Page 17 of Brutal Devil

The weight of him on me is primal and masculine. Intimate too. His cock is a blatant bulge I can feel against my lower belly. Heat snakes through me, unexpected and undeniable. I’ve got a serious case of swooning ovaries syndrome, and that’s a problem. Because right now, what I need to focus on is escaping the gangster on top of me.

“What took you so long?” I demand, struggling against his hold, to no avail.

“So youdidmiss me, then.” His grin deepens, creases appearing in the corners of his eyes, and—I swear to God—the man has dimples.

But fuck him and his dimples. I need to get out of here. I need to return to my life. To my MFA. To the poetry book I’m working on and the future that’s waiting for me. A future where there aren’t any hot, insane mobsters trying to force me into marrying them or holding a gun to my head and a big, hard dick to the rest of me.

“I missed you like I’d miss the stomach flu,” I say, struggling to knee him in the balls.

It doesn’t work, of course. He’s made certain there’s no way I can injure him. He’s stronger than I am, bigger than I am, and he had the element of surprise in his favor. Plus, he’s definitely no stranger to fighting.

He laughs, his breath coasting over my cheek, and it’s fruity and tart, like an apple. “I’m touched.”

There’s something ridiculously ludicrous about the thought of him snacking on an apple while he’s kept me trapped in this room like a prisoner.

“You smell like apples,” I say, struggling against him some more.

Is it just my imagination, or is his cock somehow growing larger? Harder?

“I was eating one.” He’s still smiling down at me, not at all winded, while I’m breathless, and his amusement is seriously pissing me off.

“Aren’t apples too wholesome for psychotic murdering mob bosses?” I demand, wanting to wipe that grin off his lips. “Shouldn’t you be eating the livers of virgins or something instead?”

“I guess I could try. Are you a virgin?” He leans down, rubbing his cheek against mine, the rasp of his five-o’clock shadow making my nipples tighten. His lips find my ear. “But then, it isn’t your liver I’d want to eat, sweetheart.”

I jerk against his hold on my wrists, wanting to slap that conceited expression off his face. “Let me go.”

The hot, wet glide of his tongue on my ear, tracing the whorl, makes me gasp. My clit throbs, wishing it were receiving this same treatment.

“Hold still, or I’ll fuck you here on this floor, right here, right now.”

“A rapist and a murderer,” I bite out, breathless. “What a lucky girl I am that my heartless father landed me such a catch.”

His tongue finds a sensitive dip just below my ear, and I have to bite my lip hard to keep from making any sounds. So hard, I taste fresh blood.

“It wouldn’t be rape, and we both know it,bella,” he murmurs into my ear. “You want me.”

He’s not wrong. Unfortunately, I can’t control my body’s attraction to a despicably handsome man, despite the fact that my rational mind knows exactly what and who he is. Dimples, five-o’clock shadow, and an eight-pack, and I have no morals.

“Go to hell,” I tell him, tugging at my wrists.

“One day.” His lips glide over my neck. “But not yet.”

“I’m not going to marry you,” I warn him, “and you can’t keep me here like this. Let me go.”

“Youaregoing to marry me, and I have no intention of letting you go.” He raises his head, looking down at me, his startlingly blue gaze dipping to my mouth. “You’re bleeding again.”

“You probably caused it to reopen when you tackled me,” I lie, wanting him to feel something.

Compassion? Contrition? I’m not sure what.

“Let me make it better,” he says, and then he dips his head and licks the blood from my cracked lower lip.

This man is insane.

He kisses me lightly, his lips fluttering over mine. For a moment, I forget to breathe. Forget to think. The sheer dichotomy of such a tender caress from a man so deadly and venomous is something I can’t wrap my head around.

But then I remember.