Page 233 of Bitter Poetry

When I enter the bedroom, he’s already in bed, the covers up to his waist. He’s tapping away on his cell phone and barely glances up at me.

My breath catches. God, he’s beautiful.

See, this is what happens every time I’m around him. I swear he puts me under a lust trance.

Maybe I should take one of the spare bedrooms… There are eight of them in this house.

“Don’t even think about it.” He doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“Think about what?” I say casually.

“The spare bedroom. I swear I'll burn the other beds in this house and all the couches if you start that shit again.”

Well, alright then. I huff out a breath and stalk to the bed like I hate his overbearing ways.

I don’t, though, do I? They arouse me.

And what does that make me?

Wet.

Every filthy command, every flash of dominance, every possessive statement that curtails my acts of rebellion.

I consider doing it anyway, to see what he will do—Dante’s follow-throughs are hot.

And addictive.

“Get undressed.”

He’s not even looking at me. He’s still looking at his phone.

I’ve frozen in place with one knee on the bed, the other foot on the floor.

“Was my instruction in some ways confusing, Carmela?” He puts his cell phone on the nightstand. His eyes darken as they meet mine. He smirks. “Or go ahead and run. If you need to.”

I swallow hard. A hot, languid pulse kicks off between my legs. He doesn’t care how this plays out. He’s utterly unbothered about what choice I will make, whether that is stripping down or making a bolt for it.

I don’t move, and neither does he. We stare at one another. The tension grows between us.

“Are you being a bad girl, Carmela? Do you need me to punish you?”

My knee comes off the bed, almost in a dare. His arm shoots out, and he captures my wrist before I can go any further. He yanks me forward. I drop onto the bed. He rolls above me, pinning me beneath his weight, pushing one knee and then the other between mine. My wrists are captured in one hand and planted on the bed above my head. He slides his nose up my cheek and into my temple. His lips follow, delivering a chaste kiss.

I swear Dante’s temple kisses are my undoing, so sweet and tender; and at odds with the way he’s holding me, pinning me to the bed.

A savage lurks beneath the surface of his civilized facade. Some men are just primal.Instinctive.

He knows I crave this.Domination. I ought to hate it, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t that be normal after what has happened to me?

I groan. All he’s doing is pressing his lips to my damn temple.

“Such a filthy girl,” he says. “Are you sore from last night?”

My breath hitches. “A little.”

He slides his lips across to my forehead and kisses me there. “Well, that’s understandable. But I need you, and you’ll take it, won’t you, Carmela? Because you don’t care, even if you’re a little sore. You need me inside you as much as I need to be inside you. Need me to fill that empty place.”

I try to twist away, but he captures my chin between his fingers and thumb and holds me still. I glare up at him. His expression is perfectly neutral. And then he pinches a little. My lips part, and his mouth covers mine.