Ruthless Spring

I think of the way Giovanni had forced his fingers inside of me, choking me as he ripped an orgasm out of my body before throwing me to the floor.

I think that was him being nice.

If he were to interrogate me, it would be much more vicious, more intrusive. Ruthless.

“You’re not going to tell him yourself that you believe I’m lying?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment but eventually he shakes his head. “No, I’m not going to say anything,” he says. “Not for the moment at least. I’m unsure of what could be so bad that you chose to lie about what happened. And I also have to ask the question that if you didn’t kill those men, then who did?”

I pinch my lips together instinctively and his eyes follow the movement.

“You should be a better liar,” he says.

I look away from him, trying to come up with something to change the subject. “Why did you get into the fight with Polo?” I ask, looking back at him.

His brows pinch together slightly, as if he’s confused by the question. His lips part slightly and there’s a slight crook to his brow. “Because he had his hands on you.”

“He wasn’t hurting me,” I tell him, which is true. It’d seemed that the man had been more amused by me than anything. It didn’t seem as if he wanted to hurt me. He was just toying around.

“Yes, but I told him to remove his hands and he didn’t.”

“What’s it matter to you?” I ask him. “I thought I was Giovanni’s property, not yours.”

“No, you may not be mine, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to possess you.”

The confession seems to shock both of us, my eyes widening slightly as he takes a step backward. “That… I shouldn’t have said that.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I should leave.”

“You probably should,” I agree, even though my body doesn’t exactly agree with the statement. I can’t help but remember the last time the two of us were alone in this room together. Or at least, almost alone, since Goiovanni was in the room watching us.

My talk with Lucia rings through my head.

“But I don’t think that I want you to,” I say, lifting my gaze to his and watching him closely.

He shakes his head, taking another step back. “You’re concussed, Winter. You’re not in your right mind and I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

I toss the blankets off my body, getting to my feet. I try to appear confident as nerves jitter inside me. “You wouldn't be taking advantage of me if it’s what I want,” I tell him. “And I wanted this before I was even concussed. I wanted it from the last moment you had your hands on me.”

His brows pull together. “What's with this sudden change?” he asks.

“Someone told me I should enjoy my prison,” I confess. “And I’ve decided that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

I reach forward, placing my hand on his chest. He looks down at it, his body tense, and I hear him mutter something under his breath before his lips are crushing mine. I lean into the kiss, letting our lips tangle as his hands move up my hips.

He tastes like whiskey and a touch of something else that I can’t quite name.

His hand comes up to my face, guiding my head. And when the opposite hand moves up my waist, I shiver.

He pulls back, looking me in the eyes. “I shouldn’t be doing this, not with you. I’m not a good man, Winter.”

“I know.”

And I'll never forget.

But for this moment, I can let myself indulge in something bad without feeling guilty.

He nods, kissing me again. When he pulls back, his hands move to the bottom of my shirt, pulling it over my head.

My nipples perk up at the cool air and when his mouth kisses just below my neck, I toss my head back. He trails his mouth until his lips lock around my nipple. I let out a moan. His tongue flicks around the nub.