Chapter 21 #2
When we reach my bedroom, I kick the door open hard enough that it slams against the wall. I stride to the center of the room before setting Alina on her feet, keeping my hands on her shoulders until I’m certain she’s steady.
Her face is flushed, blue eyes wide and bright with anger, hair tousled from the journey upstairs. She looks wild, beautiful in her indignation. The sight makes my dick strain painfully against the confines of my pants.
“Y-you,” she stammers. Her pale blue eyes are blazing with anger, and instead of retreating, she takes a step closer and jabs her finger into my chest. “Don’t ever do that again.”
I smirk at her. “Never do what? Throw you over my shoulder?”
To my surprise, she licks her lips. Wait, did she like that I did that? Wanting to push her further, I take half a step toward her, closing the distance. She still doesn’t retreat. No, she just tilts her head back, meeting my gaze.
My restraint doesn’t just snap; it disintegrates.
I reach out, my hand diving into the hair at the nape of her neck, my fingers locking tight. I don’t give her a second to think, to protest, or to breathe before I slam my mouth against hers.
It’s a brutal, messy collision of teeth and heat. I expect her to fight me, but the second my lips crush hers, she lets out a sharp, jagged moan that vibrates straight into my throat. She tastes like the wine from dinner and something else—something sweet and intoxicating that’s purely her.
Using the grip on her hair, I pull her even closer. When my tongue sweeps against her bottom lip, demanding entry, she doesn’t just give in—she gasps, her mouth falling open for me.
I slide my tongue inside, deep and searching, and the sound she makes is wrecked. It’s a low, needy whimpering from the back of her throat.
My tongue brushes against hers, slick and hot, and a jolt of pure fire shoots straight to my gut. I lose track of the debt, the bakery, and the rules.
All I can feel is the wet heat of her mouth and the way she’s starting to tremble against me.
Pulling back, I groan her name. “Alina.”
Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils blown wide. And her lush lips are swollen from the rough kiss. Fucking perfect.
Turning her head to the side, she refuses to look at me. “So much for your precious choices,” she snips.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t have kissed me if I’d asked you to?” I ask, amused.
She shrugs one shoulder. “You’ll never know now, will you?”
I can feel her anger, the one she’s swallowing down instead of letting loose. “Say what’s on your mind,” I order, curious.
“You keep lecturing me about choices, but all I see is you taking and doing whatever you want. That’s it, Raffaele.
We both know I’m your puppet on a string, but you still seem to think my limbs are moving on their own even when you’re pulling those strings.
I think power has corrupted you so much that you’ve forgotten what choice feels like. ”
Anger rolls off her in thick, suffocating waves as she continues to berate me. Not once does she swear or raise her voice. Her tone’s sharp, sure. But that’s as aggressive as she lets herself become. Even in anger, she’s gentle.
All her outburst does is remind me why I carried her up here in the first place. And it wasn’t to satisfy a craving. I brought her up here to enforce the rules. My rules.
“Take your clothes off,” I command, taking a step back to give her space.
That stops her angry tirade and causes her to look at me as if I’m insane. “What? No.”
“Strip,” I repeat, “or I’ll do it for you.”
Her eyes narrow, arms crossing over her chest. “I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you.”
“Everything in this house belongs to me,” I inform her, my voice low and laced with danger. “They’re my clothes. And you’ve made it clear you don’t want what I’ve provided. So, you can go without.”
When she doesn’t move, just places her shaking hands on her hips, I step forward.
“I see you’ve made your choice,” I state.
Her eyes widen as I reach for her, but she doesn’t retreat. My fingers find the hem of her shirt, and I slowly lift it.
“Stop it,” she hisses, her hands coming up to push at my chest. They might as well be butterfly wings for all the effect they have.
She’s so predictable. I knew her defiance would only last until she saw how serious I am. “You had your chance.” I let go of the hem and grab the collar.
I pull until the fabric gives, tearing down the middle in jagged rips, revealing glimpses of pale skin and the black lace of her bra beneath.
She tries to slap my hands away, but I simply smirk at her before tearing the ruined shirt from her body. Of course, I could have done that from the beginning. But I want her to know just how seriously I’m taking this.
Her breathing quickens, chest rising and falling rapidly as more skin is exposed. “You can’t do this,” she insists, but her voice has lost its edge, fear creeping in.
“I can,” I counter, throwing the shirt to the floor, leaving her in just her bra, jeans, and socks. “And I just did.”
Her breasts strain against the bra, nipples visibly hardening beneath the fabric. My mouth waters at the sight.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
With the shirt gone, I unbutton her jeans, and she immediately tries to cover herself, arms crossing over her chest. With one hand, I push them away.
“Don’t,” I growl.
She trembles but lets her arms fall to her sides, fingers curling into fists as I slide her jeans down her legs. She steps out of them automatically, a flush spreading from her face down her neck to the tops of her breasts.
My eyes track the path of that blush. I want to follow it with my tongue, tasting every inch of her heated skin. The small black panties match her bra—lacy and shapely. The cut makes it so some of her ass cheeks fall out, which is a fucking mouthwatering sight.
I reach behind her to unclasp her bra, my movements unhurried despite the pounding of my heart. Her breath hitches as the fabric loosens, and I slide the straps down her arms, revealing full, heavy breasts tipped with rosy nipples that pebble in the cool air.
“Please,” she begs on a breathy whisper, but whether she’s begging me to stop or continue, I’m not sure. She might not even know since the words don’t match her tone.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and slide them down, revealing a trimmed patch of red curls between her thighs. Her entire body is trembling with what I recognize as shame mixed with something else—something she might not even be aware of yet.
Stepping back, I take in the full view of her naked body. She’s magnificent—all soft curves and pale skin, a constellation of freckles scattered across her shoulders. Her breasts are full and heavy, the kind that would fill my hands perfectly and possibly still spill over.
Fuck!
Her waist curves in slightly before flaring out to generous hips marked with small silver stretch marks like badges of honor.
I want to bite and lick each one. Badly.
While I stand there admiring her, she tries to cover herself again.
One arm across her breasts, the other hand cupping between her legs.
“I said don’t,” I growl, stepping forward again. “Let me see what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours,” she whispers, but she drops her arms, revealing herself to me once more.
I move toward her, and with each step I take forward, she takes one back until she hits the wall with a soft gasp. I close the distance between us.
My free hand hovers near her skin, not touching, just close enough that she must feel the heat radiating from my palm. My eyes travel down her body, drinking in details I’ll replay later.
“You shouldn’t be hiding your body anyway,” I tell her, my voice rough with desire. “It’s beautiful. Sexy as fuck.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right.” When I growl at her, hating she’s unable to see herself clearly, she rolls her eyes. “I know I’m not beautiful, Raffaele. If this is you trying to sweet-talk me into sleeping with you before we’re married, it won’t work.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe slowly. Slow. Slower still. The way she talks about herself is a fucking crime. It makes me want to haul her over my knees and spank her ass until she can’t sit down for weeks.
“You still don’t believe you’re beautiful?” I rasp.
“I know I’m not,” she states.
Instead of arguing with her, I nod. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right, that you’re not beautiful… who decides that?”
“W-what?”
“Well, isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?” I challenge. “So if I find you beautiful, sexy, perfect… that’s up to me, isn’t it?”
She opens her mouth, probably to disagree. But I shake my head.
“Since you don’t want to use the clothes I’ve given you, you don’t need any.” I release her wrists and step back. “Anything I give you, you accept, or you go without,” I say, gripping her chin to make her look at me. “It’s that simple.”
She brings her arms down slowly, wrapping them around herself again. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and the vulnerability in her voice almost breaks my resolve. Almost.
“No reason to be sorry,” I reply, my expression deliberately cold. “This was your choice, and now you get to live with it.”