Married for Amari's Heir Read online

  “I see. Is this meant to make me feel sorry for you?”

  “I only want you to understand...I’m a person like you are,” she said, a pleading note lacing her voice. “I made a mistake in who I trusted. Surely you understand?”

  He chuckled, a hollow sound that echoed in her chest. That made goose bumps spread over her arms. “The problem with trying to appeal to my humanity, Charity, is that I don’t have any. I can understand why you would assume differently. But let me be the one to inform you definitively that I’m not burdened by conscience. Nor am I burdened by compassion. Every cent I have, I have earned. Getting to this position in life cost me in blood and I will not allow myself to be taken advantage of. I will set an example if I must.” He moved to her again, not touching her this time, merely standing so close she could feel the heat coming from his body. “I will make an example of you if I must. Do not think I will lose sleep over throwing a beautiful woman like you in prison when it is deserved.”

  “So, is this my last meal?” she asked, indicating the food on the tray.

  Overdramatic, perhaps, but she was starting to feel desperate.

  “Either that or it is fuel to help you keep up your strength for the next couple of hours. You might find you need it.”

  Adrenaline spiked through her blood. “So, you get off on forcing women into bed?” The words came out slightly harsher than intended.

  A smile curved his lips. “Absolutely not. I never force women into my bed. I will not force you. You will come to me, because you want me.”

  “How would you know I wanted you? When it’s you or a jail cell it seems as though my choices are limited.”

  “I’m comfortable with that,” he said, his smile growing wider. He looked like the Big Bad Wolf, ready to devour her. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No.”

  “Very well. Then it is time for me to see if you have kept your end of the bargain.”

  She swallowed hard, her hands shaking, her fingers cold. “The lingerie?”

  “Did you do as you were instructed, cara mia?”

  She couldn’t believe it. She had lost.

  Her stomach sank into her feet, the intense weight of defeat crushing her before she was able to process all the implications in front of her.

  This was the moment of truth. Either she threw the coffee on his face and stormed out of the room, and took what came, later—charges, an arrest, a trial.

  Or she did this.

  She took control. She pushed him as he was pushing her. Called his bluff.

  She would not stand here and wait to be undressed.

  Before she could think it through, her shaking fingers found the zipper to her dress and began to tug it down.

  He would stop her. He would stop this. She was sure of it. And it was that certainty that kept her going.

  She could feel the fabric separating, exposing skin. Could feel the dress getting loose in the bodice. Then the top fell exposing her breasts, clad only in the whisper-thin lingerie. It was the same color as her skin, a kind of milky coffee color. It made her appear almost bare.

  She knew, because she had spent a fair amount of time looking at herself in the mirror wearing this, that he would be able to see the shadow of her nipples beneath the fabric.

  No man had ever seen this much of her body before. She didn’t know if she was in shock, if she was still convinced he would put an end to it, or if the moment was simply too surreal for her to absorb it all. But she felt cushioned by something, by a gauzy curtain that had been pulled around her vision, making things seem hazy. Making them seem a little less harsh.

  Whatever it was, whatever magic this was, she needed it. Because the character, the nervous ingénue, wasn’t a refuge here. Not now.

  It was too close to the bone.

  Too close to who she was in this setting.

  In life, she had very little in the way of innocence. But here? In the bedroom? She’d never trusted a man enough to be this intimate with him. Had never wanted to.

  And she didn’t trust him. But she didn’t need to. For some reason, right now, she realized trust didn’t matter. This was all about power. And he had underestimated hers.

  She finished pulling the zipper down the rest of the way and pushed the dress down her hips so that she was standing there in nothing but the high heels and the matching bra and panty set. The panties were as sheer as the bra, and she knew he could see the shadow of dark hair at the apex of her thighs.

  She stared straight ahead, not looking at him, her eyes fixed on a blank spot on the wall. She was still in this chess game and her new revelation was adjusting her strategy. Putting her in view of Rocco’s queen.

  Power. Control. That was the game here. It wasn’t sex.

  All she had to do was take his control.

  “Look at me,” Rocco said, his voice laced with steel, the command impossible to ignore.

  She redirected her gaze, her eyes clashing with his, and all the breath rushed from her lungs.

  There was an intensity to his dark gaze that was unmatched by anything she had ever seen before. It could never be said that Rocco looked passive, at least not in her very brief experience of him. But this was different. There was a fire burning beneath this that set something ablaze low and hot inside of her.

  He moved toward her, reaching out and touching the silken strap of the bra, sliding his thumb and forefinger over the fabric. “You were a very good girl. I must confess I am surprised.” He never took his eyes off hers, and the heat inside of her intensified.

  What was happening to her? Why was he touching her? Not her skin, but beneath it? Why was he making her feel all this heat?

  She could still leave. She could still pick up her dress, put it back on and go.

  But she didn’t. Instead she stood, frozen, as fascinated as she was terrified by what might happen next.

  He leaned in slowly and she held her breath. He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck, just beneath her ear, and a shiver went through her body.

  She wasn’t cold at all anymore. But she was still shaking. And it wasn’t from fear.

  “I will make you beg for me,” he said, his voice a dark whisper that wrapped itself around her mind.

  She angled her head slightly, pushing down every bit of insecurity. She hated this man. This beautiful, horrible man. And she didn’t care what he thought about her. She didn’t care what he thought of her body. What he thought of her soul.

  He was her enemy and after today she would never see him again.

  For some reason that realization sent a shock wave through her. Confidence, pleasure, a rolling feeling of satisfaction that she couldn’t have explained if she wanted to.

  She leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. “Not if I make you beg for me first.”

  His lip curled and he leaned in, tracing the line of her jaw with his forefinger. “Do you think you could make me beg?”

  “Can you walk away?” she asked, taking the roughness in his formerly smooth and cultured voice as evidence of the effect she was having on him. “Right now, could you leave this room?”

  “I am not finished with you yet,” he ground out.

  She forced a smile to curve the corner of her mouth. “I guess that says it all. You’re the one who can’t walk away. And I don’t even have prison to threaten you with.”

  He gripped her chin tight, and she stared him down. His dark eyes were blazing and she was certain hers matched. Then he slid his thumb across the edge of her lower lip.

  And closed the distance between them.

  The fire in her stomach ignited, sending flames roaring through her. It was no longer contained, no longer content to merely burn in the hearth. And she realized her fatal mistake too late. She might have taken his cont
rol, but hers was gone, too. Whatever this heat was had taken over everything, threatening to reduce all that she was to ash.

  She’d never been kissed like this. Had never been held close to a man like this, his arms so tight around her, his body hard and muscular against hers.

  This was the last thing she had expected. For him to kiss her as if he was a man dying of thirst and she was an oasis. She had expected him to be cool. She had expected him to hurt her, humiliate her. She hadn’t expected him to make her want.

  Make her feel.

  Wanting him was almost scarier than the alternative. Because she was only here for one reason, for him to extract the debt she owed from her body. She meant nothing to him beyond that. In fact, he hated her. Saw her as an enemy.

  She had a feeling that right at that moment, neither of them had the control. She wasn’t even sure if they were fighting for it. If each brush of his lips against hers was a press for more dominance, or if they’d both given up altogether.

  She was forgetting. Forgetting everything but his lips against hers.

  He shifted, cupped her face, tilting his head and deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. The delicious friction sent a shiver through her. It shocked her, sent a wave of pleasure through her and, for a moment, she could only process how good it felt.

  How could he touch an enemy like this? How could he hate her and taste her so deeply? With such care?

  No one else ever had. Only this man. This man who despised her.

  That should make her want to run, but she didn’t. She stayed. Rooted to the spot. Anchored to him.

  When they parted, he was breathing hard, his fingers going to the knot of his tie, loosening it with startling efficiency, before casting into the ground. “Yes, you are a very good girl indeed,” he said, his voice ragged.

  He pulled her back to him, kissing her again. She wanted to fight him. Wanted to fight this. The way it felt as if he was stripping her bare without ever touching the silken undergarments that covered her skin.

  But she couldn’t. She felt so small, but she didn’t feel weak. She felt protected. And as things started to crumble and fall inside her; as the walls, the anger, the fear, started to crack, in the deep, empty well that lived inside of her, an insatiable and hungry thing that had craved this simply opened up and allowed itself to be filled.

  Oh, it hadn’t been sex she desired specifically. But touch, attention. To have someone look at her as though she mattered. As though it had to be her standing there in front of them and no one else.

  To have someone pay attention to what she wanted, what she liked. To have someone lavish pleasure on her. Because that was the only way she could think of it. She was entirely bathed in sensation, the singular focus of this large, powerful man.

  He wasn’t handling her roughly, not with anger. He was in supreme, complete control and he was exercising that control to make her feel...good.

  It wasn’t what she had expected and it made her feel vulnerable. Strange.

  No one had ever wanted her. No one had ever needed her.

  And even if it was naive, she felt in this moment that Rocco needed her. And it made her want to give in to him. It made her want to give him everything.

  He hates you. And you are trading your body to keep yourself out of jail.

  You can’t do this.

  She could still leave. She could walk out the door and damn the consequences. He wouldn’t physically stop her. She was confident in that.

  But you don’t want to.

  No. Because she’d never had the courage to touch a man like this. To kiss a man like this. And now there was nothing holding her back. Nothing stopping her. Why not have this? Why not have him? She pressed her palms to the hard muscle of his chest, and leaned in deeper for the kiss.

  Rocco growled, tightening his hold on her waist, and backing them both across the room, and to the bed.

  Yes.

  This wasn’t about money, or jail, or freedom or fear. This wasn’t about control. Not now. This was about him. About everything she’d spent her life too afraid to grab. She was so tired of it. So tired of herself. Of being a ghost that no one could touch or connect with because she was hiding her past.

  He was touching her. And he knew her past. He knew it and hated it and he still wanted her. That meant it didn’t matter what she did now. Didn’t matter that she was a virgin who had no clue what she was doing.

  She slid her hands to his shoulders, and down his back, exploring the feel of him, the sheer breadth of him. So different to her. To her body.

  He moved one hand to her thigh, lifting her leg and bringing it around his own, opening her center to him. He pressed himself against her, the hard length of his arousal making contact with the source of her desire, sending a shot of pleasure through her body.

  It was happening so fast, and yet she found not fast enough. She couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t reason. Couldn’t work out why she had been so afraid of this being the outcome. Because this wasn’t scary. And it didn’t hurt.

  It felt wonderful.

  And everything melted away. Who she was. Who he was.

  He wasn’t a mark. And she wasn’t a con artist.

  He was a man. And she was a woman.

  And they wanted.

  He tore his mouth from hers, kissing the line along her collarbone, to the edge of the lace bra that she knew had cost more than a month of her wages. He traced the scalloped edge of the delicate garment with the tip of his tongue, and she shook, sliding her fingers through his hair, holding him tightly to her.

  “You are delicious,” he said, forcing one of the lace cups down, exposing the entirety of her breast to him. Then he lowered his head, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking deeply. “Delicious,” he said, turning his focus to the other breast and repeating the motion.

  He slid a thumb over one of the tightened buds, his eyes rapt on her body, watching as it tightened further while he teased her. He pinched her gently and she gasped, arching against him, bringing the heart of her body into contact with his hardness again.

  “I did not anticipate wanting you so much,” he said. “You are so responsive.”

  Was she? She wanted to ask him if she was especially responsive, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but feel.

  “Responsive,” he said, kissing the valley between her breasts, “and very delicious. I mentioned that, but it must be said again. And I must taste you again.” He moved lower, kissing her stomach, and lower still, his lips hovering above the waistband of her panties.

  He couldn’t mean to...he wouldn’t. Because somewhere in the back of her mind she thought that this was a selfless act. One that would mean giving to her, and revenge wasn’t selfless. Revenge wouldn’t allow him to give that.

  But then he was pulling those expensive panties down her legs and forcing her thighs apart, opening her to him. And he looked. More than looked, he stopped, frozen for a moment, and gazed as though she was a work of art in a museum, and he was poring over her every detail.

  She could hardly breathe, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.

  Then he leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers, his tongue trailing a line along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Then he moved close to...to...

  A burst of insecurity broke over her. “I don’t...you don’t have to...”

  He growled and pushed his hands beneath her bottom, tugging her close to his mouth, his eyes still on hers. “I will have whatever I like.”

  He closed the distance between them then, laving the sensitive bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue. And she stopped pushing at him. Instead, her fingers curled into claws, dug into his skin. For a moment she was afraid she was hurting him, but he let out that low, feral growl again an
d pulled her more tightly against his mouth, tasting her even deeper, and that thought, along with every other thought she’d ever had, fled from her mind.

  She found herself flexing her hips in time with his tongue, pushing herself closer to the edge of climax. She’d never done this with a man before, but she was familiar enough with how her body worked. Though, it was different when someone else had so much of the control. Wilder. More exciting.

  He shifted, and she felt his finger slide through her slick flesh, testing the entrance to her body. She tensed, unsure of what to expect next. He pressed into her, the sensation unfamiliar, but not at all painful.

  She let out the breath she’d just brought in, and relaxed into the new rhythm, into the feeling of being filled by him. Pleasure started building again, harder, faster. And then it broke over her, a wave that pushed her out to sea, tumbling her in the surf before bringing her up short, spent, and breathless.

  She forgot everything. Why she was here. That he was a stranger. That he was her enemy.

  How could he be a stranger when he had just touched her more intimately than anyone else ever had? How could he be an enemy when he had taken greater care for her pleasure, her needs and her comfort than anyone else in her life ever had?

  And for a moment, just for a moment, he moved up so their bodies were aligned, and he held her in his strong arms, against his solid chest, so that she could rest her head against him and feel the raging of his beating heart, and she felt...she felt home.

  Safe.

  Cared for.

  More for him, more in his arms than she’d ever felt before.

  He moved his hand down between her thighs, then leaned in, kissing her neck as he teased her clitoris with his fingers, arousing her again, much more quickly after her orgasm than she would have imagined possible.

  She wanted to beg. But somewhere in her mind she remembered him saying she would. And so she bit her lip to hold it back.

  Then he lowered his forehead against hers, sweat beading on his skin. She could feel his arousal pressed against her inner thigh, so close. So close to what she knew they both wanted.