Devil You Hate (The Diavolo Crime Family 1)

He holds his hand out to me, and I drag my eyes between his outstretched fingers and his eyes. When I don’t take his hand, he steps forward, snags my wrist, and yanks me into him again. I trip, and he uses the momentum to pull me down to the ground. The rocks in the dirt cut into my legs as he carefully lays me across his knee.

“You’ve earned yourself a punishment. First, I’m going to spank you, and then we’ll get on with the rest of the business.”

He lifts my dress back up over my ass. I try to reason with myself. Maybe this is another scare tactic. Maybe he won’t actually hit me. That thought evaporates into thin air when the flat of his hand connects to my ass, and I jostle forward across his leg. My flesh burns from the impact, but then the burn fizzles into something deeper, something weighty in my core.

He delivers another smack on the other cheek, and again, I grit my teeth with the impact and ride out the pain into a faint throb that blooms into something else inside me. The next smack is harder, and I hiss out a breath, clawing my nails into the arm clutched tight around my upper body.

“Let go,” he orders. I ignore him and dig my nails in deeper, the pain overtaking reason.

He doesn’t hit me again. Instead, he flips me onto my back and climbs on top of me, pinning me to the ground. His hips part my legs open around him.

I shove at his chest, and he moves my hands above my head and holds them there.

“Guess you should’ve thought about all of this before you ran,” he growls.

“I hate you.” I curl my lip and spit the words at him. I wish they were daggers and had the power to pierce his flesh.

I continue to struggle and wiggle against him, trying to shimmy out from under his body until I feel the hard outline of his cock against my bare thigh.

I freeze at the revelation and suck a ragged breath into my lungs.

He tugs me back into position underneath him, his face even with mine. “Hate me all you want but, if I were you, I’d remain very still, so I don’t forget how much I need you to be a virgin.”

His words sputter through me, and I fold my lips together to keep a moan locked inside. I’m soaking wet from the spanking, and even now, my no doubt welted ass lies in the dirt, and I don’t care. Not when his cock is so close to where I need it.

His exhales shoot sparks along my neck. Even as he speaks, he arches his hips into me, rubbing slowly, deliberately. “Oh, no. I don’t reward little brats who don’t follow my instructions.”

With his face so close to mine, I can see every line, every worry, and maybe a hint of fear. Without thinking of any further repercussions, I press my lips to his, and heat consumes me. I have no idea what pushed me to do it. Curiosity? Fear? Or maybe I’m simply insane.

He freezes against me. He doesn’t respond to my kiss, and the hand that was digging into my thigh a moment ago stills against my fevered skin.

I pull away, heat already washing up my neck and into my ears. Of course, he won’t kiss me back. He’s been vocal about the fact I’m nothing more than a sex doll for his newest client. I close my eyes before the tears slip down my cheeks, and he sees them.

I want him off me, away from my body, so I can think straight. But he doesn’t move, even when I lift my hips to dislodge him. The movement only grinds my wrists harder into the rocky field, along with the backs of my thighs and calves. The pinpricks of pain cut through the haze until his mouth descends on mine.

Some men kiss with permission on their lips. Nic isn’t one of those men. He kisses me with demand and the expectation that I open for him in every way. And when he bites into my bottom lip, using his teeth to tug my lips apart, I pant and wiggle underneath him to pry my hands free.

He releases my wrists and fists the hair at the nape of my neck. The strands tangle between his fingers to deliver a delicious tug with every flex of his knuckles.

His lips plunder mine, devour from the inside out, all the while his hips rock into mine slowly, rhythmically even, as I thrash for more skin, more friction, more anything to reach the orgasm looming at the edge of my grasp.

Every swipe of his tongue against mine is a claim, a flag planted, his body marking mine as his. And I want it more than anything. Him to take everything and keep me.