Chapter 5 005

I hear him giggle and feel his warm breath ghost against my neck. "Brave talk for a little girl who can't even look me in the eye," he says, tilting his head to murmur in my ear. I gasp as he suckers angry markings beneath my ear and runs his fangs up my neck. My barriers break down again. And he was right. " I wish I could get away from him, but I can't.

As he strokes his cheek and the scar, he says, "Your father gave me this when I was barely more than a boy, before he bunkered down behind a desk." What did he give you for challenging him? A slap? Using my cold silence as leverage, I turn my head away. I cannot find any scars that show how badly my father treated me. They are a faint, white reminder of the past, but they don't feel old and worn like Salvatore's scar did. One error has left me with bleeding wounds. We get swept away by headlights. I'm not allowed to go barefoot in the parking lot, according to Salvatore. Like the bride he claims I will soon be, he effortlessly holds me in his arms. I generally hate being treated like a princess, yet my stomach flutters betraying me without my consent. When my nose is near his neck, I can smell his cologne; it's subtle and rich, with hints of expensive whiskey and sweet cigars. I couldn't help but think about how easily he could throw me around, and he must have a lot of muscle under that dark suit. To find out, I'm dying to take it from him. Maybe it's me who's crazy. Carelessly and without protection, I've been staring up at him, my eyes following the thin white scar that highlights his cheek. I feel drunk even though the turmoil long ago wrecked my high. "Where are we going?" Salvatore ignores me as if I'm a child asking stupid questions. A dark Rolls-Royce halts in front of us, its glossy shine reflecting all the light. I grew up in a rich family and had strapped my car seat in the back of Mercedes and armored Bentleys since I was a kid, but this level of luxury is new to me. The driver opens the door for us. "You're behind the wheel," adds Salvatore. I'm not surprised that Salvatore usually drives even when it's not necessary. He gives off the impression of a man who is constantly trying to exert control. But now, on top of everything else, he has to control me. Instead of taking the wheel, Salvatore sprawls me across his lap in the backseat. He can't seem to quit staring at me or touching me. His sudden obsession is making it impossible for me to not be impressed. He gives me the impression that he has never seen a woman before. I have had a lot of males look at me and say they want me. It's the most intense stare I've ever received. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend that this isn't just a deranged guy with the ability to take blood revenge. He goes on, in a voice used to giving orders, "Don't hide from me." I realize that I still have my arm clamped over my breasts. He pries it away, refusing to let me cover myself. By using his thumb to stroke my exposed breast, he treats my body as though he already owned it, making it more hard and dark. I'm breathing heavily, filling the back of the car. "You don't get any care, do you?" He asks in a low voice as his hands grow weary. The fact that he can figure this out so fast is embarrassing. A wave of embarrassment sweeps down my neck and explodes in my face. He can't know that I'm inexperienced. The embarrassment will eat me from the inside out if he finds out. But after 23 years of being seen as untouchable, his softest, most fundamental touches betray me by kindling a craving in my body. The don's daughter. Too dangerous a quest to be worth it. I was constantly worried about hurting innocent people. My father refused to be in my one and only relationship, no matter how much I tempted and teased him, so even after I had moved away from him and his lifestyle, I continued to worry about what would happen if I ever crossed that line. The coward. Salvatore, however, is unafraid and touches me anywhere he wants. I'm unable to force him to stop when all I want is more. I want to tell him to stop being courteous so I can take him, but it's strange. It's definitely me who's nuts. í. The streetlights flicker across his face, half illuminating and partially shadowing him. When I first saw him, he didn't seem real. I'm a touch too old and too risky. His temples have a trace of silver, and his jaw is so rigid that I suppose it rarely twitches into a smile. He possesses every awful trait I've ever desired in a man but have been too ashamed to admit. I've hated men like him all my life because I don't want to admit how they make me feel. However, there's something about Salvatore that I can't ignore. I can't hide how I want him to treat me or what I want him to do. My intellect implores him to let me go, but my body wants him to keep me closer. I'm fighting a war with my own shame. In the darkness, a light bursts up. Sal starts a cigarette for himself, clenching it between his teeth. I get one from him. I object, saying, "I haven't smoked since I was thirteen." He holds it out nonetheless. I sigh and take it.