Married for Amari's Heir. Maisey Yates

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      “Yes,” she said, her voice a sob. “Please. Please take me.” She was desperate, and she didn’t care if he knew it. And it wasn’t just for pleasure, but for a connection. For an answer to the deep, unending emptiness inside her she hadn’t been aware of until this moment.

      “You want this?” he whispered, the words frayed. “You want me inside you?”

      “Yes,” she moaned, arching against him.

      He kissed her lips before moving away from her, opening the drawer of the nightstand by the bed and producing a little square packet.

      A condom.

      Oh yes, they weren’t done. This was it. She was going to lose her virginity now. To him. And she couldn’t even muster any fear. No shame. No doubt. Because she just wanted. More of what he’d given her only moments ago, more of being skin to skin with him. More of his lips against hers, his body in hers. She wanted more.

      She wanted it all.

      He worked the buckle on his dress pants and shoved them partway down his lean hips before positioning himself over her, and tearing open the condom. He was still almost entirely dressed, and she saw nothing but the deft movements of his hand as he rolled the condom over himself.

      But when he moved to her entrance, she felt the blunt head of him, stretching her, tearing the thin barrier she’d never before given much thought about. She tensed, squeezing her eyes shut tight as the burning pain reached its peak, then dissipated slowly after he’d buried himself to the hilt.

      She gritted her teeth, fought to keep from crying out, but she wasn’t successful. A whimper escaped her lips and she shivered beneath him as pain laced its way around all the beautiful pleasure she’d felt only a moment before.

      He swore, violent, rough against her ear, and pushed himself up, dark eyes blazing into hers. But he said nothing.

      Instead he angled his face and kissed her, long and deep, as he withdrew slowly from her body before sliding back home. It didn’t hurt at all that time, and as he established a steady rhythm to his thrusts, discomfort faded to a kind of neutral fullness, and from there grew, expanding to a deep, pulsing pleasure that was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

      She arched against him, as she’d done when he’d gone down on her, meeting his every thrust, the motion sending little sparks of heat through her, a familiar tightness coiling low in her stomach.

      She felt him start to shake, felt the control in his movements start to slip. A groan escaped his lips, and he bucked hard against her, freezing above her, pushing them both over the edge to oblivion.

      When she came back to herself, she was lying on her back, starting at an unfamiliar ceiling, with his warm, protective weight covering her. As if she was something precious.

      Except...he wasn’t protective. And she wasn’t precious.

      She was nothing more than a criminal, who had tried to make good for a while and failed. And he was...he was...

      She tried to push away the reality that was crowding in. Tried to ignore the truth she would have to face eventually. She didn’t want to. Not now. Not while pleasure was still buzzing through her. Not while she still felt so good.

      The power she’d felt only a few moments before was slipping through her grip like sand through an hourglass and there was no way for her to turn it back over and start again.

      Then he was up, moving away from her, turning and walking into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

      And she could only lie where she was, still staring at that ceiling. At the way the molding formed different tiers and textures. She listened to the sounds of the streets outside filtering up, audible even through the closed windows.

      Life was moving out there, and yet, in here, in this room, in this moment, she was frozen.

      The bathroom door opened and Rocco reappeared, his shirt buttoned, his pants redone. Except for the lack of tie, he looked exactly as he had done when he’d first walked into the restaurant. As though nothing had happened. As though past minutes hadn’t existed.

      They might have just shared cake and coffee, instead of their bodies.

      “I have a meeting to get to,” he said, his voice as unaffected as his exterior. “You may stay here if you wish. The room is paid for through the night.”

      “I...I...”

      “That is all I will be requiring from you. Though, I confess, I didn’t expect you to give in quite so easily.”

      His words were cold, distant, and she tried to recapture the feeling she’d had moments ago, of feeling close to him, and found she couldn’t. She would wonder if it had all been in her mind except she was still naked, on the bed.

      She sat up, holding her hands over as much of her body as she could. Trying to reclaim some modesty, some dignity, some...something.

      “I would have taken a lot less from you, cara mia, but you played the part of whore so well, who was I to stop you?”

      She felt as if she’d been slapped, a sick, cold feeling of shame trickling through her veins. And she had no mask to recall. None to put in place and hide her nakedness, her vulnerability. “But you...I...”

      “Speechless?” He arched a dark brow. “It was quite good, I’ll give you that. But, regrettably, I don’t have time for seconds.” He bent and picked up his tie, tying it quickly before buttoning his jacket.

      He was untouched. Invulnerable. And she was still stripped. Of everything.

      “As I said, I require nothing more from you. Consider your debt paid.” He turned away from her. “The sex was...incredible. But I’m not sure it was worth a million dollars. I think, in the end, you got the better part of the deal.” He strode away from her, pulling the door open and pausing, turning to face her. “I want you to remember something, Charity.”

      He waited. Waited until her heart was thundering so hard she was certain he could hear it. Waited until she was certain she would be ill. Waited until she couldn’t hold the question back any longer.

      “What?” she asked, her throat dry.

      “That it was just as I said. I made you beg for it.” Then he walked through the door, and let it close firmly behind him.

      Charity just sat there in the center of the bed, tugging her legs up to her chest. She looked down at the white bedspread and saw a smear of blood and the full horror hit her.

      A tear slid down her cheek, a sob shaking her body.

      Dear God, what had she done? What had he made her into?

      She’d never been a “good girl.” Never been honorable or honest. How could you be when the first skill you learned was tricking strangers into thinking you needed money so you could bring it back to your father? How could you ever be good when you’d been straddling the lines between right and wrong from the beginning?

      But there were lines she had СКАЧАТЬ