Page 68 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

Ah shit, my knees turn wobbly. "Maybe you already have.

" I retort, but my words come out too wavering to be teasing.

I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I'm ready to submit myself to whatever happens.

I would love to spend some time with Enrico alone for a while, but I also want a baby with him.

I don't care if I'm too young. With Enrico, we have all the resources we need, and I know the baby will be loved.

So I'll leave it up to fate and nature, I guess.

"Hmm, maybe. Can't hurt to make sure."

"No, it can't," I agree.

"Enrico? Catalina?" Eliza's voice is sharp, but before I can comprehend anything, Enrico pulls me down a hallway. "I could have sworn they were here…" Eliza's words drift off as Enrico keeps pulling me deeper down the hallway.

A giggle escapes me, and he puts his hand over my mouth, "Shh, she has ears like an eagle."

That only makes me giggle harder, and by the time Enrico opens a door to one of the many rooms in the mansion, he's chuckling too. "I feel like a teenager, not a man wanting to fuck his fiancée."

He engages the lock to the guest bedroom and turns around. My breath catches. Can this man be any hotter? His eyes are smoldering black coals that burn into me as he ever so slowly steps forward to me.

"This is going to be fast and rough," he promises.

I swallow, "I like… fast and rough," I confess, while taking an involuntary step back. He smirks. Stops. And crooks his finger at me.

And God help me, my panties are drenched instantly.

Shit, why is this so hot?

The devil rides me, and I take another step back instead of coming to him.

His smirk deepens, and he tilts his head, silently asking, Are you sure you want to play it like this?

He stalks after me. Two steps to every one of mine. I circle the bed, hand behind my back like a cartoon villainess, and he's on the other side, that vein on the side of his neck starting to show—just enough threat to make me shiver.

"Is this a chase, Gattina?" he murmurs, his voice sounding like pure velvet. "Don't you know what happens when a cat runs from a wolf?"

I shake my head, wide-eyed and breathless. Because, Dio mio, no, but

holy hell, I want to find out.

He lunges, just enough to make me squeal and break left. But he's faster, his body a taut, elegant whip, and I'm trapped between the corner post of the bed and his arm caging me in.

"This," he growls into my ear, "is how you end up when you tease me." He's hard and thick against my hip, and I can't help but squirm. His palm skates up, taking my skirt with it, and his blunt fingers dig into my trembling skin.

"Is this what you want, sweetheart? You want to be ruined against these bedsheets before dinner? Or should I take you standing, right here?"

Fingers hook in the waistband of my panties, and he yanks them down in one swift, businesslike move, then pins my wrists against the cool wood of the bedpost. I gasp, a visceral shudder, and he nips my shoulder hard enough to sting.

"You're such a good girl for me," he taunts, tongue flicking over the mark he just made.

My knees are jelly, but he holds me up in a grip that says I belong to him.

He keeps my arms pinned up against the bedpost, and I'm powerless against his brutal strength.

Not that I want to resist. Every part of me aches for his touch.

Even more, I long to find out where this goes.

With his free hand, he cups my breast through the blouse, before growling, "This won't do. "

Without much effort, he rips the blouse apart, buttons jump every which way, pinging against the hardwood floor.

Shit, my breath comes out ragged, my skin burns.

He pulls first my right breast, then my left from their cups, not bothering to take the bra off.

My nipples are already stiff, announcing how ready I am for him.

"Fuck, you have the most beautiful tits," he groans, leaning forward and taking one nipple into his mouth, while his large hand covers my other breast. Then he begins to suck and nip at one nipple, while his fingers pull on the other, twirling the delicate pearl until I moan.

The ache in my pussy spreads deep into my core.

"You want it, don't you, Gattina?"

I nod fast, breath sobbing from my lips.

His hand moves lower, to my panties. He teases—God, he teases—thumb circling just where I ache, but always out of reach, until I'm pleading without words, grinding back against him.

"All this wet for me? If I ask you to come, you'll soak my cock, won't you?

Maybe I should make you say it out loud. "

My voice belongs to a stranger: "Ah fuck, yes, please?—"

His fingers brush over my clit through the lacy panties. The first press of his thumb to my clit makes me whimper, an edge of pain in his touch as he rubs slow, dirty circles.

"So wet for me already," he mutters in my ear, and there's so much pride in it, the shiver turns to a jolt that nearly buckles my knees. He works my pussy with two thick fingers, gathering the dripping mess and smearing it over my clit until the obscene sounds are almost louder than my moans.

"Listen to that, Gattina." He jams his fingers inside me—fast, deep, relentless. Instinct makes my hips snap back to meet his hand. "You'll come just from this, won't you?"

He's still holding my hands pinned up high above my head; my knees are so weak, he is all but supporting my weight. "I—" The world pinholes to a single, seismic ache, and I almost scream, "Please, Enrico, please, I need you?—"

"Not yet," he warns, and the fingers vanish, leaving me dizzy with need. I gasp in protest, but he only licks the taste from his knuckles, eyes hooded with dark intent. "God, look at you. What a beautiful mess you are."

His eyes skim my bared, heaving breasts and the bunched-up skirt over my hips.

His fingers hook into my panties, and he pulls.

I gasp at the friction of the material against my pussy.

With a twang, the material rips, and he discards it, leaving me bare.

My needy lower body gyrates against him, and he presses in close, heavy cock rutting against me, and his hand comes up to grip my jaw, forcing me to face the mirror above the dresser.

"Look," he orders, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "You're exactly what I want. Every time you melt for me, every time you break. No one else gets this. No one else gets you."

He rocks his hips against me, and a sob escapes me from the need to have him inside me.

Keeping my hands up, he unzips his fly one-handedly.

The sound is so loud, I clench around nothing.

His hand returns to my hip, his thumb digs in so deep I'm sure it'll leave a bruise.

Not that I care. I want this. All of it.

I want his muscular strength to overwhelm me, to take me every which way he pleases.

"You're going to take every inch, Piccolina," he says, and then the blunt head of his cock is at my entrance, splitting me open with a single, brutal thrust. I nearly collapse, but he holds me up, pinned between his body and the cold wood.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he groans, but he's not gentle, not even trying. He pounds into me, faster, harder, until my whole world consists of nothing but the slap of skin and the filthy things he whispers into my ear, "Your tight little cunt was made just for me."

I can't answer. I'm too close. The edge slopes up, sharp and punishing, and my nails dig furrows into the wood.

I want to last. I want to give him the show he's demanding.

But another slam of his hips and I'm gone.

I'm shaking all over, eyes wet, my body clenching and fluttering around him so hard, I sob his name.

"That's it, scream for me, let them all hear," he says, and then he's coming too, with a raw, guttural sound that detonates in my chest. He holds us together like that, both shaking, neither of us saying anything for a long minute, just breathing.

When he finally lets go of my arms, my legs don't work right, and he has to catch me before I slide to the floor.

"Careful," he says, voice tinged with pride and with something oddly vulnerable. "Don't want you limping to dinner. People might talk."

I laugh, weak and breathless. If I could, I'd punch him for that. Instead, I cling to his shirt and bury my face in his neck, anchoring myself in the warm, prickling thump of his pulse.

"I could devour you whole," he murmurs, "and still never get enough."