Fighter in Lingerie (Lingerie 14)

Bosco emerged from the bathroom, finished with his nightly routine. He ran his hand through his hair as he approached the bed, sighing quietly like there was something on his mind. He grabbed his alarm on the nightstand and checked a few things before he stripped off all his clothes and got into bed beside me.

He usually slept in his boxers, so the fact that he stripped down completely meant he thought he was gonna get some.

Wasn’t gonna happen.

He pressed his chest against my back and kissed the curve of my shoulder, his enormous erection pressed right in between my cheeks.

I wondered how many times he’d done that with someone else. He said I was the only woman he’d screwed without a condom, but was that a lie? He had an entire wardrobe in the closet—and none of it was mine. “I’m tired.” Like an irritated wife, I dismissed him and closed my eyes, hoping he would back off and go to sleep.

“Then just lie there.” He grabbed my arm and turned me over onto my back. “I don’t mind doing all the work, Beautiful.”

The nickname irritated me even more. How many times had he used that nickname in the past? “Well, I don’t want it. Good night.” I pushed him in the chest then turned over again, hoping the tension would fade as we drifted off to sleep.

He continued to hover next to me, looking at me with bubbling disappointment. His hand moved over my hip and down my thigh, subtly caressing me. He didn’t turn me over and try again, but he couldn’t keep his hands off me. “What is it?” His voice emerged deep and hostile, not seductive like it was a second ago.

“I’m tired.”

He sighed quietly, annoyed by my answer. “I’m always honest with you. Be honest with me.”

“Ha,” I said sarcastically. “You’re always honest with me, huh?” I sat up and looked at him over my shoulder. “Whatever you say, jackass.” I lay down again, giving him the coldest shoulder I’d ever had in my life.

He dropped his hand from my hip. “Carmen, what is it?” He pressed more firmly, only using his voice for authority. “Because you’re mistaken about whatever you think happened. So, just tell me.”

“I’m not mistaken,” I said coldly. “Not everyone is gullible like the rest of your men. Not everyone will bow down to you just because you have money.”

“People don’t bow down to me because of my money,” he said matter-of-factly. “They bow because of my absolute power. I can take away people’s homes in a heartbeat. I can call off the police with a simple text message. I can overrule a court hearing after a short visit to the judge. They bow because I own every single inch of this city, from the sewers to the cathedrals. You’re no different. Now, tell me what the problem is. When we came home, everything was fine. But something has set you off in the meantime. What is it?”

“Home?” I scoffed. “This is not home.”

“It is—for the next three months.” He grabbed me by the arm and jerked me onto my back again. This time, he pinned me down with his body, making me sink into the mattress. He pressed his face close to mine, his expression hardened with a look of rage. “I’m tired of your games. Tell me.”

“I’m not playing games,” I whispered. “You are.”

His eyes flashed with hostility. “I’ve always admired you for speaking your mind. But now you’re playing coy, and I don’t like it. It’s not your most attractive color. The only reason you aren’t telling me is because you’re embarrassed by it. And I don’t like a woman who gets embarrassed.”

Those words burned me to my core. I shouldn’t be offended by anything he said, not when I didn’t care about his opinion. But that felt like a slap to the face. “I’m not embarrassed…” My throat shifted when I swallowed, slightly uneasy about the way he could read me so well.

“Then tell me so we can fuck and go to sleep.” He moved off me, his dangerous eyes trained on me. They thudded with animosity, like he wanted to wrap his hands around my neck and choke me. The only thing keeping him back was his promise to me.

I moved out of bed and walked to the closet where all my things were stored. I opened the doors and turned on the lights inside, highlighting the dozen dresses and shoes that were there long before I opened the doors.

He was propped on one elbow, his thick arm chiseled with muscles. His biceps were distinct from his triceps. His shoulders were thick and round, and his arm practically looked like arm porn. He continued to wear the same cold expression, like the sight of those clothes meant nothing to him.