And he knew.

“You still have a piece of me with you,” Anteros said, tightening his grip on the diamond pendant. She was still so willful, standing on her tiptoes until she was about to fall over, refusing to give him an inch. With one final tug on the silver chain she stumbled and fell into him, small fingers making indents on his chest, hot breath seeping into his tank.

Fuck, he’d missed her.

“Only because I had to leave before I could tear off the part I really wanted to take.” She looked at his hard cock pointedly. Though it sounded like a threat, her voice wavered, and she latched onto his shoulders.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, mio cuore.” He pulled her close and pressed his lips against the skin of her throat, raking his teeth along the cords of muscle. Her breath stuttered, a sharp inhalation that went straight to his cock. He fought the urge to bury his face into her skin, to crush her to him entirely, and fuck her right then and there—the fact that they would be caught be dammed.

Anteros made a knot in her hair, feeling the silky strands that had been gone from his life for a month, and gripped tight so he could slide his gaze down her body. She was wearing jeans, a faded v-neck and a simple jacket, the same type of clothing she’d worn just before she left. The jeans fit her perfectly, molding to her curves, showing off her ass. He wanted to rip open the shirt and expose her petite breasts.

Somehow she matched him more this way than she ever had in all the designer shit.

“I’m not your heart,” she said, voice almost quieter than the breeze, and Anteros nearly missed it.

He raised a brow, surprised she’d figured out the meaning of his pet name, then tugged her hair, tilting her neck so he could see into her crystal blue depths. “Yet here you are.”

“I haven’t come back to you,” she whispered. “I’m not the same girl.” Her eyes flashed to Big O, to the blood reflecting black in the night, and to the discarded knife. She closed her eyes, pained, guilty lines marring her forehead. He knew he should feel rage, sadness—something. Yet as he stared into Big O’s lifeless eyes, the need pounding against his chest grew stronger. He’d suspected there was a darkness in Frankie, had sensed something deep underneath, but there was still so much untapped. Knowing she’d begun to break the surface made him go fucking crazy.

“I’m well aware, Francesca,” he said. “You’ve been busy.” Her eyes popped open when he used her full name then slackened when he thumbed her lower lip. Once upon a time Frankie had insisted he call her Francesca and he’d denied her that respect. He’d denied her many respects, and he wouldn’t make those mistakes again.

Anteros pulled his thumb from her lip and Frankie’s eyes widened, horrified to find Big O’s blood colored the skin. But, as he wordlessly slid the pad along his tongue, licking the blood from it, Frankie’s lids drooped and her tongue darted out, sliding across her lower lip in sync with it. Then, as if she’d sensed her own involuntary reaction, she jerked away from him and backed up until she hit a tree.

“That’s, that’s—” she stuttered. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to do this.” Anteros was on Frankie in one fierce stride, pinning her against the bark. He quickly ran the length of her body, needing to feel every inch in seconds. The curve of her neck, the slope of her breasts, the little dip of her waist—fuck she’d been gone too goddamn long. She arched for his touch yet still clutched the tree for dear life. He tightened his grip at her waist, yanking her to him.

Anteros sucked her neck, bruised the flesh with his lips, forcing her to take his embrace until she melted and stopped gripping the bark, latching onto him. Her sighs transformed into moans and he covered her mouth with his hand, lips getting the skin of his palm wet as she panted. They were too close to his club, could easily be found. Big O wasn’t the only man out patrolling.

“No,” sh

e gasped, pushing his hand from her mouth. “This was an accident. I didn’t mean to do this.” There was fervent fear in her eyes—not of him, but herself. She struggled in his hold, trying to break free from him and his kisses, but that only made him push her harder against the tree.

“An accident?” he asked. “How did you find me?”

Her eyebrows scrunched and she pulled her lips together, as if holding in a secret. Anteros’s eyes slimmed, and he grasped both her arms with one hand and held them above her head.

“How did you find me, Frankie?” he repeated, lips hovering below her ear.

“Your map,” she breathed. “I found the map you left me.”

Anteros smiled wickedly. “That doesn’t sound very accidental.” He released her hands and they fell to his shoulders. He lavished kisses along her neck, her collarbone, pausing at the swell of her breast to rumble his next words. “Now that you’ve had a taste you won’t stop. Your eyes are open. You’ve seen how dazzling the darkness can be.”

She whimpered, eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings. Anteros laughed lowly when Frankie gnawed her lower lip, fighting the urges within her. The heat of her skin rose up to meet his lips, her nails dug deep into his flesh, and he knew he would crack her soon enough, expose her for the slave she would always be.

Frankie swayed closer, curving to his touch, eyes closed and sighs music in his ear. For a moment, Anteros thought they would make a symphony, but then she shoved her elbow against his gut. The surprise of it made him stumble back and she spit on his cheek.

She walked backward, past where Big O’s blood had wet the cement, making bloody footprints. She looked down, eyebrows caving. Weak light stole into the copse of trees, casting half her face in light and the other in shadow.

“Don’t you…” Her breath released from her nose in a dragon’s fury. “Don’t you dare do this right now.” Her glare was hard and angry, but beneath that he saw the truth. “Not here. Not with, with…” she stuttered again, eyes dropping to Big O’s slack and lifeless face. He grinned crookedly and slowly advanced toward her. She eyed him warily but didn’t move, making small fists as if fighting something within herself.

“Don’t lie to me.” He slid his palm around the small of her back, pulling her to him, and whispered beneath her earlobe at the base of her skull. “This gets you wet.” Eyes locked, Frankie swayed toward him as if in a carnal trance, bringing her hands to a rest on his pectorals. A hot sigh left her parted lips, white steam in the night. She inched closer until her breath was hot and hazy on his lips, and Anteros thought she would finally give in. Then suddenly the trance shattered, and her tiny fists, elbows—anything she could use—pushed at him. This time he was ready and didn’t let her go.

“The blood,” he said, drawing her tighter. “The death.” She pounded harder while her body swayed closer. “The power.” He dove his hand into her jeans, groping the bare skin. All at once Frankie ceased struggling, fists becoming open palms on his pectorals, mouth parting.

“It gets you fucking hot,” he continued. “Lie with your mouth all you want, the truth is between your legs.” Anteros thrust two fingers into her and nearly groaned; it was so easy to slide inside. “You’re so fucking hot for this, you’re dripping down my hand.” Frankie grasped his tank and turned her head to the side, muzzling her breathless cry against his bicep. “Do you like pretending to be a normal girl? A good girl?”

She moaned and, fuck, that sound—it was almost as devastating as her screams. If he could bottle her moan and save it, he’d be the most powerful man in the world. It was so telling, too. She loved the bruises. She loved the danger. She was afraid so she pretended to hate everything Anteros did, but he could tell by the wetness pooling between her legs and the breath leaving her parted lips that she loved every minute of it. She wanted to see what the other side held and Anteros was the key to the door.

“You can be my good girl, Frankie,” he rumbled. “Just say you fucking need this.” A few beats passed before she spoke, and then the words were muffled against his skin. “I can’t hear you.” Anteros thumbed Frankie’s clit, hard enough to have pleasure throbbing through her body, but soft enough to have her craving more.

Tags: Mary Catherine Gebhard Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net