Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Mia,” I say, knocking on the door.
“It’s okay,” she snaps.
“It’s been a lot.”
“Is this your usual routine? Kidnap? Head-fuck? Then just plain old fuck, huh? Is that it?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“For what?”
She sounds like she’s really crying now, completely on the edge. When I try to open the door, it’s locked. Am I going to break down the door, too? Don’t I at least owe her the right to a goddamn door?
“For…”
“What, Dante?” she hisses. “What do you think we’re talking about? Why do you find it so strange that I don’t want to fuck my kidnapper?”
“I’m just sorry for whatever happened to you,” I say, sighing heavily.
The door suddenly flies open. Her eyes are red, and her arms are folded. She backs away when I raise my hands as if to hug her. She’s got a look of desperation in her eyes as if she wants me to hug her, but she can’t take it either.
“Why does it have to be that?” she snaps. “Do you seriously think it’s unreasonable for me not to be your personal slut right now? Do you think that makes me some kind of freak, Dante?” She’s shaking all over, and I hate myself so damn much.
“No,” I say, my voice grave.
“You were supposed to tell me about the meeting. About the stuff with your mom. Instead, it’s… hands all over me.”
“You wanted it,” I mutter, knowing how that sounds.
She nods and bites down. She still wants it, standing there with tears in her eyes.
“My ma has got Crohn’s,” I tell her. “She’s in the hospital now. A rupture and a fever put her out. I think she’ll be okay, but I’m not sure.” I clear my throat. “I need the Family, Mia. I need their doctors. I need their resources. My ma deserves the best.”
Mia sniffles. “You make it so damn hard to hate you,” she says, then closes the door.
I think about knocking again, but maybe she needs to be alone. Perhaps she needs to find her own way to process what just—
The door flies open again. “Oh, and by the way…” She takes a big breath like she’s gathering all her courage. Her cheeks are red from crying. She looks brave and capable. “I’m a…” Another breath. “… virgin. So I won’t have my first time on some cruddy couch, okay?”
She slams the door before I can say anything. Maybe that’s for the best. The word virgin changes the whole tone of the desire flooding through me. Even more savage, even more possessive, even more ready to take her how I want. Slide my rock-hard dick deep into her slit and keep pumping. She’s mine—my pinup princess.
“I’ll be out here if you need me,” I say.
“Thanks, Dante.”
Feeling like I’ve just experienced every emotion a man can in the space of a few minutes, I walk back down the hallway, sit on the couch, fighting the urge to go in there and claim her, fighting the urge to ride out to Tony Marino’s hotel and have a quiet, intimate discussion with him.
CHAPTER 12
Mia
The bedroom has a small en suite. I splash water on my face and run my hands through my hair. My eyes get swollen and red when I cry, and my cheeks get this puffy look. I hate it. I think it makes me look weak. I splash more water, then tie my hair into a tight bun.
Returning to the bedroom, I sit on the bed, wriggling slightly because of all the steaminess. I can still feel the heat, how quick it was. It was like I was drunk before I knew it. For a second, I thought I’d just be able to sink into the moment. He was so warm, so solid, so protective. He felt like he was shaped to my body.
Then, well, whatever, I guess life gets like that sometimes. People can’t always control exactly what they think and feel and…
No, no. I won’t start crying again. I take a breath and grab the phone. It’s a habit. If I had my phone, I’d probably be scrolling social media in a dazed trance, which is weirdly nice sometimes—a brain switch-off. For now, all I have is Dante’s number.
You could’ve gotten me some art supplies or something, I tell him.
I got clothes. I left them outside your room.
I guess I’ll use T-shirts as paintbrushes or something.
Are you always this sarcastic?
A tiny smile touches my lips. I feel like there are two versions of us, Dante. One when we’re together in person and one when we text.
Which do you prefer?
I like both for different reasons. I guess it’s easier to keep emotion out of it when we’re texting.
If you need to be emotional, be emotional, Mia.
I shake my head, which is nuts because we’re just texting. Yet it’s like he’s sitting in front of me, his calm eyes pinned on me, his body so warm. I don’t need to be emotional. I just need to know when this is going to end.