Page 170 of Breaking Rosalind
But he’s just lying at my back… breathing.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry from all the frustration. What the fuck is he doing? The silence between us is maddening. My breath quickens, my skin tingles, my body thrums with anticipation.
This is psychological torture. There’s no way I can fall asleep with the threat of Cesare hanging over my head.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growl.
“Problem, pet?” he asks, his voice so deep I feel its vibrations deep in my core.
I don’t need to turn around to know he’s smirking. This asshole is enjoying this brand of mental manipulation.
“Get fucked,” I snap.
“Is that a request?”
I huff a laugh. “Try it and I’ll break your fingers.”
“Reverse psychology won’t work on me, pet,” he says. “If you’re horny, you only need to ask.”
I snort, because the suggestion is ridiculous. As if I would ever ask that maniac for sexual favors. He’ll probably misinterpret any request as an admission that I want to be his pet. Which I don’t. I don’t want to be his anything.
He rolls away, withdrawing his body heat, and groans.
I twist around and shoot him my most venomous glare. He stares at the ceiling. The light flickering on his chiseled profile makes the bastard look like the god of hate sex.
“What are you doing now?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Boxers are too tight.”
My gaze travels down to the bulge straining under the sheets. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I’m sure I see the outline of his pierced cock.
“Not my problem.” I turn around, the movement aggravating my swollen clit.
When he groans again, my nostrils flare. This new version of Cesare who isn’t doing everything he can to make me suffer is keeping me off balance. This gentleman act is infuriating.
“You’re so full of shit,” I mutter.
“What’s that, pet?” he asks.
“I can’t fall asleep with you acting so strange,” I say. “It’s unsettling. And stop calling me pet.”
“You belong to me. You and?—”
Before he can finish his sentence, I throw a punch. He catches my fist and pins me to the mattress, rolling me onto my back. I strike with my free hand into his throat, but he grabs that too, and holds both of my wrists above my head.
He glares down at me with burning eyes, his lips pulled back in a manic grin. Somehow, in the struggle, he positioned himself between my spread legs. He grinds his silk-covered cock into my clit, sending a bolt of pleasure.
“Little pet wants to play.”
Of course. I should have known. Cesare is the predator who only likes moving targets. If I’m not fighting him, he’s not interested.
“Let go of me.” I buck my hips, trying to throw him off, but the movement only creates delicious friction.
“What are you going to do? Gouge out my eyes?” he asks.