Concede (The Diamond Empire Book 1) Kathy Coopmans (good beach reads .TXT) 📖

wants. She needs to purge her pain. If it’s by words, hitting me, cutting me down, crying, I can handle it. The crying maybe not so much. But once she does, she’ll let me in so I can take care of her and open those eyes and let me into that beautiful heart that’s begging to be loved.

“The Devil would have fucked you. He would have taken and not bothered with satisfying you at all. I touched you because I can’t resist you. Because I missed you, and whether you want to admit it to me or not, you missed me, angel. Christ, it felt like a thousand fucking matches lit my skin on fire when your eyes roamed all over me, leaving us both in flames only we can put out. You know it, and so do I.” She can deny it until she’s blue in the face. Felt the jolt of it the second I touched her—a blow to my logic.

I couldn’t help myself after that. I wouldn’t have enticed her to suck me off if I didn’t want Victoria to know she holds as much power over me as I do her.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of her on her knees, those long legs spread wide with her sweet juices dripping out of her and my cock in her mouth. I probably should keep that to myself.

“I know no such thing. Next time go to Rocco’s club. I’m sure there are many willing women there.”

She doesn’t trust me. I figured as much. I could argue with her about it, but it’ll get us nowhere. My past is the only weapon she has to use against me. Other than that, she’s been a willing participant. A few hours ago and the day we both gave in to our craving for one another.

She’s not giving in to what she wants out of some sort of fear, and I’m unsure if it’s directed toward me or something else I haven’t considered yet. Whatever it is, she has it sealed tight.

I’ll figure it out.

Victoria’s shoulders heave, and she turns her face away. Like she’s trying to anchor whatever is weighing her down. Like she doesn’t want me to see that vulnerability.

“They aren’t who I want, Victoria. You weren’t just a piece of ass to me. You’ll never be. I can’t stop thinking about you. About that day in Houston. About how fucking stupid I was the day we met. I’m more confident about my feelings for you than I’ve been about anyone else.” My tone is thick and full of certainty.

“More confident? What does that even mean? How can you say anyone else when you loved, God, I forget her name,” she asks, turning back my way. Her expression full of disbelief.

It’s a sharp, hot dagger to my soul.

Regardless, I keep going.

“Her name is Meghan, and I didn’t love her. If I did, I would have found her and begged her to come back to me. Like I’m doing to you now.” I pause for a moment wanting those words to sink in before I say more.

“You are made for me, Victoria. You’re mine. You are who I want, and if you’d open yourself up to me, I’d prove I’m not the fucking Devil. I’m a man who gets what he wants, and I want you.”

She gapes at me as if she’s shocked the words are part of my vocabulary. If she only knew how badly I want to mix sweet words with wicked every day if she’d just give me an inch. I’d stretch it as far and long as she’d let me.

We stare one another down in a silent conversation, where I read her so clearly that I could practically recite her thoughts word for word.

She’s mulling over her feelings for me.

Grinding my teeth, I scan her body, eyes nearly bulging out of my head at what she’s wearing.

A tic hits my jaw, fingers curling into fists, muscles locking in my arms.

She has on a tight denim jumpsuit tucked into leopard print boots with fur around the top. The outfit sculps the curvy shape of her delectable body and those hips I’m dying to grab hold of as I drive into her from behind. The zipper is down, showing way too much cleavage. It doesn’t help when I inhale and get a whiff of her honeyed scent. My twitchy fingers want to unzip her out of it and dip into the entire pot.

Hunger ravages my body. Fuck, she’s so damn perfect I want to drop at her feet. Worship her the way she deserves.

Possessiveness. It rumbles through me, severe and shackled.

The thought of anyone besides me seeing Victoria wearing that outfit has me wanting to gouge the eyeballs out of every motherfucker that sees her today.

The thought of it stirs my beast. He’s been disturbed since I walked in last night to find Victoria half coherent on the floor. Crying for her mother, screaming for her sister. Deserving raw hate pouring out of her as she tried pulling herself up, only to collapse back down and let out a blood-curling scream for vengeance to a killer playing a game of hide and seek.

I won’t let her in on what she said. Not when she needs to admit those feelings sober. Not when the chains that have bound her tight want to break free. To make her realize the world she’s been scared of most of her life; she’s running toward, seeking it, when all she’s ever done is run in the opposite direction.

Victoria is so damn close to cracking and lashing out. It’s written all over her in bright, vivid colors. She just doesn’t want me to see it.

Well, unlike everyone else who’s drowning in the same boat, I do.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I notice the slight shake in my fingers. It’s not as bad as when I smelled the wine last night.

Good ole aftereffects of a recovering alcoholic when he’s around booze.

One sniff