Page 172 of Breaking Rosalind

The hand around my neck loosens, and I suck in a noisy breath.

“Good girl,” he says before shuddering and soaking my belly with spurts of his hot release.

I’ve heard of hate sex, but hate frottage?

Maybe Cesare’s psychological tactics are finally working because I’m no longer hiding from the truth. It pains me to admit how much I want more of his freaky shit.

SIXTY-EIGHT

CESARE

I lie on top of Rosalind and loosen my grip around her throat to gaze into her eyes, heavy-lidded and sensual after her orgasm. They hold a rawness, a beauty I have never fully appreciated until this moment. She’s never looked so mesmerizing.

She’s glowing from her climax with her cheeks flushed pink, and her lips parted and red. I commit her beauty to memory because this rare vulnerability from her is fleeting. Soon enough, she’ll close herself off and retreat behind her usual mask of control.

I can’t blame her.

The way I treated her is unforgivable, even if she entered my life as an assassin. I release her throat, caressing her reddened skin, and let my fingers glide down to stroke her collarbones.

When she closes her eyes and turns her head to the side, I get the hint and move out from between her parted legs. I lie beside her, propping myself up on one elbow to study her in the firelight.

Her cold body language speaks volumes. I might have trained her to crave my touch, but she wants nothing to do with me. She remains quiet, her chest rising and falling with each breath. A thin layer of sweat covers her skin, making it glimmer.

I can’t tell if she feels hatred or shame, but I’ve seen how she is Miranda. I want to make space in her heart for me.

“Rosalind,” I murmur, my voice rough. “What I did to you wasn’t right. I should never have taken it so far?—”

“What part?” she interjects bitterly, her fingers closing around the sheets. “When you shoved a loaded gun up my vagina or when you continually used Miranda as bait?”

I grimace at the thought of Miranda losing the last remaining member of her family just because I wanted to enact a sick fantasy. Back then, I was furious after being outsmarted by a woman I’d dismissed as Leroi’s cast off. She was an enemy I wanted to have fun with and before gathering information and killing.

Now, I see her as so much more. I see her strength, her determination, her passion, her love. Rosalind is the woman I want by my side, not against me.

“I regret all of it,” I finally answer and brush a strand of hair off her face. “I should have made a deal the moment I had you restrained.”

“Instead, you made me a plaything.” Her jaw clenches and the muscles around her neck tense as though she’s reliving days of being restrained.

“You don’t understand.”

I reach out to touch her hand, to offer her a little comfort, but she whirls around to meet my gaze, her hazel eyes flashing.

“What makes a man decide to take women as property?”

My lips flatten against my clenched teeth. “You make it sound like I do this every day.”

“How do I know you don’t? You have an entire basement full of cells and you’re holding at least two other women against their will—that I know of.”

“If you think I touched them, I didn’t. Our family doctor is keeping them under sedation. The only hostage I ever got close to was you.”

Her lips purse as though she’s insulted that I might think she’s jealous. “Answer my question.”

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to keep.” I stroke her hair, trying to emphasize the point. “The only one who’s ever held my interest for longer than a few nights.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re challenging,” I say.

“That’s why you were going to drive me to the gates after we fucked?”