Traditrice. Doesn’t it mean ‘traitor?’ But I can’t hold the word in my head for longer than a second, not when my hypothalamus is exploding into a million tiny pieces.
I can feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his shirt. It makes me want to reach for him, mold my lips to his as I rock this out, but I can’t do that. I don’t have the confidence. Or the permission.
He cages me in as I come down from the insane high I just felt, sheltering me from the impending shame of having just fingered myself in front of the great Il Diavolo.
Shit.
I willneverget over this.
There’s embarrassment and then there’s utter, complete, all-consumingruin.
My breaths slow, warming the air between us.
I peer up and his eyes are closed again as if he’s experiencing the aftermath on some other level. It makes me feel a strange combination of shame and power.
Minutes pass but I don’t feel more awkward for it. Our body heat blurs and our breaths combine.
His lids open slowly, warmth filtering through the holes in his mask to caress my skin.
“Can I kiss you?”
I don’t know who spoke. I think it was him, but there’s a silent rage buzzing beneath his skin so rampant I can feel it. And that confuses me.
But I reply before I can think. “Yes.”
Please.
I might die if you don’t.
I remain still. He leans in, hot breath skating over my lips, my brain mushy from my orgasm.
When his soft lips brush against mine, the chemical combustion makes my lids flash open. His irises are black. Blacker than the leather mask he wears over his face.
Then he presses the soft skin of his lips to mine and itburnsin the best possible way. We hover like this for a long moment, then he tilts his head, slanting his lips softly over mine, possessing them in a deep kiss.
His tongue nudges against my teeth, inching them apart, then licks inside my mouth. It’s so raw and carnal I forget to breathe.
A moan passes from my throat to his mouth and he returns it with something untethered. It makes my head spin.
We sink into each other as much as our bodies will allow without our hands resting against skin. His palms press into the wall either side of my head and his warmth wraps around my whole being, his scent enveloping me like a hot bath. He moves his mouth against mine skilfully, flicking his tongue across mine with a stroke of possession.
This feels like a movie kiss. It’s so good it couldn’t possiblybe real. There’s no wonder all the women in his vicinity seem to covet Il Diavolo when he kisses likethis.
Part of my brain wants to wonder how many of them he’s kissed and why a kernel of jealousy is growing in my belly. But another part wants to sink into this moment, revel in the way his mouth molds so easily to mine.
My heart pumps chaotically and I lean in for more.
I release another moan into his mouth, and suddenly, he pulls back so fast a breeze whips at my cheeks.
I’ve never felt anything like it—like I was being absorbed into another body, willingly, and melting into an obscene state of longing for more and more and more.
But now he’s standing across the room like Iburnedhim.
His back is against the opposite wall, his palms flat to it, and he’s breathing heavily.
“Leave,” he barks, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I stare at him while that one word sinks in. His jaw is hard, his shoulders are rigid and his hands are shaking against the wall. He looks like he’s about to kill me.