Chapter 15: Her Trap

I woke up the next morning with an ache between my thighs and fury in my chest.

The sheets clung to my skin, sticky with sweat and something else I didn’t want to name. It was like my body was still humming from that filthy dream. A memory I never consented to, yet it had branded itself into my senses with wicked precision.

I didn’t feel better.

I felt violated—not by someone else, but by myself. By my subconscious. By whatever perverse part of my brain thought Alessandro deserved a starring role in my orgasm.

I groaned, slamming a fist into the pillow before ripping the covers off me.

“This is disgusting,” I muttered, storming to the bathroom. “I need another fucking shower.”

I turned on the faucet and climbed under the spray, cranking it ice-cold again. Not that it helped. My skin still burned—his touch still burned.

Because my dream hadn’t been vague or gentle. It had been explicit. Detailed.

Alessandro’s mouth on my clit. Sucking, biting, licking.

The way he licked me. Savored me like something divine.

The way he had growled between my legs when I came undone, legs shaking around his head, moaning like a whore for a man I despised.

I pressed my palms to the cold tile.

“I hate him,” I whispered. “I hate him.”

But a traitorous thought slithered into my head, smooth and seductive.

If he could make you cum that hard in a dream… what about real life?

I slammed my forehead against the wall.

“No! No, no, no. Don’t even think it, Aria. Don’t you dare.”

I wanted to bleach my brain. Maybe lobotomize myself just to scrub the image out of my skull.

Alessandro, on his knees. Alessandro, making me beg. Alessandro, owning my pleasure like it belonged to him.

My stomach twisted with equal parts revulsion and something shamefully hot.

I stepped out of the shower dripping wet, wrapped a towel around myself, and stormed into my room.

And that’s when the idea hit me.

A dangerous, twisted, utterly wicked idea.

I was going to get rid of him.

One way or another, Alessandro was going down.

I crept toward the door, footsteps silent against the floor, and pressed my ear against the wood.

Just as I expected.

He was standing there. Like the good little watchdog he was.

I grinned, slow and venomous.

“Oh, you’re going to regret guarding this door, Alessandro,” I whispered.

I unlocked the door with a faint click, then tiptoed across the room toward the heavy glass vase on my dresser. My fingers curled around its cool surface, and without hesitation, I slammed it against the floor.

The explosion of glass echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Right on cue, the door burst open.

“Miss Moretti?” Alessandro’s voice was sharp, urgent. “Are you alright?”

He stepped inside, eyes sweeping the room like a trained killer, zeroing in on me standing in just a towel.

I made sure to look flustered. Wide eyes. Shaky breath. Vulnerable.

Perfect.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I made my move.

I lunged.

Wrapped my arms around him and pinned myself to the wall, holding him like a lifeline.

His muscles tensed instantly, body going rigid against mine. “What the—Miss, what are you—”

“Alessandro,” I screamed. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

He froze.

“What the hell are you talking about—”

“Get away from me!” I shrieked louder, clawing at him, but not letting him go. My grip was tight. Desperate.

His eyes widened in realization.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

I screamed again, louder this time, digging my nails into his shirt and shoving at him like I was trying to escape.

“STOP! STOP IT!” I howled. “Don’t touch me!”

He grabbed my wrists, trying to push me away without hurting me, but I held on tighter, grinding my body against him in mock panic, making it look like a struggle.

I was a woman on a mission.

Let my father see this. Let him walk in and catch his precious soldier with his hands on me.

Alessandro would be fired. Shipped off. Gone. Forever.

And I would finally be free of his cold stares and infuriating commands.

But then—

Everything went sideways.

Because instead of backing off…

The unimaginable happened.

It was the last thing I expected to happen. The last thing I expected him to do.

He kissed me.

His lips crashed down on mine, silencing my screams in an instant.

My eyes went wide in shock. My brain froze.

And his tongue pushed into my mouth like he owned it.

I struggled, fists beating against his chest, but he didn’t stop.

His kiss was brutal. Dominating.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a punishment.

A warning.

He backed me into the wall, mouth devouring mine like he was teaching me a lesson I’d never forget.

And God help me… my body responded.

The towel slipped, caught between our bodies, and I gasped into his mouth as my bare skin met the heat of his chest. His hands never wandered, never touched anything but my wrists, but still—

Still—

My nipples hardened. Wetness pooled between my thighs.

And I hated it.

I hated that I moaned against him.

Hated that I kissed him back for half a second before coming to my senses.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes weren’t warm. They weren’t lustful.

They were ice.

Frigid. Merciless.

“You want to play games?” he whispered, voice low and lethal. “Try to ruin me with lies?”

I trembled.

Not from fear.

From rage. From confusion. From arousal I didn’t want.

He leaned in close, lips brushing my ear.

“Pull a stunt like that again,” he hissed, “and you’ll find out exactly what I’m capable of.”