For Angelo(59)

All of it hurt.

And she welcomed it.

She craved it.

This pain that was so terrible it seemed like Angelo had perfected the art of hurting her.

Her heart was his canvas, and he painted her with terribly beautiful strokes of longing, with the way he allowed her to gaze at him but forbidding her to come any closer. While every woman could shake his hand, brush the hair from his eyes, or pretend to stumble so they could press their breasts against his side, all she could do was stare and want him from afar.

The longer she gazed at him, the more her desire grew. Oh, how she loved the effortless way he moved through the crowd like an elusive lover, loved it as much as she hated the way women relentlessly chased after him.

He had changed before greeting his guests, his powerful body now made more breathtaking by the way his white formal jacket emphasized the magnificent breadth of his shoulders. The matching tapered pants molded perfectly to the impressively muscular length of his frame while the cotton dress shirt he wore underneath added just the hint of casualness – it was the perfect touch to have him stand out from the rest of the crowd of tux-clad gentlemen.

I don’t need a tux, his clothes said, to appear more gorgeous than most men.

And it was true.

As Lane moved closer, she heard a woman compliment his clothes, and Angelo paused before answering, his mocking gaze finding Lane’s.

I know you chose this, those eyes said.

Of course he would. And it was true. She had spent hours poring over every magazine she could find, wanting to choose an outfit that would make him look like the fairytale prince that he was. And now that she saw him wearing it, every handpicked item—

Oh, the agonizing pleasure it gave her, knowing that she had made him even more beautiful than he usually was, and now no woman could take her eyes off him.

Because of her.

She had made him irresistible to women.

A helpless smile tugged on her lips at the thought.

If that didn’t prove to him she was as twisted as he was, she didn’t know what else would.





****





The night waltzed on, and they continued their dance of seduction where all other players were meant to paint her heart with every shade of jealousy there was. It was an endless parade of beautiful women wanting a piece of him, none of them realizing that every sound they made —

The coy notes of their laughter, the throaty invitation in their banter, and the rasp of their dresses as they moved on the floor—

All of it became mere melodies that played into the music only Angelo and Lane could hear, a song that would last only for as long as they could keep playing this little game of anticipation.

Every few minutes, Angelo would look to where Lane was, and he would ask with a lift of his eyebrow if it was time to stop.

Are you jealous enough?

Are you hurt enough?

Are you ready to cry?

But every time he did, she would only look at him, her eyes filled with such agony and desire that he knew she was telling him she wanted more.

Make me more jealous, hurt me more, make it so until I cried.

And so he did, seducing without being seduced, flirting with his body but never with his heart. The thought that she was aching with jealousy had his cock so hard it became difficult to walk, and it was only the knowledge that it was the same for her—

Ah, Dio, he only had to close his eyes and he could imagine her standing next to him—

Close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath every time he smiled at another woman—

Close enough to see the prickle of her breasts as her glorious flesh swelled in demand, wanting his hands on them and only them and no one else’s—

Close enough to smell the scent of her arousal—

Fuck.

The music in their mind reached a crescendo.

He opened his eyes.

Fuck waiting.

He wanted her. Now. And he knew just how to make her come.

He turned to the woman closest to him and made an act as if to kiss her.

She was by his side sooner than he expected, crying out, “No!”

He laughed, stepping away from the other woman, and turned to Lane. Her eyes were swimming with tears, and he asked under his breath, “You think just seeing you about to cry will stop me from kissing another woman?”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Sadist!”

His hands clasping her waist, he pulled her close so he could lick the tear away. “I love your tears,” he murmured. “It tastes as good as I remembered.” He drew her even closer, whispering to her ear, “You did very well, my Lane.”

Oh. Her entire body reacted to his words, breasts swelling, nipples jutting out, core aching, and toes curling hard. Unable to stop herself, she put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him—

He sucked his breath, and the sound made her whimper and press herself closer to him. This time, she felt his big, hard cock throb furiously against her folds and whimpered again.

His hands tightened painfully around her waist. “What,” he bit out, “do you think you’re doing?”

She couldn’t answer, could only start rubbing herself against his cock—

He muttered an expletive over her head, and then he was whirling her around the dance floor. Oh, how swiftly the room spun around her as they glided. She surrendered herself to his hold, her eyes drifting close as she blindly followed his move—