Chapter 35 Wet Dreams
His hands were everywhere, sliding over my skin with a confidence that made me gasp. Giovanni's mouth was hot against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear and I arched into him.
"Arya," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "You feel so-"
His body pressed against mine, all hard muscle and heat. Sweat glistened on his chest, and I couldn't stop myself from running my hands over the defined planes of his abdomen, feeling them flex under my touch.
"Giovanni," I moaned, her head falling back as his lips traveled lower…
"Arya."
The voice was insistent now, cutting through the haze of the dream.
"Arya, wake up. We’ve landed!”
I jerked awake violently, my eyes flying open to find Giovanni standing beside my seat, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Heat flooded my face immediately. Oh God. Had I been making sounds? Had I said his name out loud?
"I…" I stammered, unable to meet his eyes. "I was just-I need-“
I unbuckled myself with fumbling fingers and practically ran to the bathroom at the back of the plane, slamming the door behind me and locking it with shaking hands.
Oh God!
I pressed my hands against my burning cheeks and stared at my reflection in the small mirror.
My hair was scattered from sleep, my lips slightly swollen like I’d been biting them, and my pupils were dilated.
I looked exactly like someone who'd been having a very inappropriate dream about their captor.
"He's the enemy," I whispered fiercely to my reflection. "He kidnapped you and threatened your sister. He's using you as leverage against your father. He's a monster."
But my treacherous mind supplied images from the dream, especially the way his body moved against mine.
"Stop it," I hissed, turning on the cold water and splashing it over my face. "Stop thinking about it. It was just a dream. Just your stupid brain processing stress in the worst possible way."
I took several deep breaths, forcing my heart rate to slow. When I finally felt composed enough to face him again, I unlocked the door and stepped out.
Giovanni was back in his seat, scrolling through his phone with apparent disinterest. But when I emerged, his eyes flicked up to meet mine, and a smirk curved his lips.
"Feel better?" he asked, his tone perfectly innocent.
"Fine," I said tersely, avoiding his gaze as I moved past him to my seat.
"You were moaning in your sleep."
I froze mid-step, my entire body going rigid.
"I-no I wasn't," I stammered, finally looking at him. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" His smirk widened. "Because it sounded very much like you were having a rather... pleasant dream. Something abou-—"
"We've landed," I interrupted desperately, grasping at anything to change the subject. "You said we landed. Where are we?"
Giovanni studied me for a moment longer, clearly enjoying my discomfort. Then he mercifully let it go.
"Come see for yourself," he said, standing and moving toward the exit.
I followed on shaky legs, still mortified but desperately curious about our destination.
The moment I stepped off the plane, the feel of salty air hit my face. The sky was a brilliant blue, the kind of saturated color that only seemed to exist in paintings.
And thecypress trees dotting the small private airport made me gasp
"Italy," I breathed, my embarrassment temporarily forgotten. "We're in Italy."
"Specifically, the Amalfi Coast," Giovanni said from behind me. "Do you approve?"
Approve? This was my dream country. The place I’d read about in books, seen in movies, and fantasized about visiting since I was a child.
"It's beautiful," I admitted softly, unable to keep the wonder from my voice.
A sleek black car waited for them, the driver already loading their luggage, which apparently had been packed without my knowledge or input.
As we drove through winding coastal roads, I found it hard to maintain my anger. The view of the Mediterranean Sea sparkling in the afternoon sun, and cliffside towns clinging to the rocks like something from a fairy tale.
Giovanni remained quiet, absorbed in his phone, conducting business in rapid Italian that I could only partially follow. But I barely noticed, too entranced by the scenery passing by my window.
After nearly an hour of driving, we turned down a private road that seemed to lead nowhere. Then suddenly, there it was.
The villa.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was perfect. It was a traditional Italian villa with honey-colored stone walls, terracotta roof tiles, and shuttered windows that overlooked the sea.
A garden surrounded the property, lush with citrus trees and flowering plants I couldn't name. And behind it all, was the sea. The endless, glittering Mediterranean stretching to the horizon.
"It's been in my family for three generations," Giovanni said as we climbed out of the car. "My great-grandfather bought the entire property, including the land around it. There are no neighbors for miles."
"It's incredible," I said honestly, too awed to pretend like I didn’t care. .
Before he could respond, I was practically running toward the entrance, eager to see inside.
The interior was just as breathtaking.
The large windows opened onto terraces that offered stunning views of the sea. Fresh flowers sat in vases on every surface, and the whole place smelled of citrus and salt air.
I wandered from room to room, taking it all in.
"This is-" I spun in a circle in the main living area, unable to contain my excitement. "This is beautiful. I've never seen anything like-"
Then it hit me.
I stopped spinning and looked around more carefully.
"We're alone," I said slowly, turning to face Giovanni, who was watching me from the doorway with an unreadable expression.
"Very observant," he said dryly.
"No guards? No staff? Just..." I gestured between us. "Us?"
"Isn't that the point of a honeymoon?" He moved into the room, his hands in his pockets. "Spending time alone with your new spouse."
"But you said this was a business trip," I countered, my earlier excitement shifting into wariness. "You said-"
"I said I had business to attend to," Giovanni interrupted. "Which I do. But that doesn't mean we need an audience for every moment."
He moved past me toward the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine from a rack I hadn't noticed. "Your room is upstairs, second door on the right. There are clothes in the closet, toiletries in the bathroom, everything you'll need. My room is at the end of the hall."
"Separate rooms," I said, relief flooding through me.
"For now." He poured himself a glass of wine, not offering me any. "Don't get too comfortable with the arrangement."
The threat hung in the air between us.
"I have a meeting in town tonight," he continued, checking his watch. "I'll be gone for several hours. Feel free to explore the property, but don't leave the grounds. The security system and guards will be watching you.”
"So I'm still a prisoner," I said bitterly.
Giovanni looked at me then, and something flickered across his face. "Would you prefer I'd left you locked in your room back home? This-" he gestured around us, “… is a gift. Try to appreciate it."
Before I could formulate a response, he was moving toward the door, the wine glass abandoned on the counter.
I stood alone in the beautiful villa, surrounded by luxury and beauty and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below.
I should be relieved to have time to breathe without his suffocating presence.
But somehow, standing in the empty villa with the sea stretching endlessly before me, I felt more trapped than ever.