Chapter 20: You Want Some?

My jaw was clenched so tightly it felt like the bones might crack.

I stood just outside her door, fists jammed at my sides, back pressed against the wall like it was the only thing keeping me upright. The air was thick, too warm. Too fucking charged. And I could hear her.

Goddamn it, I could hear her.

The muffled moans, the whimpers, the obscene wet sounds that seeped through the walls like poison. I told myself to ignore it. That I was above this. That I was a professional, not some fucking hormone-driven teenager.

But no amount of training had prepared me for her.

Aria fucking Moretti.

She was a menace. A brat. A spoiled, arrogant princess with too much power and not enough sense. And she was playing a dangerous game.

I sucked in a sharp breath and turned my face away from the door, trying to tune it out. But it was impossible.

She was loud.

And worse? She knew I was out here.

She was doing this on purpose.

The sounds that came from inside her room were wicked, deliberate, and dripping with sin. My body tightened with each passing second. I felt like I was being tortured, like she’d reached her hand into my ribcage and wrapped her fingers around my lungs.

I was supposed to protect her.

Not hear her fall apart like that.

“Calm the fuck down,” I muttered under my breath, running a hand over my face.

I wasn’t some rookie on his first assignment. I’d seen death. Torture. Blood. I’d lived through war zones and betrayal and bullets that barely missed my spine.

But Aria?

Aria Moretti was the one thing I wasn’t trained for.

She was chaos wrapped in silk. Fire behind a smirk. A devil in lingerie with enough attitude to raze empires.

And right now, she was moaning like a fucking pornstar just feet away from me, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I yanked it out and glanced at the screen.

Miss Moretti.

Of course.

Message: Enjoy.

My eyes narrowed. My gut told me to delete it. Throw the phone across the hall. Pretend like I never saw it. But I tapped the screen anyway.

Attached: One video file.

Fuck.

"Don’t do it," I whispered to myself. "Just delete it."

But my thumb hovered, hesitation slicing through me like a blade.

And then—click.

The video opened.

I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

My earbud was already in, linked to my phone. The sound hit me like a goddamn freight train.

Moans. Wet sounds. Her voice, low and sultry, whispering things that made my cock throb in my pants.

My spine went rigid.

There she was. On the bed. Naked. Legs spread. Eyes locked on the camera like she was staring directly into my soul. That look—bored and teasing and smug as hell.

And then came the vibrator.

Holy fuck.

I should have stopped it. I should have shut the phone off, thrown it out the goddamn window, stomped it into the ground.

But I didn’t.

I watched every second.

Every. Fucking. Second.

Her back arching. Her fingers playing with herself like it was a goddamn artform. The way she bit her lip. The sounds she made when she came.

I was sweating.

My dick was hard and throbbing, painfully restrained by the zipper of my pants.

She knew what she was doing. The little demon knew. She had planned this. She wanted me to hear. To see.

I snapped the phone shut when the video ended, my hand shaking as I tried to pull myself back into reality. My heart was pounding in my chest like a drumline. My cock strained against my pants. My mind was a blur of images—her breasts, her moans, the way she whispered,

‘You want some?’

Fuck.

No.

NO.

I slammed a fist against the wall, not hard enough to punch through it—but hard enough to feel something besides her echoing in my skull.

She was an entitled bitch.

A manipulative, smug little vixen with too much money and too many games.

I hated her.

I hated the way she looked at me like I was beneath her. I hated the way she smirked every time she thought she was in control. I hated the way she fucking got on my nerves.

I adjusted myself roughly, trying to ease the pressure in my jeans. It didn’t help.

"She’s just a fucking job," I growled, pacing the hallway like a caged animal. "Six months. Six goddamn months."

And then I’m free.

I pulled the phone out again.

The video was still open.

My thumb hovered over delete.

Do it.

Just delete the damn thing.

And yet… I didn’t.

I stared at her name. At the file. At the message.

‘Enjoy.’

She wanted to rattle me.

Well, congratulations, princess. You fucking succeeded.

But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

I slid the phone into my pocket and rolled my shoulders back. My expression slid back into its usual cold, blank mask.

Tomorrow, I’d pretend like nothing happened. Like I hadn’t seen her fall apart on camera. Like I didn’t memorize every sound she made.

Let her push. Let her tease. Let her throw every dirty little game in my face.

I would not fall.

I wouldn’t touch her.

Because the second I did, I knew I’d never stop.

And she wasn’t mine to touch.

She was my assignment.

A mission.

A fucking trap wrapped in lace and attitude.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, pressing my forehead against the cool wall.

One deep breath.

Two.

Three.

My body still ached. My dick still pulsed with the weight of what I saw. But my face didn’t show it.

Discipline.

Control.

Restraint.

Those were the pillars of my life.

But tonight, those pillars had cracked.

I would never forget what I saw. I would never stop hearing the way she moaned.

But I would bury it.

Deep.

And when I faced her tomorrow, I’d be ice again.

Let her burn.

I’ll be the fucking storm.

The calm before the ruin.

Six months.

And then I walk away.

No matter what she does… I walk away.

Even if I have to walk away in pieces.