Page 74 of Sweet Prison
“Fine. If that’s your decision, who am I to contradict the don? Good night,Don Spada.” With shaking fingers, I push the door closed, shutting it right in his face.
I am halfway across the room, barely keeping it together, when a loud bang shakes the walls around me. Nearly jumping out of my skin, I spin around, taking stock of the kicked-open door and the massive man filling the threshold. Massimo’s eyes seem crazed and boring into mine.
“Do you like Salvo?” His voice is low, dripping with venom.
I knew it. Thatlyingbastard. He was bluffing and never would have followed through on that garbage he just spit out. The last thing he wants is for me to marry Salvo. I can see his lack of conviction written all over his furious face. This is nothing but an attempt to push me away.
“Does it matter?” I choke out.
Massimo takes a step forward, coming inside the room. His hands are fisted at his sides so tightly that his knuckles have gone white, and the vein on his forehead is pulsing.
“Do you”—another step—“like Salvo?”
The nerve of this man. Not only has he just put a hole in my heart, he’s now tearing the battered remains to pieces.
I clench my teeth and close the space between us.
“Yes, I like Salvo,” I bite out. “I think the wedding should be held next month. We might as well take advantage of the nice weather. I assume he’s asked you to be the best man?”
Massimo doesn’t say a word, just stares at me with his blazing eyes, so I continue.
“I’m sure he’ll make a good husband. After all, you’ve chosen him for me. Perhaps we’ll name our first child in your honor.”
“The hell you will,” Massimo growls and wraps his arm around my waist.
I knew he was fast, but I’m still shocked when in the blink of an eye I find myself sitting on the desk, with Massimo’s palms pressed to the window and gripping the curtain at my back. His face is right in front of mine, his hot breath fanning over my cheeks. If his eyes looked crazed before, they are positively unhinged now. He doesn’t even blink as he leans forward and just glares at me. With the lights down low, his irises seem to have merged with his pupils.
“You should have closed that door sooner, Zahara.”
In a heartbeat, his mouth slams into mine.
Earthshaking. That’s what being kissed by Massimo Spada feels like. Lips—firm and unrelenting—capture mine. Taking. Giving. Consuming.
Our first kiss.
A moment I’ve dreamed of for years. And it doesn’t even compare. My fantasies have nothing on this.
A strange sensation grips my chest. As if a million colors suddenly come to life, eager to burst free. Warmth spreads through my body, lighting me up like the aurora borealis.
The earth keeps quaking. So I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life because it feels as if I’m shattering, surfing on the seismic waves while he ravages my mouth.
Nothing about us happened in order. His shadowed secrets became mine long prior to our first meeting in the bright light of day. I fell in love with the man long before I saw his face. And I relished the flavor of his cock before I tasted the essence of his lips.
Lips that are devouring me in earnest.
Lips flavored with sweet agony and defeat.
Perfect, perfect lips.
With his hands still clutching the drapes, I miss their strength around me. I let go of his neck, sliding my palms down his arms, tracing the corded muscles. Taut, taut muscles. I try nudging him to wrap his arms around me, but pulling on his biceps does me no good. His limbs are like steel beams, anchored to that curtain. It’s as if he’s using the gravitational force to keep his hands off me. He doesn’t budge, just continues to rain his sweet torment upon my mouth.
A frustrated moan leaves me. I pull Massimo’s lower lip between my teeth and bite it, hard, then pull on his arms again. I’m overcome with the need to have him touch me.
“Fuck,” he growls. Then, the hesitant weight of his palm spans the small of my back.
Gingerly, his hand slides along the length of my thigh, dragging up the hem of my nightgown until the tips of his fingerstrail the edge of my panties. It’s a feathery touch, yet it sends a shockwave up my spine. Goose bumps break out across my skin. I keep kissing him deeply while moving my hands across his shoulders, then down his neck to the collar of his dress shirt. To the first button. My fingers tremble as I clumsily undo the tiny fastener.
Across my hip, rounding to the back, Massimo keeps stroking my skin. Light, tentative movements. They are such a contradiction to the hungry, unyielding way he’s devouring my lips. My head is spinning. Is it a lack of oxygen from his kiss or trepidation over what I’m doing? Somehow, I will my hands to slide down to the second button. And then the next. When his shirt is halfway undone, I press my shaking palms to the exposed skin of his chest.