Elena’s Point Of View

His hand slid up, fingers threading into my hair at the base of my skull. His mouth hovered at my ear again, voice low, rougher than it had ever been. I could feel the hunger in it, the restraint snapping strand by strand.

“Bambina,” he rasped, his breath hot against my skin, “how on earth am I supposed to be strict with you when every little thing you do right now gives me a hard-on, huh?!”

And then he didn’t wait for me to answer.

His lips crashed onto ...