“Everything is fine, Ethan.”
With a sneer, Carmine shoves away from me and stalks toward Ethan, managing to look down on Ethan’s six-foot-two frame.
“Do you know who I am, Ethan?”
“I don’t care who you are,” Ethan replies. “You’re scaring my friend.”
Carmine laughs, grips Ethan by the shirt, and throws him against the bookshelf.
“Carmine!” I cry out, taking a step forward. He holds up his hand in a stop gesture, which has me freeze in my tracks.
“Carmine? Milazzo? Oh fuck, Delilah, what have you done?” Ethan swallows nervously, and Carmine stares at him as if he is about to enjoy the torture he will inflict on him.
“I don’t give a fuck who you are, Ethan.” Carmine keeps a grip on Ethan’s shirt, staring him dead in the eye. “What business Delilah and I have is none of yours. All you need to know is she isn’t available to you, and if I catch your arm around her again, even one fucking finger,” Carmine lowers his voice, “I will cut them off one by one. Do I make myself clear?”
“Ye…yes,” Ethan’s voice shakes.
Carmine lets go of Ethan’s shirt. “Leave. Before I decide to kill you right here and now.”
Ethan doesn’t spare me a glance as he runs away, leaving me alone with a stone-cold killer.
“That was unnecessary!” I hiss at him. “Ethan is a good man-” I’m silenced when thrown against the shelf again, another book falling at my feet.
He points his finger at me, so close to my face he’s nearly poking me. “I don’t want to hear his fucking name coming from your mouth, Delilah. I don’t care if he is good. Do you know what he is? A coward. He left you with me, a bad man, the villain, the monster,” he whispers the words, but I can tell he is on the brink of losing control. “Good doesn’t live here, anymore, Sweetling. As you said, you’re mine now, and if good is what you are looking for, you’re about to live in a nightmare.”
“I already am.” I stick my neck out and touch the tip of our noses together.
His eyes turn to slits. Carmine reminds me of a snake about to strike, but I won’t know when. He’ll attack when he’s ready.
The smile he wears is one of a man about to say checkmate. “Tomorrow, we will get married. You’ll wear my fucking ring. I’ll come to school with you. I am by your side. Always.” His lips drag across my cheek, and an uneven breath quakes in an exhale. “You will go to school. You will become whatever you want to be, dreams are meant to be chased, but make no mistake, Delilah…” His lips hover over mine, the flesh tickling my own, and I want him to lean in and kiss me. Let’s get it over with. Let’s prove it won’t feel as good as I think it will.
I want to be disappointed.
I know I won’t be. I bet Carmine’s kiss is as deadly as his gun.
“I am part of your dreams now, so you better start making room because my dreams are the same. I’ll make sure they happen.” Those lips move against mine, tempting me, and the solid length of this hard cock presses against my thigh. “Or I’ll make sure they don’t.” He steps away, leaving me hot, my pussy aching, and my lips tingling from an almost kiss. I need to know that he keeps his word, and that he won’t break the contract.
He begins to walk away when I take his hand. I stare out of our intertwined fingers, wondering what I’m doing, and lift my gaze to meet his.
It’s heated. Lust brews the same as anger, and I tug him toward me.
“What is it, Sweetling?” His fingers slide under my chin, my nerves coming to life and igniting something sinister in my soul.
He brings out the worst in me.
Or maybe, this is me at my best.
I’ve never been braver than I am when I am with him.
Grabbing the lapels of his blazer, I stand on my tiptoes and stare at his lips. The top one is thinner than the bottom, and I want to know if he kisses as firm and rough as he speaks. “I hate this color on you,” I say, lying through my teeth.
He combs his fingers through my hair, then yanks me closer to him by fisting the roots, sending a sting down my spine. “No, you don’t.”
I crash my lips against his, the contract in place since I am the one that made the first move. He doesn’t give me the chance to control it, dominate it, or do anything other than make the first contact. Carmine grabs my face with both hands and backs me into the shelf. All I can hear are the smacks of our lips in the quiet, secluded basement of the library. Our breathing is heavy, sliding down one another’s throats as we take from each other.
He is taking my ability to make rational decisions.
His growl slides down my throat, and his tongue dances along mine with soft, gentle strokes so different from the force of lips. Soft, firm, yet demanding. There’s nothing that could rip him away from me.
My hands claw at his back, trying to find leverage, anything to hold onto as he steals the air from my lungs. With one hand, he cups the back of my head, while the other slides down my body, grips my leg and hooks it around his hip. He’s able to step closer, filling the space between my thighs. It’s a preview of how well we will fit together in the future.
His cock presses against my heat, teasing me with his size, and I whimper into his mouth giving into the temptation of the Devil himself.
Carmine grabs my ass, keeping a firm grip on the cheek as he groans, kissing his way down my throat.
“Fuck, you’re delectable,” he murmurs against my skin, before owning my lips in another savage kiss.
I slip my fingers under his shirt to trail up his abdomen, but he grabs my hands and pins them over my head without breaking the kiss.
He doesn’t want to be touched. The rejection is short-lived because he is kissing me as if we are dying and this is the last kiss we will ever have.
Our lips move in complete harmony, and we hardly come up for air. He’s aggressive, pressing harder, moving faster. He bites down on my bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. He lets it go with a soft pop and slows our kiss, taming the urgency, controlling the lust and redirecting it.
Every muscle in my body trembles from that kiss. It’s one I’ll never forget; one no one will ever be able to top.
“Good girl,” he praises me, letting go of my wrists and placing my hands at my sides. “Thank you for coming to me first.”
If it’s possible, I blush from the appreciation and feel shy enough to look away.
He turns my face by applying pressure to my chin, making me look at him. His lips are swollen and red, the arousal in his eyes has not faded, and his cock is painfully hard, pressing against my thigh. “Good girls get rewarded, Sweetling.” He rubs his thumb across my lip again, and I wonder why he likes to do that so much, but I won’t question it.
I’m unable to find words. I like the praise a little too much. How my body reacts has me wanting to strip naked in front of him now.
“You’ll pick out the ring you’ll wear,” he says, lifting my hand that will be officially promised to him tomorrow. “No limit. My Sweetling gets what she wants.”
He leans in and steals another kiss, holding me by the top of my neck while he turns my body to mush. I feel like I’m floating, and Carmine is the only thing holding me down.
“Expect me to take your mouth whenever I fucking want now that you’ve given the green light.” He keeps our hands together as he begins to walk out of the row and toward the steps.
“Where are we going?” I manage to form words after the best kiss in my entire life. I deserve a trophy.
“You have studying to do.” He slows, placing his arm around me as he walks to the study group.
We get a few curious glances, but nothing too questionable. When we return to the table, Ethan isn’t there, and his stuff is gone.
“Where were you? I was getting-Oh, hello,” Christy greets Carmine, holding out her hand. “I know who you are and what you want with my best friend. Your secret is safe with me, but if you hurt her, I’ll find a way to kill you.”
I gasp, about to apologize to Carmine and beg him not to kill her, when he tosses his head back and laughs, dragging Ethan’s chair closer to mine.
He sits down and gestures for me to do the same. His arm wraps around the chair, his fingers grazing over my shoulder.
“I take threats from best friends seriously. You have my word. I’ll never hurt Delilah.”
“Good,” Christy says with the jut of her chin. “This is my boyfriend, Caleb.”
“Hey, Mr. Milazzo.” Caleb holds out his hand, and Carmine takes it.
“Any friend of Delilah’s is a friend of mine. Call me Carmine.”
Carmine’s words are a trap. He’s playing dress-up for my friends. He’s Satan in a Sunday hat, and my friends have no idea of the man sitting in front of them.
Men like Carmine do not have friends.
They have enemies, and they love to keep them close.