Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
The bathrooms are singles and only one is occupied at the very end. I knock firmly once, then twice. “Occupied, just a moment,” Brice says.
The door opens and she startles, staring up into my eyes.
I push her back inside and pull the door shut behind me.
She leans up against the sink, eyes wide, breathing fast. “What are you doing?”
“I behaved all night. You didn’t really expect me to keep that up forever, did you?” I push the door lock in with a loud click and advance on her.
“Carmine.”
“You haven’t heard my pitch yet. The reason why you should marry me.”
“I think I have. Please, not here. Can we just—”
“No, you think you heard me, but you haven’t really been listening. You’re too busy thinking about your nice and cozy apartment, your lovely and soft blankets, your Netflix account, your average little problems at work. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
“Carmine—”
“Listen.” I stop right in front of her. I loom over her. Even in her heels, Brice only comes up to my throat. I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Have you ever been fucked in a bathroom before? Have you ever wanted someone so badly, so desperately, that you couldn’t wait?”
Her face pales. “Carmine. We’re not doing that right now.”
“No, we aren’t. But your reaction tells me you’ve never once felt that in your life. You’ve never come close, have you? I bet you’re still a virgin.”
She opens her mouth to deny it, but shuts it again.
My body thrums with electricity. Virgin. God, I guessed, but I didn’t really think—
How could this girl be a virgin?
But no, it makes sense, of course she’s untouched and so damn pure.
Her whole world is predicated on purity, and it tracks that she’d keep her body to herself.
She has no clue what it feels like to truly crave.
And to be craved.
How intoxicating it can be to feel wanted and filthy and beautiful and depraved all at once.
My lips brush against her cheek. She trembles and lets out a soft whimper. It’s the most incredible sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
“If you were my wife, I’d never let you forget a thing.”
“You’re so very full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me, right here and now, that you’re not practically shaking with anticipation.”
“I’m not.”
“Do you want me to go? Say the word. Go ahead.”
Her jaw works. She says nothing.
A thrill runs down my spine as my right hand slips up the nape of her neck, along the soft skin, over the small, downy hairs at the base of her skull, until I twist my fingers into her perfect little bun and tighten.
She gasps in surprise.
And I kiss her.
At first, it’s like kissing a corpse. She’s cold and motionless and stiff, and I wonder if she’s about to stop this, about to break this perfect, intense moment.
But then she melts like that chocolate cake.
Her lips soften and part. Her tongue releases and explores mine. Her taste floods my mouth—Chapstick, red wine, something lemony and delicious—and another whimper escapes her throat.
And she kisses me back.
I hold her there, fist in her hair, my tongue exploring her mouth, her tongue exploring mine in return, and I let myself release into the frenzy of wanting her. This is what I’ve been craving and this is what I can offer her. The perfect little princess, the squeaky-clean little angel, she’s kissing a mafia Don in the bathroom of a fancy restaurant, and she’s moaning into his mouth.
Fuck, if that isn’t heaven with a touch of hell, nothing is.
My other hand moves down her dress, down her arm. I feel her fingers gripping the edge of the sink. I continue down to her thighs, to the hem of her dress. She lets out a soft gasp, a little moan, and another one of those delectable whimpers as I pull the hem up and spread her legs.
“Tell me to stop,” I dare her, thrumming with the buzzing excitement of something dirty, something filthy, something right on the edge of being wrong.
“Carmine,” she says and her look is both loathing and pure lust. “This isn’t going to change my mind. This is only going to make me hate you even more.”
“Good,” I say and slip her panties aside.
She’s dripping fucking wet.
Soaking, goddamn sopping, her panties ruined, and the moan she makes as my fingers spread her lips and trace lines along her seam up to her swollen little clit is so wrong, so erotic, so incredibly perfect it makes me want to shove the ring down her throat here and now and claim her as my own forever.
Instead, I rub my thumb against her little bud and slide my fingers deep inside her gorgeous, tight pussy, and listen to her purr.
Her hips tell me everything I need to know. She grinds herself against my palm, panting as I kiss her. She’s honey, she’s sugar. I kiss her harder, fist in her hair pulling tight, hand between her legs working her pussy as she drips down my palm and moans against my tongue. “Filthy girl,” I whisper as she gasps and I fuck her faster. “You are a filthy fucking girl letting me touch your pussy like this on our very first date.”