Page 11 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

On an impulse, I shift toward him, face brushing against his thigh.

I wait for a rejection that doesn’t come, and after a breath, I start to explore.

Palms gliding over the structured fabric of his pants, I press into his solid mass of muscle and heat.

He is everything that makes a man. Flesh and bone.

Strength and power. Dominance and command.

Hunger unfurls deep in my belly as his fingers slide through the strands of my hair, cupping my skull. The faintest sound of approval vibrates from his chest, and I want to play that sound on repeat while he uses my mouth.

I’m too far gone to see reason as I fumble with his zipper. That lasts all of one heartbeat before he grabs a fistful of my hair and tips my head back. I feel the full weight of his smoldering stare as he drags his gloved thumb over my lips.

Darkness hums between us as he slowly slides his zipper down and releases what I’m quite certain puts every other man to shame. There’s no delicate way to say it. It’s a thick, throbbing, veiny monstrosity of a cock.

With his eyes on mine, he strokes the length, and I choke on my nerves. The mere size of him nearly eclipses my face. I can’t imagine what it would feel like if it were lodged in my throat.

Fortunately for me, he decides to keep me alive a while longer.

I watch, fascinated by the sight of him fisting his cock.

With every stroke, his muscles strain the fabric of his shirt, giving me a small glimpse of his strength.

I want to strip him bare and explore every inch of his primitive landscape.

He edges himself toward release, and I’m enrapt by the sight of it. His roughness. Those ragged exhalations beneath his mask. The way he tips his head back as his body goes rigid. The low, guttural groan that pulls from his chest as he finds his release lights up every pleasure center in my brain.

A torrent of hot cum splashes across my naked breasts, and the shock of warmth feels like a brand. It stirs that ancient instinct in my reptilian brain—the primal satisfaction of being conquered and claimed by the fiercest man in the village.

I wonder if he feels it too as he paints me with his mark, his palm smearing it across my chest. Another spark of pleasure ripples through me when he brings his wet glove to my face and slides two fingers past my parted lips.

Salt and leather coat my tongue as I surrender to the craving and swallow the taste of him.

He strokes my cheek one last time, his eyes moving over me as I lie there, breasts bared, thighs soaked. And then, just as soon as he appeared…he’s gone.

“Abella?”

Gabi’s voice stirs me from sleep, and when I open my eyes, I find myself sprawled face down across the bed. I blink away the fog of confusion and glance around in search of her.

“Gabs?”

“I’m right here.” She laughs, the sound muffled beneath me.

I drag myself upright and find the phone beneath me, where I must have fallen asleep on it. Worse than that is the realization that I unintentionally answered Gabi’s video call, and she’s staring at me with a mixture of shock and amusement.

“Nice melons.”

“What?” I look down, perplexed and slightly horrified that my boobs are on full salute.

“Oh, God. Hang on.” I fling the phone onto the bed and adjust my disheveled tank top, but as I do, I feel something sticky on my chest.

“I bet Matteo can’t wait to get his paws on those,” Gabi muses from the speaker.

“Please don’t remind me,” I mutter. “Gabs, can you hang on a minute? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

I walk into the bathroom and lift my top, wondering if I’m having a weird reaction to my new body cream.

But as I’m washing it from my skin, I realize my tank top feels crunchy too.

When I bring it to my nose and inhale, I freeze.

The faintest hint of citrus and clove lingers on the material, and a whisper of a memory floats into my consciousness.

Soft at the edges, almost out of reach…and then fragments come flooding back all at once.

Rough hands, dark whispers, velvet dripping with sin…

Flashes of the masked stalker blur together with images of Angelo, disorienting me as I try to separate reality from imagination.

Vivid dreams are a side effect of the sleeping pills, and on the occasions I do take them, I tend to dream of him. But they’ve never felt so real. And as I take stock of my body and the sticky feeling between my thighs, I realize I didn’t just orgasm in the dream.

For a second, I wonder if I’m going insane. Could I really have done that in my sleep?

I reach for my body cream and scan the ingredients list, frowning when I see the orange oil. Of course I chose this scent…because I’m a glutton for punishment. But is that what’s on my chest?

“Are you still alive?” Gabi calls out from my phone in the other room.

“Yes.” I tug my top down with a sigh and return to my bed, resuming our video call. “What are you up to?”

“I’m on break,” she says. “I have one more class today.”

“You’re getting close to the finish line.” I flop back onto the mattress and prop the phone against the pillow so Gabi can’t see my shirt. “You must be excited about that.”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Not that a degree matters when my father’s busy finalizing a marriage contract.”

Gabi uses the camera view to apply a fresh coat of pink lipstick and wind her long black hair up into a topknot.

She is, as always, adorably fashionable in a sequined body suit, a dusty rose tulle skirt, and a fuzzy white sweater that could have been knitted by angels.

She looks like she just stepped out of Carrie Bradshaw’s closet.

More impressively, these pieces are her own creations.

She’s talented and beautiful, and I hate that she’ll be wasted on a man like Riccardo Venturi.

He’s a distant cousin of the Vitales, but he’s also a total prick.

When he’s not running his obnoxious mouth, he’s running crypto-bro scams and blowing his cash on escorts and high-end cocaine.

He has the personality of a wet paper bag and a bad case of affluenza, and I can’t think of a worse match for Gabi.

But this arrangement was made between their families years ago, and truthfully, it’s the only way Riccardo could get a woman to marry him.

“You can still carve out a life of your own,” I tell Gabs, trying to instill some hope.

In our world, most arranged marriages are a front. The couples rarely spend any actual time together.

“We’ll see.” She glances at me briefly. “Have you heard anything about…you know?”

My gut clenches at the reference to Grant Ellison. It’s something that’s been on my mind far too often, and clearly I’m not the only one.

“His wife raised the alarm,” I tell her. “They’re keeping it quiet for now. His campaign manager doesn’t want to rattle potential donors.”

“Should we be worried?” She frowns.

Realistically, we should be. Nothing went as planned with Grant Ellison, and the fallout could be messy. But I don’t want her to stress over it.

“We don’t know how it’s going to play out,” I say. “The best thing we can do right now is stay focused and carry on like normal.”

“I know.” She blows out a breath. “Speaking of, how’s the wedding planning going without me?”

“Fine.” I force a smile. “Val’s got everything under control.”

Gabi pauses to study me, and I know she senses something is off. We’ve always been more like best friends than cousins—bonding over our similar interests from a young age. She knows me well, but even she doesn’t know the truth about this engagement to Matteo.

I’m saved from further questioning when her dog alarm sounds in the form of Beppe barking at her, alerting her that it’s time for class.

“Crap.” She checks the time. “I have to go.”

“It’s all good.” I blow her a kiss. “We’ll catch up later.”