“I don’t use perfume.”
I pull my head back. “So, you are telling me that this is your natural gangster musk?” I tease him. His skin feels so warm.
“Your mouth is big for someone so tiny.” He glares, and this close it’s quite intense.
“I could still grow,” I clip back.
“Like weed?” Is he joking? Who is this guy, and what did he do with Luca “The Wacko” Nero?
“How do you always smell like fucking apples?” he asks next.
Apples? Do I? “It is my favorite fruit.” I shrug.
His thumb moves over the inked words on my pec,To Live is to Bleed.
“Like tattoos.” I sigh, enjoying the touch of his rough fingers.
“No. But I can carve my name backward on your chest for free.” His tone is flat and unemotional, the way a serial killer would sound.
“Brag much.” I sniff and cross my arms.
He hasn’t asked about my scars. I should feel relieved, but the fact that he doesn’t care…stings. For fuck’s sake, I want to grab this useless emotion from the balls and crush it until it forms ashiny diamond—a big-ass one—and then hurl it at the fucker’s head!
I push away the insane thought. “I’m beat. I’ve been railed within an inch of my life. Can someone die from sex, muffin?” I muse.
“I can help you find out.” He smirks, stubbing the half-smoked cigar in the ashtray. Not a fleeting twitch or a closed-mouth hint of a smile. Oh. My. Fucking. God. This is a lips-parting, teeth-showing, eyes-crinkling, full-on sharp smirk. It brings him to a whole new level of handsomeness. It takes everything in me not to lean over and feast on that smile. Shit, I’m fucked.
“My NBs hurt!” I blurt out, trying to forget what my mind just contemplated.
“What’s an NB?”
“Nipple buds, they hurt because you chewed and sucked and bit them all day. Like a snack, like a piece of gum. At least give me something to nibble back when you do that.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You were begging me to play with them.” He flicks one, and it tingles.
“I didn’t.” Did I? “My brain was fried because of this.” I wave at his naked, hot body. His lack of clothes gets me totally…discombobulated.
He slaps my right nipple hard, making me jump just before pulling on the hoop on the other. A moan leaves my mouth, and he just stares at me.
“Lie again, and I’ll give you a new piercing.” It should sound like a threat, but I actually want to get one on my dick—from a certified piercer.
He twists his body toward the nightstand, forcing me to grab on to his shoulders to keep my balance, just to turn back facing me with a Bounty bar and a bottle of water.
I open my mouth, speechless. Is my hole magic? Did it turn the wacko into a quasi-decent human being? I drink after thanking him, then he exchanges the water for the snack. He drinks, and I take a bite, sighing contentedly.
An unwelcome feeling keeps trying to nudge its way through, but I ignore it. I’m having fun while doing the best with what I have.
“Go to the bathroom,” he says when I’m done.
I go first, and when he comes back, I’m lying in bed. He grabs the cuffs hanging on the headboard.
“Really? Come on! I can barely move,” I grumble.
He sighs. Then walks to his side of the bed, taking the cuffs with him. He lies down and then handcuffs my wrists to his.
My lips part in horror. “That’s exactly the same thing!”
“I haven’t got eyes on the back of my head, and I need to sleep,” he simply states. Decent human being, my perfect ass!