Page 99 of Sinful Hearts

I’m there, unable to move, and my body shakes.

He slowly reaches out to drag the pad of his thumb along my throat, tracing the path the knife went only seconds ago.

A desire that shouldn’t burn cracks through me.

I run my tongue across my bottom lip. He bites down on his, so tight that the muscles in his jaw twitch.

Without warning, he slides his thumb between my lips. I sink my teeth into it.

He doesn’t flinch, only smirks.

My shoulders shake as I gasp for breaths. His thumb slips free from my mouth. He sweeps it over my lips before clamping his hand around my jaw. His fingers bite into my skin.

Not once does our eye contact break.

His gaze finally drops to my mouth, and my eyes travel with it.

When his eyes rise again, so do mine.

As he inches closer, I do the same.

The knife clatters to the tiled floor, echoing off the four walls like a warning, telling me to run. I jump but don’t look away from him.

He’s a room full of red flags, and I’m about to wave my white one.

I gulp as he comes closer, the toe of his shoe meeting mine.

It happens so fast that I’m not sure who moves first. For a short second, our lips brush against each other’s.

That’s all we need.

That simple spark, the match, to light our fire.

As if suddenly brought back alive, Emilio grips the back of my neck and drags me in for a kiss.

Areal kissfrom a man like him.

It’s rough, no tenderness or patience.

All desperation and teeth and anger.

I kiss him back, just as carnal and punishing.

Everything our marriage is.

My head spins as he fists my hair to tug my head back, exposing my throat, just like he did when he was holding the knife.

I cry out in both pain and desire.

He drives me backward, and I stumble over the knife before he slams me against the wall with a heavy thud. If there were any pictures on these bare walls, they’d be on the floor from the impact.

“You fucking drive me insane,” he growls against my mouth, grinding his hips into mine.

He curls a hand around my throat, giving enough pressure to trap a few breaths.

“I should hate you,” he whispers, his tone rough and low. “You’ve been plotting my death, yet here I am, so fucking hard for you that it hurts.” His grip on my throat tightens before easing some, and his thumb strokes the side of my neck. “I should be squeezing the life out of you, but instead, I’m going to fuck you so good that you’ll want to die alongside me because no man will ever be able to pleasure you like I do.”

A moan tears from my throat. “Please,” is all I can say in desperation.