Page 85 of Breaking Rosalind
She raises her head, pulling the restraint over her brow taut. “If I ever get control of that candle, I’m going to stick it up your ass.”
Chuckling, I drizzle wax to her outer lips. “All you need to do is ask.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be an interrogation? Ask me a fucking question. Want to know what happened between me and Leroi? I’ll answer.”
“No thanks,” I lie with a smirk. “But you can tell me how you became an assassin.”
“A-Alright,” she says. “But you have to let me come.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s hard.”
Snickering, I blow out the candle and set it on the tray. When I pick up a small vibrator and twist its dial, its motor hums to life.
“No,” she says.
My brows pinch. “No, what?”
“If you’re going to make me come, use your fucking tongue.”
THIRTY-THREE
CESARE
I had to walk away, and not just because I needed to report back to my brothers with Rosalind’s intel.
My pet has a way of taking control of a situation. She wants to call the shots, even though it’s her who’s naked, horny, strapped to a torture device, and aching for release.
It’s what I admire and despise about her most—that inner kernel of strength I can’t penetrate. Nothing I do, say, or make her endure can break through that shell, but that won’t stop me from trying.
I limp through the basement’s darkened corridors, my cock so hard it hurts. Arousal courses through my veins, hot and thick and furious, powered by the challenge of breaking Rosalind.
Where does she find the determination to endure? I shoved a gun up her cunt and pulled the trigger, yet she fought with every shred of strength to escape, only to return without hesitation the moment I took her sister.
Rosalind is unlike any woman I’ve ever met, and I’m eager to explore her limits. What will I find when she’s broken? A sniveling little creature, begging for mercy or a raging warrior?
Women don’t have balls of steel. They cry and simper and flee at the first moment of trouble.
Just like Mom.
Mom didn’t even wait for Dad’s body to cool before she married Tommy Galliano. She jumped from one powerful man to another without a backward glance and left Roman to rot on death row to enjoy a life of luxury and power in New Jersey.
By the time I exit into the wine cellar, my erection has vanished, leaving me tasting the bile of Mom’s betrayal. I ascend the stairs and walk down the bright marble hallways, passing staff members who acknowledge my presence with nods.
I reach the door of Roman’s study, where he and Benito are already deep in conversation. Pausing, I strain my ears, trying to catch any hint of my name, but all I hear are muffled voices. Benito’s tone carries a hint of concern, while Roman sounds frustrated.
My lips tighten. With so much going on in the business, why would I think they’re badmouthing me? Probably my guilty conscience.
Opening the door, I step inside to find them both sitting on the sofas at the far end of the room. They each cast me glances before turning back to a laptop.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Tell you later,” Roman rumbles. “Now that you’re here, tell us what you got from the assassin.”
Benito navigates to an app on the laptop and calls a contact. Moments later, Leroi appears on the screen. He’s shirtless and sitting up in bed with his abs wrapped in bandages.
“How’s the wound?” Roman asks.