Page 169 of Breaking Rosalind
Rosalind’s gaze follows my movements, her breath quickening as I slide beneath the cotton sheets. There’s no doubt in my mind that her body wants mine as much as mine craves hers. But she’s stubborn, set in her ways. She likely still sees me as an enemy, when I want to be her savior.
She hesitates by the fireplace before she slides off the suit jacket, folding it over the back of a chair, revealing the outline of her beautiful ass. I chuckle. My pet must have gone to the same school of uptightness as Benito, only she makes it look attractive.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“You’re rigid when you’re not playing a character,” I say.
She unbuttons her pants, letting them slide down her toned thighs. Instead of leaving them pooled at her feet, she picks them up and straightens them out with precision and grace, then drapes them on top of the jacket.
“You can tell all that because I don’t leave my clothes on the floor like a slob?” she asks.
The insult evaporates under the heat of my desire. I’m too entranced at the way her silk blouse clings to her full breasts, revealing the outline of her stiff nipples. When I borrowed the outfit from Roman’s closet, the crazy balcony woman’s bras were several sizes too small.
Rosalind’s body is athletic, curvaceous, and powerful. She’s the perfect blend of femininity and strength, an exquisite creature I want to break apart and rebuild to my tastes. I lean forward, taking in every movement as she continues her unintentional strip tease.
When she finally pulls the top over her head and exposes those lush breasts, my breath catches. I’ve seen her naked so many times that the outline of her body is etched in my memory in glorious technicolor, but watching her undress for me is an altogether different form of seduction.
Her skin glows in the fire’s amber light, accentuating every dip and contour of her curves. She lets the garment fall on top of the pile of clothes and turns to me with a frown.
“You’re staring,” she says, her voice sharp with accusation.
“Come on, pet. It’s nothing I haven’t already licked before.”
My voice is thick with desire, and I don’t bother to conceal my arousal. Rosalind knows what she’s getting into when she slips into this bed. Everything that happens from this moment happens with her consent.
She walks to the other side of the mattress, her gaze dropping to the erection tenting the sheets. “Don’t get any dumb ideas.”
“Believe me, beautiful, nothing about touching you could ever be stupid.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
ROSALIND
Denial is a hell of a drug. It’s the reason I’m considering getting into bed with the psychopath who’s kept me captive, subjected me to torture, humiliation, and blackmail.
If I deny it hard enough, I can convince myself that I don’t want that sculpted body or that huge, pierced cock. His eyes burn hotter than the fire, which makes sense, considering he’s the devil.
The embers in the fireplace crackle and pop, casting flickering shadows that dance across his chiseled pecs. With those intricate skull tattoos, his body is a masterpiece.
I should sleep on a chair or the rug or anywhere other than sharing his bed, but there’s a sick part of me that responds to Cesare and even craves his touch.
“Scared, pet?” he says, his voice.
“Hardly,” I say with a scoff.
“Then don’t stand there all night. We have an early start.”
The thought of tomorrow’s meeting is what gets me pulling back the sheets and sliding into the bed, not the prospect of sex with Cesare. I curl up on my side with my back to the fiend, telling myself I won’t make the first move.
I glare into the flames, my heart pounding as the mattress shifts with his weight. He slides closer, enough for his body heat to warm my back, but he doesn’t reach out a hand.
The pulse between my thighs quickens, and wetness drenches my pussy. I grind my teeth, hating that I’m getting aroused at the mere promise of his touch.
Tension mounts for several heartbeats, and I curl my hands into fists. The snap and crackle of the fire fades in the echo of the roar of blood between my ears.
Why is he lying there, watching the back of my head? I thought by now, he’d make his move. Grab my throat, pin me onto my front and pound into me from behind.
Or something.