Free Beauty and the Barracuda by Nikki Winter Page B

color in her irises. “There is nothing you can say, nothing you can do that will make me stop. I’ve spent years watching you, craving you, reaching out to touch you only to yank my hand back at the last moment too afraid of what the consequences may be. Fuck the consequences. Fuck yanking back. You. Belong. To. Me. Do me the favor of running—I dare you to—because believe me when I say you will find out every nuance of why I’m called the Barracuda.”

Chapter Six
     
    She was trying to make him fucking mental. Had to be. It was the only explanation for that goddamned dress. Did she really expect him to behave? Because if so, she’d find herself thoroughly disappointed and flat on her back the moment he got her alone.
    Sansone tucked his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo trousers and drew in a deep breath, fighting the growing urge to do more than watch Nyssa from across the room. He could very well get her beneath him within a matter of seconds but he didn’t think she’d appreciate that with at least one hundred other people milling about the million-dollar home of their host. They’d been invited to the black tie event together and ended up coming separately. Funny, in the last month they hadn’t done much separately, least of all coming. No, Sansone had the good fortune to witness that live and in color often. Fun didn’t even begin to describe what it was like to see Nyssa floundering for an escape that he refused to give. Night after night, day after day, she continuously tried to deny what was so blatantly obvious. She belonged to him. Signed, sealed and delivered.
    His lips turned up just at the corners when he realized she was trying to ignore him. Heh. He could’ve gotten anxious or even frustrated with the fact that she refused to allow him access to anything outside of what he could do to her with his tongue and a well-placed finger but he hadn’t been lying when he told her he didn’t care how he got her to surrender. As of right now a tongue and a well-placed finger seemed to be the best options so he’d continue to use that trump card until he knocked down every single one of those defenses. She was adorable when she said the words “stop”, “don’t”, “Sansone”, or “please” just for them to turn into, “Sansone, please don’t stop.” He always left the power in her hand, always told her one simple thing that would call a halt to his hands or mouth on her but she never spoke the word; she never said no.
    He knew her well—better than she wanted to admit. Nyssa needed to feel as though she had some type of say; she wanted to know she wasn’t a malleable Barbie he killed time with when bored. Sansone had put her anatomically correct parts to extremely good use, but he also consistently tried to show her that their playtime wasn’t just for play, no matter how much she wanted it to be just that. Every moment he had her under him, over him, bent over in frontof him got Sansone just that much closer to his goal—Nyssa’s heart.
    Snagging a champagne flute as a waiter strolled by, he found a corner and watched her as she moved around, her illusion gown catching light in the sheerest parts, giving one the impression that they’d see more of the bronzed skin just beneath the black, clinging fabric. On either side of her svelte, curvy figure one got a glimpse of what she might or might not look like without it on. You never saw too much, just enough to hold your attention, make you imagine what would happen if she were to move the right way, if the overheads caught her silhouette at just the right moment.
    It had been tailored to fit her perfectly. She’d straightened her hair, the normally springy curls falling to her shoulders in soft waves. Her make-up was minimal with darkened eyes and pale lips. Each time she moved, the gown rippled and he swallowed. If he had known what she’d be wearing tonight he probably wouldn’t have let her out of bed this morning. He could see