Page 99 of Raphael

“What has upset you?”

This guy couldn’t be for real. Either he was dense, or he purposely tried to piss me off.

“Youhave upset me. And your men that won’t let me leave this fucking prison.”

“This is not a prison.” He leaned back into his chair, loosening his one button and my eyes flickered down to his bronze chest. If I could claw my eyes out, I would, because just a glimpse and I had to fight a shiver rolling through me.

Tousled sheets. His groans. My moans. His body covering mine, thrusting inside me.

Great, now I was all hot and bothered.

This man made me hyperaware of his every breath. Fucking bastard.

“It is,” I said, my tone slightly breathless. “It’s a prison if I cannot leave when I wish to.”

“It’s not a good time to leave.” That was it. No explanation. Nothing.

I was just supposed to accept it.

“Why?” No answer and that fueled my rage even more. Anger heated my cheeks, edgy beats to my heart that had my blood flowing with pure frustration. I didn’t want to be a weak woman, nothing but putty for him.

“Why, Santos?” I gritted.

He was up from his chair and around the table, his big hand around my wrist in the fraction of a second. He spun me around and bent me over his desk.

I tried to fight him off, but it was fruitless. His chest pressed against my back, my breaths filled the room and to my horror, I was aroused which pissed me off even more.

“Santos was my father.” His mouth brushed against my ear, and his hot breath warmed my skin. “I’m Raphael. Your husband. Your beloved. Your cariño. Take your pick.”

“My diablo,” I panted and I felt his body tense against me. Damn him and this languid sensation that pulled on my muscles.

He pressed his lips against my ear, while his other hand came around my waist. “Yourdiablo.”

Jesus Christ. What was happening to me? I was turned on unlike ever before. Confusion battled within me, and when his mouth nipped my neck, a visible shudder rolled through my body. He inhaled and then made a low sound of satisfaction. The vibration of the sound thrummed between my legs, making me painfully aware of every inch of him.

“Mi reina,” he rasped as his grip on my waist tightened. He pressed his front to my back, our bodies were flush with one another, and his erection pressed against the curve of my ass.

Sparks lit beneath my skin, sizzling the blood in my veins and I found it hard to breathe. My heart beat so hard, in rhythm with the throbbing between my legs. In anticipation.

Goddamn him, I wanted him. Now.

My body went against my explicit order and moved, my butt grinding against him.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish, Reina,” he gritted and I could have fucking gotten off on only the sound of his voice and the restraint I felt vibrating through his every muscle.

I turned around and met his gaze.Blue. Devilish.

“I intend to finish,” I rasped. “Do you want to finish?”

My breathing labored, my heart pounded in my chest so hard, it made it hard to breathe. Or think. All I felt was the desire for him pooling between my legs and demanding to be relieved. I stood so close to him, his knees were practically brushing against my skin.

I closed the distance between us, and urged him to take a step backwards. One step. Two steps. And his legs were pressed against the couch. Like the true devil he was, he sat down, his knees wide open, welcoming me.

So I stepped between them.

Every inch of my body burned, only for him. My skin tingled, alternating between burning and goosebumps. This must be what addiction for the devil felt like - so good, but so bad for you. And still I refused to stop.

My body screamed for him, each cell in me demanding I get my relief. Maybe I waited too long, years of not feeling anything crashing down. Or maybe I have been waiting for this man and my body recognized him before my mind did. I just knew I needed him, all consequences be damned. This man, my husband, was igniting it.