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“What’s wrong?” I snap, the moment she opens the door.
My eyes narrow. “Aurora, look at me.” She shakes her head. “I dare you to make me ask twice,” I growl.
“That’s not how it works. I can’t help but do bad things, but it always ends up being okay because I confess and rid myself of the guilt.” She swallows and scrapes a curl away from her face. “And now I can’t, because you own the thing I was confessing to.”
“And if you can’t confess? What happens then?” For a moment, I swear her focus moves left. Over the graveyard. Past the church. To the cliff. My blood runs cold.
“You find it hard to be good.” My gaze drops to her mouth. The need to run a finger over my bottom lip makes my hands itch. “Impossible.”
She’s enjoying this. Fuck.
“We blew him up.” Her eyes flutter shut for a brief moment. “Did you enjoy it?” I take another step toward her, dropping my head so my lips almost brush against the tops of her golden curls.
Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out and I drag her back against my chest. I’m not done having her so close.
“You’re a silly little girl, Aurora,” I grind out. Her gaze hardens. I feel her jaw flex against my thumb pad. “That’s not what you said last night.” A hiss escapes through my teeth.
“Is that what you’re so desperate to confess? That it felt so good to have me watch you finger-fuck yourself last night?” I tighten my grip, stifling a moan when her breath skitters over my hand, hot and hard. “Or that you’re wet at the thought of it happening again?”
Darkness licks at the walls of my stomach. I breathe in, breathe out. Shift my gaze to above Aurora’s head, because if I look at the torment in those big fucking eyes I’ll know I’ll lose my shit. I’m not this guy anymore. I’m not Vicious Visconti. He’s locked in a box somewhere at the back of my brain, but now, I can hear him thumping against the lid, desperate to get out.
Sucking in a lungful of air, I roll back my shoulders and match his gaze. “Spanking me.” His Adam’s apple bobs, but his expression remains neutral. “Another gold star for Rory.”
“Well what?” I snap back. “You can’t spank me. Christ, you’re not even allowed to touch me.” But even as my protests slip through my lips, my heart starts to thump wildly, and a new pulse I’ve never felt before pounds behind my clit. In a sick, twisted way, the idea excites me.
“Rory.” Angelo’s voice drips in syrup. “Okay is not good enough.” “I don’t understand.” “Silly girl,” he murmurs, “Did your mother never teach you to say please?” My breath catches in my throat.
“You’re really going to make me ask you to spank me?” I ask with a little laugh. “Are you serious?” “Deadly,” he growls.
“I want you to spank me. Please.”
The thwap as he slides the leather out of the loops of his slacks. Something rough catches in his tone. “Bend over.”
Nobody will find out.
The anticipation makes my skin prickle, and when he finally lets out a low, lustful groan, I bask in it, letting it warm my skin like sun rays.
Without another word, he kicks his foot against mine, forcing me to spread my legs wider, and then his belt hits again.
I find myself on my tip-toes, arching my back toward the belt. “I think you like being punished,” he drawls. He kicks my foot again, and this time, I open my legs so wide that a cool breeze coasts over my wet lips.
“Now, now, Rory,” he rasps, voice strangled with lust, “that would count as touching. And it'd be wrong to touch you, wouldn’t it? You’re a taken woman.” His voice darkens. “Reach over and spread yourself for me.”
My knees buckle under the vibrations of his moan against my pussy. “You like atoning for your sins, don’t you, baby?” I rake my teeth over my lip. Christ, I like it when he calls me baby.
“Getting so wet for a man that isn’t your fiance?” He leans over, holding the fabric and bringing it up to my face. “That deserves another spanking.”
Already? “No,” I beg. Squeezing my eyes shut, I can feel the start of an orgasm cresting, and I’d give anything, do anything, to see it through. “Don’t stop.” “One more whip of my belt, and you’ll be coming in a church. No amount of confessing can save your soul from that.”
I’m sure Alberto wouldn’t notice; he’ll be too busy showing off his hot young fiancee to any old fucker that’ll listen.
Fuck, I hate this place. I hate the Cove Clan, and I hate her.
I especially hate her. I hate that she’s exactly what I like: a girl who doesn’t back down when I have my wicked way with her. I hate the sound she makes when my belt meets her ass. I hate the shade of red her skin turns, and how that fucking ring glints on her finger when pleasure makes her hands clench into fists. I hate that “look but don’t touch” is a hard and fast rule. It has to be, because I know the moment I taste those lips—either set of them—there’s no way I can go back to London. I know I’ll have to stay and fight for her.
In fact, I bet Alberto will only notice she’s gone when he’s full of liquor and fancies something tight to grope.
“Is your ass still sore from this morning?” Nonchalance flecks my voice, like spanking Rory’s ass is something I have the pleasure of doing on the daily. Like I didn’t last just three strokes of my belt before having to get the fuck out of there. Like I didn’t go home and fuck my fist in the shower.
“Yeah, Alberto wasn’t too happy about that.” “Good.” Under the heat of her bewildered stare, I shrug off my jacket and slip it around her shoulders.
A cold gust of wind off the Pacific whips past us, and I hear Rory’s teeth chatter. Instinctively, I turn to face her and wrap my jacket tighter around her.
“Of course, my first instinct was to crack this kid square in the jaw. It was a no-brainer. But Mama begged me not to.”
There’s that fucking feeling in my chest again. The heavy one that pushes against my rib cage, threatening to break what’s underneath. It solidifies what, deep down, I already know: I’ve been on the Coast too long and now I’m in too deep.
“Because seeing you in your engagement dress is hard enough. But seeing you in your wedding dress?” A growl vibrates deep within me. I tighten my grip. “That’ll be fucking torture.”
“Aurora’s a good kid,” he says icily, “and my father is a cunt. But don’t make me choose.”
“Don’t go after his girl. Don’t make me choose.”
She was right. She had told me not to wear my hair curly to the engagement party, but I didn’t listen. And apparently, that small act of defiance warranted Alberto pushing me down the stairs once we arrived back at the mansion.
My name is Rory Carter and I might do a very, very bad thing. But as always, I bite my tongue. Slip on that perfect smile.
His gaze heats my cheek. “It’s a rainy day in November. What’s with the sunglasses?”
“How else am I meant to check out your ass without getting caught?” His retort comes quick and unexpected, and after the agreement we made last night, it gives me whiplash.
“Ask me for a sin.”
“Okay, tell me a sin, Angelo.” “I killed my father.”
“I thought he died from a bleed on the brain?” “He did. I shot him in the head and then his brain bled.”
“He was the one that ordered the hit on my mama. I found out a few days later that he had a whore from Devil’s Dip on the sideline, and wanted our mom out of the picture.” I steal a glance up at him, and the way he’s so nonchalant sends a shiver down my spine. He tilts his head down to me, his expression impossible to reach from behind his glasses. “I killed her too. That’s not my worst sin, though.”
“Because you should know what type of family you’re marrying into. Viscontis don’t keep their promises,
He swallows. “Like father like son, Aurora. I’ve cheated on every girlfriend I’ve ever had, lied to everyone I’ve ever known.”
Because I know the old adage: from the deepest desire comes the deadliest hate. If Angelo stays on the Coast much longer, I’ll hate him most of all.
Now, she won’t be tempted to cross the line because I’ve made it clear that it’s not greener on my side. It’s cold, dark, and barren over here. She’s better off over there.
Disappointment flickers in her irises but I pretend like I haven’t seen it. Like it doesn’t punch me in the fucking gut.
