Page 77 of Bound in Promise

I consider my response.

If he would’ve listened to me, if he had even once stopped acting like a martyr, my answer would be simple.

“Why should I listen to you?” I taunt. “This is a breakup, Dante. When you break up with someone, you don’t keep spending time with them. You leave.”

His nostrils flare. “You leave when I say you can leave. It’s still not safe for you to be out on your own.” I roll my eyes, and his fingers snatch at my jaw, pinching tight. “You think this is a game?”

“No,” I retort, shoving at his hand but getting nowhere. “But I don’t want to hang out with my exes. I don’t want to hang out with you.”

“Too bad,” he drawls. “It was a stupid risk, having a strange man pick you up at night to drive you down unfamiliar roads.”

“I’ll have to do that in Paris after you leave me there.”

“Don’t be a fucking brat, Victoria. This was always the plan. Paris was your plan.”

“Plans change.”

“Not this one,” he counters. “I don’t have time to chase after you while I make arrangements to guarantee your safety. You need to stay where I put you.”

I scoff and push against his chest, lifting myself to climb off him. Dante’s grip—one hand still on my chin, the other taking a punishing hold of my hip—only tightens, keeping me trapped on top of him.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos. The patronizing note in his voice immediately pisses me off “You seem to think this is a democracy. You think that was a suggestion? The men I killed for you today are just the tip of the iceberg. I will go to the ends of the earth to make sure you get the new life you deserve. Don’t test me, princess. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a patient man.”

“You don’t scare me, Dante,” I reply. “I’m not going to bow down to you. You aren’t the only one who gets a say in how things go.”

“But what I say is final,” he retorts.

“Fuck you.”

“With pleasure.”

The sound of tearing fabric fills the car as Dante’s fingers abruptly shift and rip at my leggings. My throat thickens and I try to ignore the sudden dampness in my panties.

“You ripped my pants,” I gasp. “How am I supposed?—”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me now, princess.”

My hand cracks across his face before I’ve even processed that I intended to smack him.

I am not his toy. He doesn’t get to pick me up for playtime whenever he wants to get off only to toss me aside when he’s done.

If he wants to fuck me, he has to keep me.

“You’re not putting your dick anywhere near me,” I say heatedly. “You don’t get to just take me when you decide it works for you.”

“I think I do,” he counters, undeterred by my physical or verbal protests. “You’re not rid of me just yet.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” I snarl.

“Don’t worry,” he smirks, using one rough finger to pull my panties to the side. “I’ll be sure to make the wait worth your while.”

His rough palm cups one side of my ass, spreading my legs wider to give him better access to my wet center.

Dripping.

Yeah. I’m embarrassingly wet for a man who doesn’t even deserve it.

The freaking asshole still turns me on. I still want him. I haven’t gotten him out of my bloodstream yet.