“How so?”
“You’re in the shower with a woman who wants to do violence to you—a woman whose scars you wear.” She flicked her fingers at his shoulder and side, both sporting fresh scars from the bullet wounds. “And yet you’re naked and unconcerned. That’s arrogant by any definition of the word.”
He bit back a grin, curious to see what she’d do if he prodded her. The fact he truly didn’t know delighted him. “I’m bigger and stronger. What could you possibly do?”
“Oh, Dante.” Her lips quirked, and she moved toward him slowly. Her voice went low and seductive. “I can do so much.”
He held perfectly still and let her approach. Dante had been half-mast more or less consistently since arriving at the plane, but the moment Rose walked into the shower, his cock was so hard, he had a difficult time thinking past it.
She stopped a bare inch away and trailed her fingers over his length. His breath caught in his chest. Was it really going to be this easy? No. Surely not. But he couldn’t think properly with her touching him. “Rosa.” His voice came our raspy.
“Da.” The only warning he got was a slight tensing in her shoulders, and then she grabbed his balls in a viselike grip. His back hit the tiled wall, and she followed him, pressing her body to his even as she tightened her fingers. “Is something wrong, baby? Don’t tell me you don’t like to play rough.”
Fury surged, lust surging alongside it. He grabbed her wrist. Too hard, but it felt like she was going to rip his balls clean off his body. He hit her pressure points, forcing her hand open. It wasn’t enough, though. Not with pain beating through him with every thump of his heart. Dante used his hold to spin her around, turning in the same move to pin her against the wall, him at her back. She cursed and tried to buck, but he got a hand around her throat, holding her away from the tile so she wouldn’t bust her face open. “That’s enough.”
“Let me go.”
“No, Rosa.” He pressed against her back, letting the feeling of her slippery skin against his soothe him. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“What?”
He released her wrist and shoved his hand between her thighs to cup her pussy. He wanted nothing more than to sink two fingers into her silken heat, but Dante managed to restrain himself…mostly. He dragged his middle finger up her slit, rubbing the length against her clit. “Tell me yes, Rosa.”
Her only answer was her harsh breathing and the slightest widening of her thighs.
“Not good enough.” He made himself still his hand. A battle he quickly became in danger of losing as her desire drenched his fingers. “Tell me yes,” he repeated. “Tell me you want this. Tell me to make you come.”
She pressed her hands to the tile wall and let herself lean forward a little, resting her throat more firmly against his palm. “I won’t tell you yes, Dante. Don’t ask me to.”
He tried to think through the desire thrumming through his blood, to parse out her words. What she had said. What she hadn’t. Finally, he said, “Then tell me no, Rosa. Tell me no and I’ll stop.”
He held perfectly still as he counted off the seconds internally. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty. At sixty, she still hadn’t said a single fucking word. He smiled against her temple. You’re mine, Rosa. You know it, and I know it. “Very well.”
Chapter 8
Rose should tell him no. That’s what Dante asked for. That’s what the smart thing to do was. She hadn’t exactly had a plan when she’d hurt him, other than wanting to punish him for putting her in this position. Now, though? She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t turned on by the rough handling. She was practically panting against his hold on her throat, and no doubt he could feel evidence of her lust where his fingers gripped her pussy.
She should tell him no…
But she didn’t.
More, she didn’t want to.
Dante moved slowly. Testing her. He resumed his slow stroking, his middle finger dragging up her center and rubbing against her clit in a way that had her fighting back a moan. God, she’d missed him. She hated herself for it, but it was the truth. Even if, as Jackson, he’d never given her the rough fucking part of her craved, he had given her this. She’d forced herself to forget what it felt like to have the entirety of this man’s attention focused on her pleasure.
More, it felt right to have his hand bracketing her throat.
She spread her legs wider, giving him better access, and he rewarded her by pressing two fingers into her. They both exhaled in unison at the intrusion. He encompassed her with his body, cradling her even as he overpowered her nonexistent resistance. He explored her slowly, thoroughly, as if this were the first time all over again, finally landing on her G-spot with a muttered statement in Italian that sounded extremely satisfied. He rubbed his fingertips against it, kissing her temple when her knees went weak. The sweetness perfectly contrasted the way his other hand pulsed against her throat. Claiming her in a way she never would have allowed outside the bedroom.