Chapter 96 - NINETY SIX

Chapter 96: Chapter NINETY SIX

ANGEL

"That’s literally what she’s here for, Daddy." I threw my hand toward Celine without giving her the dignity of a glance. "She’s the housekeeper. She keeps the house. There’s a mess in the house. Seems like a her problem."

"Her job is to manage the household. Not to stand there while you throw plates at her feet." His eyes were still locked on mine furiously.

"Get up. Get a mop. Clean the floor. Pick up every piece of glass." He paused. "And apologize to Celine."

A disbelieving laugh escaped my mouth, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

"Apologize? To her? The woman who just called me a brat and then cried to you about breakfast? That’s who deserves my apology?"

"Now, Angel."

Two words with that tone. I held his gaze across the table, those dark eyes boring into me with that dangerous authority that should have made me submit but instead made every defiant cell in my body light up.

I wasn’t going to clean that floor. I wasn’t going to apologize to that woman. And I definitely wasn’t going to sit here while he used his gentle voice on the help and his hard voice on me. He should be on my side! Not that stranger.

It didn’t look like screaming back at Vincenzo would help this situation. "Fine, I was wrong," I huffed out a breath, "But you’re not going to make me clean, are you? Besides my body is sore all over, I can’t do any hard task,"

I kept my face pliant, softening my eyes, letting my lower lip push out just enough to remind him. Making him see the girl he’d bent over his bed this morning, the girl who’d whimpered his name into the pillow while he drove into her from behind. I wanted him to look at me and remember that an hour ago he’d been inside me, and now he was asking me to mop a floor for a woman with lipstick.

And I badly wanted to strangle the bitch who was still standing there waiting for my apology. I’d rather have my teeth pulled out without anesthetic.

Under the table, my bare foot found his leg.

I started at his calf. Light. Just my toes grazing the muscle.

I traced upward over his knee. Along the inside of his thigh where the skin was warmer through the thin fabric of his sleep pants and the muscle was harder and I felt him tense under my touch — a subtle locking of his body that he was trying very hard to keep off his face.

Higher.

Slow.

My toes dragged along the seam of his pants. I could feel the heat radiating from him before I even reached it. That furnace warmth that I knew so well.

I pressed the ball of my foot against the front of his pants.

Hard.

Rock hard.

His cock was straining against the fabric, thick and swollen and throbbing against the arch of my foot. I could feel the ridge of him, the full heavy length, pulsing with each heartbeat.

Angry and turned on and sitting there shirtless trying to discipline me while his body was begging for what only I could give him.

I smiled at him slowly and triumphantly. I didn’t need to say it out loud. He could use his scary voice and his scary eyes. But this cock was mine. And right now it wasn’t thinking about the mess on the floor. It was remembering my cunt clenching around it while I came screaming into his sheets.

Something dangerous moved behind his eyes. I heard him swear — low, guttural, barely a breath — but that I felt vibrate through the sole of my foot and straight up between my thighs. His knuckles went tighter around his coffee cup.

For one delicious second, I thought he was going to snap and bend me over the table right here in front of Celine and the mess and god and everyone.

His hand dove under the table as he grabbed my ankle, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.

I let out a yelp as he wrenched my foot away from his cock and slammed it against the floor.

The impact sent a jolt up my leg.

"Clean. The. Mess." He growled, each word bitten off and spat out separately. The rejection stung, even worse when he turned to Celine and his voice changed. Gentler. Almost apologetic.

"Celine, take a break. I’ll handle this."

She nodded, looking grateful. She walked out of the kitchen with her stained shoes and a smug look that she threw at me.

I saw it. That quick, sideways glance as she passed.

My fingers curled into fists under the table.

That bitch meant nothing to him, yet Vincenzo was treating her better than me. My eyes burned. I was his girl, his lover, the one he wanted to breed, yet here I was getting the hard voice.

The injustice of it burned through me like acid.

"I’m not cleaning anything," I said, and my voice had gone tight because my throat was trying to decide whether I wanted to scream or cry and I hadn’t decided which.

"And if you use that voice on her again, Vincenzo, I swear to god, I’m going to kill her!" I glared at him, blinking back hot tears.

"Angel." He straightened suddenly, coming around the table.

He leaned down with his hands on my armrests, his face so close I could smell his coffee and the faint trace of sex still on his skin. The same skin I’d licked this morning, now inches from my face with nothing but cold authority in his eyes.

"You are going to clean that floor without another word." His eyes held mine. "Or I walk out of this kitchen and you don’t see me for the rest of the day. You sleep in your room tonight. Locked. And you can lie on your bed alone and decide if throwing orange juice at the housekeeper was worth it."