Page 87 of Ruthless Lord

“Give my wife whatever she wants.” Stefano turns away and leaves the room.

“Thanks, Davide.” I hurry after my husband, leaving the phone behind. I catch up with him in the hallway. “Stefano, hold on.”

He turns to me. Frustration is spelled across his face in furrowed brows and pinched lips. I get on my toes and lightly kiss his cheek, which surprises him and makes him relax the slightest bit.

“It’ll be okay,” I promise, turning away. “Come find me at home when it’s done.”

Chapter 26

Charlie

The longer I wait to hear from Stefano, the more I’m thinking this was a terrible idea.

It’s like I let Davide snoop through my most private thoughts. All the dumb, embarrassing crap I search for is going to be his to sift through. And if he’s going to prove that I’m not up to something shady, he’ll have to look at it all.

How fast do toes grow?

Trees that are trees but also weeds?

Snacks but healthy and taste good but not berries.

And on and on. If Stefano gets a glimpse of that stuff, he’s going to think I’m the dumbest woman alive. That’s what I get for offloading half my personality to Google.

But it’s only a few hours later when I hear him come through the front door. I turn off the TV and sit up straight as he rumbles into the living room, his expression clouded. My phone’s clutched in his hand. I jump to my feet, stomach twisting like trees in a thunderstorm.

Based on his expression, this gambit didn’t work that great for me.

I hold out my hands, pulse racing.

“Is everything okay? Davide told you I didn’t do anything wrong, right?”

Stefano looms in front of me. His face darkens as he holds out the phone. I lightly take it from him, feeling sick and scared. Why isn’t he talking? Why isn’t he doing anything but staring at me like that? I need him to know that I made a mistake, but I never actually betrayed him. I didn’t tell my grandfather anything, and I was never going to hand over that keycard.

“Say something,” I whisper, feeling sick. “Please, Stefano. Tell me everything’s okay.”

He reaches out a hand but stops inches from my face. “Give me permission.”

The way he says it breaks something in me. There’s so much desperate yearning in him. And now I realize that consternation wasn’t because of my dumb search history or some red flag I hadn’t realized was there.

It’s desire. It’s raw and unfiltered need.

“You have permission to touch me.”

And he crushes the distance between us like he’s been waiting a lifetime to do it. He pulls me against him, his other hand cupping my cheek, and he kisses me like lightning. His mouth crushes to mine and a low growl escapes his throat, and I’m kissing him back, equally washed away by the moment. His taste invades my mouth, stroking against mine, dominating me,tasting me, drinking me down, as his hands roam my body, tugging off clothes, dragging me to the couch.

He undresses me, throwing clothes to the side, releasing soft groans as each new inch of flesh is revealed. His eyes are bright with need when he pauses to look at me, hands cupping my bare breasts. He stoops to lick my nipples, stiffening my pink buds, lapping them hard with his tongue before pulling my hair to expose my throat.

“I knew you could never,” he says, relief and desire thick in his voice. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

“I wouldn’t.” He kisses my neck, stringing pecks and licks up to my mouth again as he drags me down to the couch. I’m shoved back, landing with a soft gasp, and he’s kneeling between my legs, crushing me with his size and weight, kissing down my chest and stomach.

“I hate this fucking leash you have me on,” he snarls, licking my hip bones, moving closer and closer to my aching slit. I slide my fingers through his hair and grip tightly.

“What would you do if I let it go?”

“Devour you.” He kisses my inner thigh, teasing now, building the tension. I want his mouth on my pussy more than life itself right now. “I don’t think I could keep my hands to myself for more than an hour at a time.”

“I think it’s better you stay leashed then.”