Page 48 of Brutal Revenge

His eyes lock with mine in the side mirror of his bike before he repeats, slower this time, “Take my dick out.”

Although his eyes are blazing with fury, the remembrance of how he reacts positively to my sass doesn’t warrant his anger the respect it deserves. “I’d rather die.”

“Don’t tempt me,micina.”

With his hands clamped around my wrists, he pulls them to the crotch of his jeans. It’s unclear whether his fingers or my deviant head fumble with the fastener, but in three heart-thrashing seconds, the button on his jeans pops open, the strained zipper slides down, and his fat cock springs free.

“Now stroke it.”

“Go to hell?—”

“Already there.” My pulse speeds up when he murmurs, “It’s what happens when you cut a man to his fucking knees in front of his competitor.”

My hammering heart cuts into my reply. “That wasn’t my intention. I just?—”

“Wanted to destroy me?”

He’s no longer looking at me, but I shake my head, nonetheless. “No. Never.”

“Then why’d you do that?”

The throbs affecting my hearing settle between my legs when he circles my hand around his girthy shaft, then slides it to the base.

“Do what?” I ask, my fight losing steam with only one stroke.

With his hand guiding mine like a puppeteer does a puppet, he mutters, “The dumb act might work on idiots like Antonio, but that shit won’t fly with me.” I shudder, a handful of strokes making my palm sticky. He’s fuming mad, but not enough not to react to how good it feels to have my hands on him. “You know what you did.”

I try to keep lust out of my tone. I don’t know why I bother. My words brim with it. “He won’t marry me if the purity clause isn’t in place.”

“He won’t marry you because you’re pure! What the fuck about that don’t you understand?”

I understand what he’s saying. Wholly. I saw Antonio’s expression when I announced we hadn’t slid past home plate. The interest in his eyes while drinking in my heated cheeks and kiss-plump lips faded to empty black pits.

Although I comprehend Matteo’s frustration, we can’t ignore the facts. “If I don’t uphold the purity clause,noneof the terms of the marriage contract will be valid. I need them in place.”

“Why?” Matteo asks his question with so much interest you’d swear I wasn’t pumping his cock in rhythm to the frantic thuds of my heart.

I stroke his cock without his guidance a handful of times, hopeful itwill ease the frustration my following words will hit him with. “I can’t tell you that.”

He stiffens. Not all the firmness is below the belt.

“Fine… then get on your knees. If I’m the one putting in all the work to make that douche come crawling back to you, I should get some benefits for my efforts.”

Although my mouth waters to taste him again, I try to keep a cool, collected head. “I’ll give you Antonio’s share of the Adami fortune. Since it’s only divided between three siblings, it’s substantially more than the one hundred million you’d have to pay to cancel our agreement.”

In the side mirror of his motorcycle, I watch him work his jaw side to side. “You don’t have access to his money. Not even after you wed can you offer a guarantee like that.”

“No, I won’t,” I agree. “But I will shortly after.”

“No prenup?” Matteo assumes.

It isn’t surprising that’s his first thought. Even against the boss of all bosses’ advice, rumors circulated the mafia realm that Giovanni refuses to ask Valentina to sign a prenup. If they get divorced, Valentina will get more than half his fortune. She’ll get the lot. Giovanni refuses to live in a world without Valentina. Divorce is the equivalent of death to him.

I wet my suddenly dry lips before shifting my focus back to the task at hand. “We have a prenup.” Matteo’s anger grows tenfold when I add, “It covers infidelity, children, and a seven-figure payment for each year of marriage.”It doesn’t, however, include any stipulations for death.“It’s a lot of money, Matteo. And it can all be yours.”

“I don’t want his fucking money!” Somehow, he tugs me off the bike before he straddles it sideways. “I want him on his knees.” I see his internal conflict, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he weaves his fingers through my hair and forcefully lowers me to the ground. “Just like I want you on your knees too.”

Our eyes lock briefly, and it’s then that I realize he isn’t angry.