Citas
“I’m not a possession.”
He lifts a shoulder. “What is a wife if not the property of her husband?”
I move to yank my hand away, but he holds it steady in his grasp.
“Equals,” I spit.
He laughs, a bitter and resentful sound that flushes my cheeks with embarrassment. “Trust me, Bianca. You don’t want to be my equal. That would mean dancing
He lifts a shoulder. “What is a wife if not the property of her husband?”
I move to yank my hand away, but he holds it steady in his grasp.
“Equals,” I spit.
He laughs, a bitter and resentful sound that flushes my cheeks with embarrassment. “Trust me, Bianca. You don’t want to be my equal. That would mean dancing
I didn’t kiss you, dolcezza, because I wasn’t certain I’d be able to stop.”
No.”
“No?” I ask dumbly.
“No,” he says again.
“But...”
“I don’t fuck scared little girls.”
I recoil like he’s slapped me, the fire of lust in my stomach flushed out with the tsunami of his rejection.
“No?” I ask dumbly.
“No,” he says again.
“But...”
“I don’t fuck scared little girls.”
I recoil like he’s slapped me, the fire of lust in my stomach flushed out with the tsunami of his rejection.
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