My Sadistic Billionaire - Wicked First Love

That she would never be cured, and who she was now was who she would be forever.

She had thought he would hesitate, but he hadn’t.

Instead, he had bitten her ear. “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

She had been bemused.

“That you would think I would hold your trauma against you—-” He scowled.

And when she, too, realized what he wasn’t saying, she had wanted to cry.

Like she did now.

Just remembering it made her heart squeeze, and Lane knew it would be a memory she’d forever treasure. That and so many more, she thought, because everyday with Angelo was like a slice of paradise.

Paradise that everyone knew didn’t ever last.

And so it didn’t, and as the last night of spring break arrived, both of them knew a decision had to be made.

They were hanging out in the patio, Lane curled on the couch, head resting on his lap and content to simply be with him while Angelo read a book. That he was such a bookworm had been a surprise, and even his literary tastes – horror and science fiction – had been a shocker to Lane. Angelo was just so physically imposing and his presence so commanding that she had thought he would be all over sports, or at least have a hobby more exciting than turning pages.

Even now, this side of him made her grin, but it was a fact she knew she would never tell anyone. The week she spent with Angelo had taught her a thing or two about herself as well, and one of it was that she could be horribly selfish. Where Angelo was concerned, she just wanted to be the one to know him the most.

“That grin of yours is scary, tesoro.”

She looked up to see Angelo gazing at her curiously, his book momentarily placed face down on the table next to the couch.

“Just thinking of, umm, things.” Another thing she had discovered was that being vague gave her the best chances of not blurting every little thing to him.

“Ah.” Angelo’s expression became grim, thinking that Lane was getting ready to tell him she was going to leave the next day. After all, her friend would return to her dorm and she would have her apartment back.

“Angelo?” Lane pushed herself up, sensing the sudden change in his mood, and she asked, “What’s wrong?”

His eyes bored through hers. “What do you think?”

Oh no. Her heart slammed hard against her chest, and her stomach became queasy with fear. They were going to talk about it now then. She had hoped that he would just let things lie, but she realized that she was being silly.

Angelo was a planner, not a pantster.

Of course he’d want to talk about things, even when they were hurtful.

She took a deep breath, telling herself she was going to be an adult about this.

Fuck. He saw the look on her face, and his chest clenched. He heard himself say, “You should stay here longer.”

She snapped her mouth shut, deciding that the less said, the better. If he wanted her to stay longer, who she was to argue?

“You’re not going to ask why?”

She shook her head.

And it became clear to him. “You didn’t want to leave?”

Not looking at him, she mumbled, “Do you want me to?”

Ah.

He could hurt her now, he thought. He could afford to keep his pride, to remain behind his walls, and not let her know that he had been terrified she would want to leave.

He could do that, but he didn’t.

“No.” He held her gaze with his. “Never.”

Because he might be a sadist...but he was only interested in pain that gave her pleasure. Pain that would make her cry did not interest him, repelled him even.

Angelo’s words left her dazed, and she didn’t even realize she was crying until he bent close and wiped her tears away.

Oh.

She watched him bring his finger to her lips, and he murmured, “I love the taste of your tears.”

Lane cried and laughed, and when he placed her on his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried on his chest.

“Poor baby.”

She laughed and cried harder because Angelo didn’t sound convincing at all. Instead, he sounded like he was relishing her tears, and he probably did.

“I should make you cry again tomorrow.”

“Sadist.” But her arms tightened around his neck as she spoke.

“Exactly.” He smiled against her hair. “That is what I’ll always be, just as...” His mouth moved to her ear. “Who you are now is who you will always be.”

Oooh.

She looked up. “A masochist?”

He shook his head, confusing her, and cupping her chin, he brought her mouth to his, saying, “You disappoint me. Surely you know by now—-” He kissed her hard. “What you’ll always be is mine.”

Her toes curled hard.

“My masochist. My Lane.”

It was the most unbearably sweet thing he had said, and she couldn’t help it. She just had to say it.