Chapter 16 Gaetano
Gaetano
Am I overreacting? Maybe.
Fire gnaws beneath my ribs as the image of her tangled up with that smug bastard flashes through my mind. Possession rises in me like a tide, curling through my veins, fueled by magic and raw desire.
After the car prank, I might have let it slide if not for her audacity. Calling me a “vile son of a bitch”? Demanding an explanation as if I were hers to command? The Little Baroness must have mistaken my nice demeanor for weakness.
What’s more, she doesn’t realize just how much her defiance stirs me.
“Were you thinking of me while you were with him, Nicole?” I ask again, my fingers tracing the sensitive spot between her thighs with a slow stroke.
Call me greedy for confessions, but right now, nothing would be sweeter than watching her lips part and admit to the tension simmering between us.
“No!” Her body shivers beneath mine. It’s proof enough of her want, but the real test is hearing it from her mouth.
She glares at me over her shoulder. Her fury fuels the fire burning in my chest. Of course, she wouldn’t break so easily. That’s why playing with her ignites me in ways nothing else does.
Maybe it was that amateur’s hands all over her that pulled the trigger. Or maybe it’s her endless refusal to yield. Either way, I no longer want just her soul. I want her body, too.
“Tell me you lied.” My palm presses over the heat that pulses between her legs. The fabric is damp beneath my touch, tempting me to tug it aside. Will her defiance hold if I do?
She bites down on her lower lip. “I didn’t lie. I like Branimir. Unlike you…”
I grin even wider at her challenging stare. My hand swings up and lands with a soft slap across the cheek of her ass. Nicole hisses through her teeth, but she doesn’t move.
“Still trying to lie to me, Little Baroness?”
“You’re the last man I’d ever touch…” Her voice breaks at the edges, little more than a whisper.
I snort and spank her again, this time on the other cheek. Her nails dig into the mattress. She’s not in pain—not really. All it does is push the blood lower, fueling the heat that coils between her thighs. Still, I soothe the sting with my palm, enjoying the burn of her skin beneath my touch.
Her spine arches, and her ass lifts in response.
I almost drop to my knees and do everything I taunted her with just moments ago.
“You’re proving to be a far greater temptation than I ever expected.” I drink in the curves sprawled before me. Her thighs press together, as if that could somehow hide her desire. Useless. The fabric between her legs is soaked.
She aches, but not because of my strikes. It’s the conflict between desire and pride that consumes her. She views her attraction to me as weakness, as shame. And because of that, she’ll never admit how badly she wants me to touch her.
But there’s one small detail she seems to have missed. Her hands have been free for some time now, and she hasn’t made the slightest attempt to pull away.
I trail my fingers along the edge of the red lace. “Last chance, Baroness. Tell me you want me the way I want you, and I’ll grant you anything you desire.”
The silence that follows crackles with tension. The pressure straining against the fabric of my pants is nearly unbearable. My fingers curl with restraint, still hesitating to cross that final line. Yet the thought of slipping past the damp fabric and feeling her warmth tests my limits.
Her hands grip the mattress, every muscle taut beneath me. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing what you want,” she says at last.
A wave of disappointment washes over me. My hand freezes where it rests on her underwear, caught between craving and control. For a heartbeat, I consider casting the games aside and spreading her open right here, right now.
The blood stirs in my veins, pulsing with magic. This is my game. I started it. I must see it through.
I lean in and press a single kiss to one side of her ass, followed by the other. Then I step back. “Tomorrow marks the seventh day of our contract. Perhaps your last day among the living.”
She twists on the mattress, lips parted in surprise. It seems my Baroness expected that even after denying me her submission, I’d still kneel before her like a good boy.
The satisfaction of once again subverting her expectations spreads through me in heated waves. Well, at least it’s some form of consolation.
“Consider my riddle well,” I say. “Because I’d hate to claim your soul so soon. Not before I’ve heard you scream my name in pleading gasps while I tear you apart with my tongue.”
Her hand shoots out toward the handbag lying discarded on the bed. She swings it at me and hurls it through the air.
I step aside with ease. The bag slices through the space between us, grazing my thigh, then crashing to the floor with a dull thud. Coins scatter. Keys rattle. A perfume bottle rolls away.
My gaze drifts over the chaos at my feet, then lifts to find her again. Dilated pupils. Quick, ragged breaths. Flushed cheeks. Copper strands of hair strewn in all directions.
Exquisite.
Tension pulses in her clenched fists and along her taut jawline, as if she’s imagining slowly roasting me over a fire of her own making.
I raise my hand and tap two fingers to my lips, blowing her a kiss through the air. “Sleep well, Baroness.”
The portal engulfs me.