Page 8 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe (Revenge Brides #6)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Vincent

M y little raven storms off in a fit of rage with confusion traced in her eyes.

My cock is throbbing so hard against my pants it’s painful.

I run my hands over the solid shaft of my cock.

I should have made her kneel in front of me and suck me.

I could have held her head in place and thrust myself all the way into her throat.

The thought of her gagging as her throat closes over me makes my cock pulse harder.

I want her.

But she is trying to take control of the situation, to tease me, to taunt me with that lace wrapped around her perfect body - and I have to show her she is not the one in control here. I am.

Pure frustration burns through me like a wildfire as I march to my bedroom and into the bathroom.

I tug my pants open and free my cock, wrapping my hand around it, squeezing to ease the desire.

My hand rocks back and forth, gripping the shaft tightly as I picture her bending in front of me, that lace - her perfect pussy spread open for me as I pull the lingerie aside and thrust into her.

Fuck.

I explode in a matter of minutes. The tension she causes me is too much to bear.

Back in control of myself I return to the living room to enjoy my dinner.

The relief is short-lived though as my thoughts immediately return to her. I wouldn’t be satisfied until I fuck her. And even then. Once won’t be enough.

It is a battle unlike any other - to not go into her room and spread her legs wide to taste her.

But I am in control - and she will learn that one way or another.

She’s fucking perfect.

Over the next two days our games escalate.

The more I try to control her the more she fights back, purposefully dropping things, bending over, wearing that fucking lingerie that I chose. It’s as though I was testing myself by giving her that weapon.

The more she tests me - the more I punish her - determined to not give her what she wants until she is crawling on the floor begging for it.

Misha is in the kitchen making a cup of coffee when I walk in one morning.

She is wearing a T-shirt and nothing else.

No panties. It’s obvious because the shirt is too short to cover the bottom of her ass cheeks and when she lifts her arm to retrieve anything from the cabinets above her, which she is suddenly doing frequently, the t-shirt drifts even higher - teasing me with the sight of her perfect ass, and if she bends forward enough, the little pink curve of her pussy.

My cock hardens despite me pretending not to notice anything.

But I am pulled towards her like a magnet, anyway.

I step right up behind her and push her, facing forward, into the kitchen counter.

She gasps quietly and arches her back against my throbbing cock.

Her voice is barely a whisper. “Would you like a coffee, sir?” She asks.

“Yes. Dark. Sweet. And don’t make a mess, little slut, while you are begging for my cock.” I say slowly, pushing my cock against her, letting her feel what she cannot have.

She moans softly and moves her ass in a slow circle and I almost cave in. Fuck. This is insane. She is dangerous.

For a moment I am left questioning who is in control here.

But I step back and prove again that it’s me. She is mine . She won’t get what she wants until I give it to her.

The relief she’s so desperate for - I own it.

I own her and I own that perfect, pink little pussy of hers.

She will learn it eventually.

I step back, leaning against the counter and watching her make the coffee, reaching for the mugs and bending down to pick up a dropped teaspoon.

She is begging. And I love it.

But when the coffee is finished, sitting on the edge of the counter with steam drifting off the surface - Misha glances over her shoulder at me, slides her hand slowly over the counter and pushes it over the edge like a mischievous cat.

The mug smashes onto the floor and coffee spills across the tiles.

“Oops.” She says, as innocent as ever.

She turns to face me and in two steps I have closed the distance between us and wrapped my fingers around her throat. I lift her by her neck and push her ass onto the counter, spreading her legs wide I force her open as she cries out and tries to tilt her head away from my iron grip.

My fingers dig into her soft skin, pressing against her windpipe and cutting off her air.

I push my cock against her pussy and growl against her ear.

“You clumsy little fucking slut. Must I use my cock to punish you? Must I impale you and make you scream in pain before you learn to be good?” I snarl.

She is whimpering, but she can’t speak, my fingers too tight around her neck.

I want to fuck her. Fuck me, I want to fuck her so hard I rip her apart.

But I clench my teeth and step away, pulling her to the floor again, then releasing her.

“Wait in your room while I decide what to do with you.” I snap.

She scurries away, the fear in her eyes is darker than it should be. So beautiful. So, tempting.

With her out of my sight I lean both hands against the edge of the kitchen counter and drop my head, taking steady, deep breaths - fighting for the control I claim to have. Clinging onto it, pushed to the edge of sanity.

I wait until my cock has gone down before I make my way upstairs to her bedroom.

She can come out, but only if she behaves.

As I step into the doorway, I freeze in shock and awe of the magnificent sight in front of me.

She is sitting on the bed with her legs spread wide and her pussy on display. Her fingers are brushing over her soft pink skin, and the sounds falling from her lips are enough to break me.

Her eyes lock with mine as she slides her finger into her pussy, biting her lower lip.

My cock is instantly hard again, and I let out a low, furious growl.

Storming into my room I grab the handcuffs from my bedside table and then march back to her room.

Her eyes flare wide with desire when she sees the cuffs, and her breath gets heavy and fast.

I snatch her wrists in one hand, lifting them both above her head, I snap the cuffs onto one of them, thread them around the bedpost and then snap them onto the other.

She wiggles and cries out.

“What are you doing?” She exclaims, pretending she doesn’t love it.

“You know exactly what I’m doing.” I snarl.

“Vincent—”

I set a sharp slap across her cheek. “Who?”

“Mr. - Mr. Vece.” Her breasts press with hardened nipples against her almost transparent white t-shirt. I clench my jaw, looking down at her.

Don’t do it. Not now. She will win if you fuck her now.

I turn to leave, and she literally screams. “No, don’t leave me here.” She begs, her eyes glittering with tears.

Satisfaction sparks through me as I look at her genuine despair.

“Leaving you here is exactly what I am going to do, little raven.” I say, stepping towards the bed again.

I run my hand down the front of her body, over the inside of her thighs. She rocks her hips up towards my touch and I cup my entire hand over her sweet little pussy.

Misha moans strained and desperate.

I release her from my touch and walk from the room. I hear her sob loudly and call my name.

Walk away . I demand this of myself.

I am in control.

For two hours I try to busy myself and not think about her. And for two hours I fail miserably.

My intention was to leave her there for the entire day and night. To make her think about what she’s doing and the mistakes she made. But in the back of my mind, I am worried. I’m worried about whether she’s comfortable or hungry or thirsty or if she needs something.

Why the hell am I so worried about her comfort?

The worry agitates me and makes me angry.

Angry because I’m still second guessing if I really am the one in control of her, and angry because I’m hardly in control of anything.

I know I won’t last the day with her cuffed to the bed like that.

I have to have her.

My housekeeper is busy around the kitchen and it’s annoying me.

“Leave.” I snap.

“Excuse me, Mr. Vece?” She mutters, nervous and fidgeting.

“I said leave. Get the fuck out of the house.” I snap even harsher than before.

“Am I fired?” She squeaks.

“You’re not fucking fired. Just get out. Come back tomorrow.”

She bolts from the kitchen, grabbing her things and running for the door.

I want privacy.

I don’t need other people in my space today.

Only her.

Only my dark little raven.