“I want to know what it will take for you kiss me the way you did on our wedding day.”
“I’ll keep your secrets as I’ve promised. I will obey you as I swore before God. But I won’t kiss you.”
He pinched my chin and turned my face to his. “You are my wife. You will kiss me when I say.”
A thrill ran through me. As I suspected, he only possessed so much willpower.
The same thought must’ve dawned on him because he released my face and picked up my robe. “Go to bed.”
I put my hands over my breasts. “You’re rejecting me?”
He held the robe open, and I reluctantly slipped into it. “You’re on your period anyway,” he said.
“You said that wouldn’t stop you.”
“And it won’t.” A wolfish grin spread across his face as he adjusted the shoulder of the robe so it didn’t touch the tattoo. “With the life I’ve led, do you think a little blood scares me?”
“Then why are you sending me away?”
He tied my sash into a firm knot. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?”
Disappointment seeped through me. My only weapon against him had failed me. “I’m not asking for anything,” I said sharply. “I’m giving you what you need.”
“And I’m not asking you to submit to the inevitable,” he said. “Only that you come to me because you want to.”
“That will never happen.”
“Then I will never fuck you, because I am not a rapist.” He walked around to my back, gathering my hair in a loose ponytail and freeing it from the collar of the robe. With his mouth at my ear, he said, “Don’t get me wrong. I could bend your naked body over every flat surface of this office. I could chain your ankles to my bed post and fuck you raw for days on end. I could push your tits up against the window and make you look down on everyone as I finger you with such restraint that you’d beg me to finish you off while your juices drip over my hand and run down the glass.”
I couldn’t breathe. My thighs shook, and it wasn’t from fear. An entire world of possibility opened up to me—a frightening world in which I actually wanted to experience all the things Cristiano had just said. In which I craved to be humiliated, dominated, and ruined by the king himself.
“Nobody’s stopping you, Cristiano,” I said breathlessly.
“You know what’s stopping me.”
“You’re not interested,” I said to provoke him.
“Back up and feel how interested I am.”
I did, closing the distance between us. My heart pounded as I pressed my ass against his hardness. I reached back to touch him, but he caught my wrist. “I could do all those things to you and more, Natalia. But it would mean nothing to me if you didn’t want it. Go back upstairs and don’t come to me again until your sweet pussy is so wet with need for me, that if you sat on my lap, I’d slide right in.”
I opened my mouth, silently gasping from his words, from the tidal wave of arousal that washed over me. I wanted all of that. But his determination not to break spoke volumes.
Nothing scared a man as powerful as Cristiano. But this did. The fear of becoming his father ran deep in him. As deep as his cock was hard.
“Fly away, mariposa,” he said heatedly in my ear. “I can picture exactly what I want to do with you first, and I’m dangerously close to giving in.”
I drew back my shoulders triumphantly. “What do you want?”
“To see how far down your throat I can fit my cock.”
I inhaled sharply, shocked, and yet the words were nothing to him. He tossed them between us like a bag of groceries, amused at how I stood there gaping.
“I have work to do.” He turned his back. “Go.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. The idea of a penis in my throat was enough to send me upstairs—but slowly. I could barely walk as desire mounted in me. Why? It was beyond wrong to be aroused at the idea of taking Cristiano so brutally in my mouth. If Diego had ever said such a thing to me, I might never have spoken to him again. But to hear Cristiano tell me what he wanted to do to me so resolutely, without apology, my instinct to kneel and let him push the boundaries of my comfort—and my body—was alarming. I was tempted to throw myself at his mercy and have him exert his ceaseless dominance over my mouth. And equal was my craving to get him to pass his limits and give in to his desires—so he could hate himself for it.
Something was changing, but it wasn’t in him. It was in me.
Yet, perhaps changing was the wrong word. What if all along, I’d wanted those filthy things he’d said, but I’d been denying myself?