Page 15 of The Scars We Keep
Isabella steps forward, chin raised, her blue eyes cold enough to freeze the fucking sun.
“Get it through your thick fucking skull… I do not belong to him.And I sure as shit do not belong to you.”
I tilt my head, letting my gaze flick down to her mouth then back up to meet her eyes.“Is that so?Then what do you call that ring on your finger, Princess?”
Her nostrils flare.Her chest rises with a fury that doesn’t fade; it festers.“A collar,” she snaps, eyes burning.“One I let you clasp around my throat.But don’t mistake it for obedience.Because I hold the fucking leash, Lorenzo.Not you.”
My mouth quirks into a smirk.
Fuck.She’s gorgeous when she’s brutal.Christ, she might be the most dangerous thing in this empire, and Arturo never fucking saw it.
Chapter Four
Lorenzo
Thesecondthecardoor slams shut, I can finally breathe.Vito starts the car.
I drag a hand through my hair and exhale the last of that goddamn performance.The fake smiles.The power plays.It’s over.Thank fucking God.
Isabella slides into the seat beside me, and the long split in her dress falls open like an invitation, revealing a stretch of flawless leg.
I look.
Of course I fucking look.Any man with a pulse would.
The fabric rides high, clinging in all the right places, teasing just enough to mess with my restraint.Her skin is smooth, bare.Those legs are made to be spread wide, hooked over my shoulders, gripped tight while I drive into her until she’s shaking, swearing, and begging me not to stop.
My cock grows heavy, throbbing behind my zipper, as each filthy thought lines up after another.I envision my hand sliding up that thigh, fingers digging in.I picture her gasping, nails biting into my skin, hearing the sounds she makes when that fire turns desperate.When she’s coming apart and cursing at me because she hates how much she wants it.
She turns her face toward the window, pretending I don’t exist.
“Staring won’t make it yours,” she mutters, her voice cold enough to frost the fucking glass.
I lean in, close enough to feel the heat rolling off that flawless skin.“No, but it fucking will be mine.”
She scoffs, still refusing to glance my way.“Keep dreaming, husband.You couldn’t handle it.”
My cock twitches at the challenge.
Handle it?Fuck, I plan to wreck it.
I lean back, a slow grin spreading.“You’ll be on your knees by midnight.Dress off, mouth open.Maybe then you’ll stop pretending you’re not wet for me.”
She laughs softly.“You mistake your delusions for confidence.I fuck when I say I want to fuck, and tonight, I’m not in the mood.”
My fingers twitch with the urge to test that theory.To find out if her cunt is as wet as I think it is.To see if she says no with her mouth while her body says fuck yes.
Let her play cold.I’ve got the whole damn night to melt her down.
I lean back in my seat, one arm stretched along the leather behind her, watching the city lights flicker past the glass.
“You made quite the statement,” I remark.
“Good.”
“You embarrassed your father.”
Her mouth curves.“Even better.”
