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“It’s a pleasure—” “We’ve already met.” We what?
She probably liked it sweet and vanilla. Probably preferred the man to get on his knees and beg a bit. Lorenzo would. I’d rather shut my dick in a car door.
He glanced over and caught my gaze. “You’ve got to work on that staring.”
“So prove it to me.” My brows knitted. “Prove what?” “That it was platonic.”
She called it platonic, while I had been one second from losing my grasp on self-control and touching her everywhere she’d let me.
“I don’t want you to make it a big deal.” “Won’t.” Depends. “Promise you won’t do anything.” “Promise.” Lie.
I ran my thumb down the indention in her chin. “Which hand did he use?”
“You’re so goddamn hot it pisses me off.”
“I said I’ll never hurt you, Elena, but if I find out you’ve touched another man, there is nothing in this world that could save him.”
“Why are you staring at me?” One heartbeat. Two. His voice was rough and his gaze was steady when he said, “Maybe I want to.”
He had something I wanted. Oscar had me . . . and then he was dead.
With a flood of lust and anger, I shut the radio off. Fuck Diana. And fuck every asshole getting laid right now.
“Screw yourself, Nicolas.” His eyes narrowed. “I’d rather screw you.”
And then it was nothing but me, him, and a long way to the ground. Thrilling, she’d told me. She never said it would hurt.
She had a long way to go to be a Russo, but hell, I’d walk with her the whole way.
