Passport to Him - Page 76

“No,” I say.

“If you want me to tell you, then you can tell me why you didn’t say it back,” he says, his voice cracking with frustration.

“I don’t want to complicate things with feelings.”

“Is that the same line you gave Finn? You just string us along and leave the moment feelings are involved,” he says, his venomous words poignant and dripped with disdain.

“Fuck you, Enzo,” I whisper.

“We are more than just fucking, amore,” he whispers.

“I came here to fill my passport and search for my family history. I am sucking at doing both, so the least you can do is tell me what you are hiding,” I say.

Walking back up the stairs, “I’m not hiding anything,” he says.

“The fuck if you aren’t,” I scoffed, following him back up the stairs.

He walks into the room immediately in front of us. A full wall library and mahogany desk in the center. He pushed a stack of papers across the room as they land everywhere across the room. I put my hands on my hips and regarded him carefully.

His temper typical. But mine is far more intense. Piss me off and see what happens.

“You don’t want to tell me about what you do, why there is blood on your shirt and what you were doing in the square,” I state.

“No, I don’t,” he says.

“You don’t want to tell me you are in love with me, so you can help me with my Venice stamp,” I suggest, my temper sparking.

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Getting into his face, my tits touching his chest, “Absolutely fucking yes.”

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he says.

“Then I’m leaving!” I yell.

“The fuck if you are!”

In this moment through all the anger I suddenly realize where I am. His villa in Venice. Fury clouds my eyes and makes them darken with anger.

The villa he shared with his wife. The villa where she died.

“Why did you tell me you loved me and bring me to your villa you shared with your dead wife?!”

The sound of his fist meeting his mahogany desk cracking the edges make me jump. His fist cracked and bloodied from the impact.

What the fuck did you just say? God, you are a stupid bitch.

His lips fiercely press against mine, his fingers squeezing my cheeks with one hand.

Pulling away from me he tries to catch his breath, “Don’t you ever talk about her. You want to experience what I have to offer then your mouth will scream my name,” he whispers.

“Enzo,” I moan breathlessly.

“Good girl. If this is what you want, then I pick the man and I watch every fucking move. Your eyes on mine, the entire time.”

My lips pressing against his, “But,” I whisper.

“The entire fucking time, princessa,” he commands quietly.

* * *

Tags: Brittany McMahan Erotic
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