Shackled Hearts (Chained Hearts Duet 4)

“I think if our story were written, the reader would not be cheering for you.” I chuckle. “From what I know, and that’s not a lot, no one would cheer for you, Lucas Rossi.”

I pick up another book.

“Why would I care what others cheer for? The only person’s opinion that matters to me is standing right here in front of me staring at romance books. Books that when she reads them, will make her realize that what we have is so beyond fucked, she’ll wonder why she even gave it attention.” My hand pauses on the next book. “And when you get your memory back… all of it… you will hate me even more for having you again,” he tells me with a look of sadness flashing across his face. I turn away from him and keep looking at the books.

“What if…” My voice is soft, but he hears it anyway.

“What if what?” he asks, now closer to me.

“What if the villain needs love too?” I turn to face him.

Lucas lifts his hand and snaps his fingers. The lights dim, and the room goes silent before he lifts his hand again, pushing my hair behind my ear. “Do you think of me as the villain in your story, mia per sempre?”

My breath catches. “Should I?”

His body now presses up against mine, and I feel him everywhere. I want him again desperately.

“You should. You should be very afraid.” His mouth hovers near mine, but his lips never make contact.

I lean up on my tippy-toes and whisper in his ear, “Maybe the girl just wants the villain to fuck her already.” I pull back to find a devilish smirk before his hand drops from my face, and he scoops me up so my legs grip around his waist.

“You can’t hate me after this,” he says, carrying me to the back wall of books. My back hits the bookcase, and his hand slides from my ass and slips under my skirt, lifting it, then moves my panties to the side. His thumb touches my clit, and he rubs slow circles. “I think I can make you come right now, without my cock inside of you,” he teases.

My breathing is heavier, and when I don’t answer, he slides me down until my feet hit the floor. He grabs my ass and pulls me to him so our bodies are pressed together from chest to thigh. I can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, and I stretch up on the tips of my toes so I can be in line with my pussy. My body starts moving on its own, grinding on him, as his hand pushes my hair to the side, and he kisses the length of my neck. I feel him bend at the knees a little, and it’s perfect. His cock is pressed firmly now against my pussy, and I’m rubbing on it, my legs spread just enough to get the right amount of friction.

He doesn’t stop me but simply keeps kissing my neck and whispering, “mia per sempre” in my ear, repeatedly. I keep moving, rubbing against him, while his hands raise to my breasts, cupping them, and when he bites my shoulder, I can’t help but moan out loudly.

I feel like a teenager grinding on my boyfriend out in public.

Except, he isn’t my boyfriend.

And I’m far from a teenager.

My head drops back, my hands clutch at his suit jacket, and I keep moving my hips until I feel it build all the way. My mouth opens when I reach that magic spot, and just as I do, he is gone.

Cold air hits me, and my body wants to scream.

What is he doing?

But I soon feel his body back against mine. And he’s so fast, my panties are torn off, and he’s sliding inside me so violently that my head jolts and hits the shelf. Hard. But I don’t stop, and neither does he. I would probably strangle him if he did.

“You just came in the crime fiction section,” he pants out as I squeeze my eyes shut. I did, and I came hard. Opening my eyes, I see him staring at me with a look in his eyes that surely isn’t meant for me.

Lucas Rossi doesn’t do love.

He’s even said so.

Repeatedly.

“Did you enjoy the crime section?” He chuckles.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth when he pulls out of me and places me down gently before he tucks himself back into his pants and walks off. I pull my skirt down, my panties now torn to pieces on the floor. I go to pick them up, but Lucas is back. He passes me a wet cloth—where he got that, who knows—and picks up my discarded underwear and slips them into his pocket. “A memento.” He winks, taking the cloth from my hand and then dropping to his knees in front of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Wiping you clean,” he says like it should be obvious.

“You afraid I’m going to push your cum up even deeper and hope I fall pregnant?” I joke.