Page 20 of Virtuous Lies
My spite amuses him, his thick lips quirking up into the barest hint of a smirk. “No, wife, not women. Not that it would be any of your business if it were.”
I scowl.
“So angry,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “You were so much more pliant last night.”
My cheeks heat at the memory of his rejection, and I bow my head, hating myself the moment I do.
I gave him weakness. I gave him my submission.
Hetsks. “No need to be embarrassed, Bianca. You wouldn’t have been the first woman to throw herself at me.”
Bile rushes up my throat, but I swallow it back down, grimacing at the acidity of my jealousy. “I didnotthrow myself at you.”
“No?” he asks, that stupid, single index finger sliding under my chin once again. “So if I were to kiss you now”—he lifts my face, stealing access to my gaze—“you wouldn’t melt into me like you did last night?”
The freshness of his breath brushes over my face, and I close my eyes, trying to ignore the way my body responds to how he humiliates me.
“You wouldn’t moan into my mouth, eager to slide your inexperienced little tongue against mine?”
Inexperienced.
I pull my head back, taking a sizable step away from him. “Shaming me for my lack of experience with men is a level of pathetic I imagined would be beneath you.”
I meant for my words to come out harsh, but they lacked the fight I was hoping they’d find. Instead, they sound as wounded as I feel, as innocent and inept as he claimed I was.
“I wasn’t shaming you,dolcezza.” His tongue rolls over the endearment, and tucking his hands into his pockets, he takes a step toward me.
I step back, and he lifts an eyebrow in warning. He steps forward again. This time, I remain where I stand.
“Your lack of experience turns me on.”
My eyes drop to his crotch without permission, the swell of his erection obvious in the gray dress pants it’s confined within.
“I thought you didn’t fuck scared little girls.” My face reddens.
He steps closer enough that the heat of his body brushes up against mine.
“I don’t,” he whispers, leaning down to touch his lips to my ear. “Doesn’t mean you don’t make my dick hard.” His lips meet the soft spot under my ear, kissing it softly before he moves away.
I stand frozen in shock.
“Your driver will be situated outside the front door should you need to go out today.”
The elevator door closes behind him, and I stand there for what feels like an eternity staring after his absent form.
Doesn’t mean you don’t make my dick hard.
I don’t venture out throughout the day. I explore Vincent’s home.Myhome. I check through drawers I know I’m not meant to be looking in. I rifle through his office to see if I can locate any incriminating information about him—just in case—but I find nothing. Vincent has his shit locked up tight.
There are no photos in the house. Not a single memory captured in a frame for him to look upon fondly. I unpack my things in the walk-in closet, rearranging his clothes and accessories to fit mine. I make our bed. I leave the ripped-up tulle of my wedding dress strewn across our floor, making certain he knows what I think about our nuptials.
I eat dinner alone, as he promised I would. I miss the raucous of my family home. The bickering between Tony and Cat. The loud sounds from the kitchen, and Mama’s constant fluttering.
Though I want to call Cat, I’m afraid she’ll hear the loneliness in my voice. I’m worried she’ll ask me questions I won’tknow. She’ll know I’m lost and unsure, and it’ll frighten her, and I’m not at home to ease her trepidation.
I shower and climb into bed by eight o’clock, falling into a restless sleep.
It’s still dark when my eyes open, my body on alert. My heart races in my chest, and I keep as still as possible. I strain to listen for whatever has woken me so sharply.