control slipping thread by thread.“Your mouth lies…” My hand slides between her thighs again, fingers pressing into the slick heat.“…while this cunt’s fucking desperate for me.”
Her breath stutters.That sharp little sound escapes when she wants to deny it but knows she can’t.Not when I feel how wet she is.Not when her body begs for what her mouth won’t admit.
I unbuckle my belt with one hand, the metal clinking loudly in the charged silence.My cock springs free, heavy and aching, rage and desire tangled so tight I can’t tell one from the other.
I grip her hips, drag her back an inch, line my cock up at her entrance and slam into her in one brutal thrust.
