She wets her lips, then releases a stuttered whisper. “Il Diavolo.”
I almostcome.
Because that’s what they call me. The Sovereign Devil.
Although you’ll remember me as someone else entirely, cucciola.
If I were to tell her we were in the same class at school, she wouldn’t believe me.
I let her whisper float in the still air and feast my gaze on the hairs standing erect all over her smooth skin. Those mouthwatering thighs and tapered ankles, insane eyes and wet lips.
Fuck.
Ihatehow hot she is.
I always liked her, almost obsessively, in that hormone-ravaged way teenage boys do. But she was clearly a late bloomer, like me. She didn’t yet have legs up to her armpits, curves that could burst a dam and eyes as hypnotic as a siren song.
I’ve watched her from afar. A grainy photograph here, a CCTV clip there, and I could always see she was beautiful. But those depictions pale in comparison to the flesh and blood reality standing in front of me now.
My gaze doesn’t move as I lift my glass and take a long pull of whiskey. Lifting my forefinger away from the crystal, I wipe a stray drop of alcohol from the corner of my mouth with a knuckle, and watch her eyes fall to my lips.
My dick twitches. It doesn’t know what hatred is. It only knows hunger.
Raw, instinctive, and inconvenient as hell.
I swallow the liquid. I’ve never liked when people stare. It takes me back to the moment it all changed, and she’s the reason for that. Which is why I don’t understand… Ilikewhen she stares at me. Just like this. Like she wants to memorize every damn inch of me, understand every line and contour, figure me out, get under my skin.
A soft chuckle leaves my throat.
Then my jaw tightens, molars grinding as I drag my attention back up to her face.
“Take off your mask.”
My voice is rough and unrecognizable.
She lifts trembling fingers to her face and pushes the gold mask up her forehead, sliding it from her crown.
“Why did you put yourself up for auction?”
She blinks, and wavers. Then… “Why did you bid for me?”
I lower my glass to a small table and watch the liquid settlefor a moment. She recoils a little when I return my gaze to her face.
“I didn’t.”
Her lips part in a sweet gasp.
“I marked you as off limits.”
Those lips snap shut.
Interlinking my fingers between my thighs, I savor the anger starting to brew beneath her bones. I’ve always been able to see these things—things that take real observation unhindered by an obsession with the spoken word. Too many people enjoy the sound of their own voice, I’ve found.
That’s why they call me Il Diavolo. I observe, I learn, I bend to my will.
“What did you think was going to happen, Pfeiffer?” A sadistic smile pulls at the edges of my mouth. “Did you think someone would bid enough money that you’d be able to pay off your uncle’s debt and get out of this place?”
The way she swallows multiple times makes my dick heavy. Her skin paling makes me even harder.