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Deciding between stomping on his foot or kneeing him in the groin, I begin to push my way out of his arms. I’m surprised at how easily he lets me go. I run to the window Carter just disappeared through. There’s no one outside. The street is quiet;there’s no reason I can’t climb down and run to Ms. Alfano’s first-floor flat.
I grip the window, throwing it open. The night air rushes in, cooling my face.
“What about your family?”
His words make my body and blood freeze. My heart drops to my bare feet. I think of my mom, Granny, and Grandpa. He’s said they’re having dinner at the Villa. I picture them tied up, bound, being held by his men somewhere in the dark.
Fingertips digging into the window frame, I turn to face him. “Would you hurt my family?”
He doesn’t answer. He only stares back at me, letting me determine what I can from his dark eyes. I don’t know what he’s capable of, but I’ve heard whispers about how dangerous the Bachman family is, and I’ve already seen him do something to Carter. It’s not worth the risk of running.
I let go of the window, padding warily over to him. I stop a good enough distance away. “What do you want me to do?”
“Good girl,” he croons. “I’m glad you’re coming to see things my way.”
“Don’t hurt my family.” I hold my hand behind my back, crossing my fingers. “And we’ll do things your way.”
For now.
He takes a step toward me, closing the space between us. He reaches out, his big hand cupping my face. I’m surprised by its roughness—the skin of a man who works outside. The gesture is so intimate that it makes my heart race and my breaths shallow.
Having him this close, I’m surrounded by his warm scent, like leather and sandalwood. I could smell it when he whispered in my ear; now it’s intoxicating me again. My nipples harden, and I hate myself for it. He can see my body’s reaction underneath my thin shirt. Why? I should kick, run, fight.
Only the threat to my family keeps my feet planted on the carpet.
His pull is magnetic, holding me near him with an invisible force. He is old, rich, and intoxicating—my polar opposite.
I can’tnotstare up at him.
He leans down, his mouth close to mine. Is he going to kiss me? That crosses a serious line.
I’d have to respect myself enough to choose my earlier defenses of stomping on his foot or giving a knee to the groin.
What is he doing?
His lips are on mine.
My world slowly expands and shrinks at once.
The kiss is like nothing I’ve ever felt.
His body is ‘robuste,’as we say in French.A man, not a boy. Why am I letting him kiss me? Now, as he holds me, one hand strokes my hair, running down my back, and the other still cups my face, his thumb brushing over my chin. My knee should indeed be rising to his groin and ending this.
Instead, my knees grow weak as I let the kiss deepen.
There’s no messiness to it. He has a clean mouth, and his straight, white teeth don’t bump into mine with teen awkwardness.
He French-kisses withprécision, giving me a newfound respect for Madame Rossi’s weekly language assignment. His tongue caresses mine as he presses his sturdy body against me. The wordimmensecomes to mind as I feel his cock pressed against my belly—it feels enormous and ready.
It's way bigger than Carter’s felt when he rubbed it against me.
What would it feel like to have this man, to have his immense cock inside of my virgin body? Wetness pools between my legs, my muscles clenching to stop it, but that only makes me more wanton.
I feel empty inside, needy. His firm erection makes me crave something to fill me, to build friction, to rub away this deep need inside me. The thought of having him inside me almost breaks my wee virgin brain. I haven’t even let Carter inside me.
How did I let the sick thought of this stranger robbing me of my virginity after threatening to hurt my family into my brain?
We’re still kissing; his thumb drags along my chin, then slips between my lips. His mouth leaves me so his eyes can find mine. A wicked grin curls at the corners of his perfect lips as he slides his thumb against my tongue.