Chapter 33 chapter 33

Chapter 33 chapter 33
The only thing I heard on my way up was the dull thud of my bare feet on the cold marble. Antonio had disappeared somewhere in the house, and Alessandro had already gone ahead. Thank God. The air in the huge entrance hall was so still that I felt like I was suffocating. I climbed the massive staircase step by step, staring stubbornly at my toes. My mind was in a complete whirl. I was so deeply buried in all this shit that I’d almost forgotten which way was up and which was down. The fact that Sebastian now had the secret file was a small consolation, but without the paper pressed against my chest, I suddenly felt damn vulnerable. My fingers fumbled nervously at the remnants of my shirt. The torn-off buttons had landed somewhere in the SUV, and the cold draft in the hallway brushed right over Yvette’s scratch marks. But the skin underneath wasn’t burning because of her. It was burning because of that arrogant bastard. Damn it all. I felt the heat rush to my face, and I was so incredibly ashamed of it. My jeans were tight as hell, and every damn step rubbed the fabric against my painfully hard erection. I wanted to punch myself. It was exactly the same sick crap as a few days ago under the cold shower. I wasn’t into men! I’d been telling myself that every damn day for the past five years. I’d thought about Briana, her blonde curls, college, anything normal. I’d tried to convince myself that what happened earlier in the back seat was just because of the adrenaline. Pure self-defense. The instinct to keep your head up when someone’s cutting off your air. But my goddamn body hadn’t reacted out of fear. It had reacted to his damn predatory behavior. To the heat of his lips, to the grip on my wrists, to how heavy and massive he’d been lying on top of me. He hadn’t even really touched me, and yet I’d already nearly exploded with pleasure beneath him. I’d returned the kiss! I’d clung to his jacket like a drowning person, while inside I was screaming for him to stop. I felt so incredibly dirty and betrayed by myself. “You hate me, I know! But your dick is a damn traitor!” His rough, quiet voice pounded in my skull like a fucking endless loop. Every time he flashed that sinful grin with his bullet-hole charm, he hit me right where it hurt the most. I could’ve punched him, I could’ve blackmailed my father and hatched plans for revenge, but I couldn’t control my own cock the moment he got too close to me. I turned into the long corridor of the west wing. The lamps on the walls cast long, eerie shadows. My heart was pounding in my throat. I’d talked big in the car. I’d laid down conditions and forbidden him from seeing his sluts, because I thought I could use his jealousy against him. But in return, he’d only tightened the noose even further. He demanded everything. “If I’m not going to fuck anyone else, Nicolai… then starting tonight, you’ll have to give me what I demand.” I stopped abruptly in front of my bedroom door. His door was right across from mine. Closed. Dead silent. I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, pressed my lips tightly together until the cracked spot hurt again, and placed my trembling hand on the doorknob. The cool metal felt like a cursed verdict. If I went in there now, there would be no turning back. I wanted to be the De Laurentiis who fights back—but how the hell was I supposed to battle a monster when half the army in my own pants was already fighting on the enemy’s side? I flung open the bedroom door, stepped inside, and slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind me, as if I could shut out the whole world out there. I didn’t even lock it. I just wanted to get rid of this torn shirt, these damn jeans that were way too tight, and the heat that was burning me from the inside out. With quick, erratic steps, I walked straight through to my bathroom. I carelessly threw my clothes on the floor, turned the shower knob all the way to cold, and stepped under the stream. The water hit my tense shoulders like a shock of ice, making me gasp sharply and washing the salt and grime of that unbearable day off my skin. But the fire in my gut just kept burning, unmoved. My cock was still painfully hard, a throbbing traitor that wasn’t fazed by the cold water. “Fuck it.”, I growled to myself, pressing one hand flat against the ice-cold tiles and closing my eyes. I had to put an end to this. I had to clear my head so I could think straight again. I wrapped my hand around myself, and it slid up and down in a quick, mechanical motion. I forced my thoughts back to college with all my might. Back to Briana. I pictured her ocean-blue eyes as she looked at me in art class. I pictured the soft light falling on her blonde curls and the sweet scent of orchids she always carried with her. In my imagination, I pressed her hard against the wall, claimed her lips, and lost myself in a normality that would never exist for me again. I clung to that image like a lifeline, just so I wouldn’t have to admit that a man had brought me this far. The echoes of my own heavy breathing and the deep, rough gasps reverberated off the wet bathroom tiles, mingling with the loud patter of the water. I moved faster, more fiercely, pushing myself to the limit as pleasure completely overwhelmed me. I was so caught up in my own world, so numbed by the pounding pulse in my ears, that I was completely oblivious to everything around me. I didn’t hear the connecting door to my room open. I didn’t hear any footsteps on the wet floor. It wasn’t until the very last fraction of a second—just as I was about to climax—that the air behind me shifted. A massive, scorching-hot body suddenly pushed its way in from behind, right under the cold stream of water, and pressed itself mercilessly against my back. I froze, my eyes snapping open, but before I could even turn around or ram my fist into his face, a tattooed, steel-hard arm wrapped around my chest from behind. He pulled me so tightly against him that my back slammed painfully against his broad, bare chest. His skin was burning hot, a brutal contrast to the ice-cold water lashing down on both of us. Alessandro. He was here. Naked. And he had me in a vice-like grip. Before I could catch my breath, he buried his free fingers in my soaking-wet, dark curls, roughly pulled my head back against his shoulder, and forced me to bare my neck. His lips brushed my wet ear, and his deep baritone voice cut through the roar of the water like a red-hot blade. “You’re moaning pretty damn loud for someone who’s thinking so desperately about some girl, mio sposo,” the Phantom growled in my ear in such a perverse and possessive way that my breath caught in my throat instantly. He thrust his pelvis forward mercilessly, and I felt his powerful, throbbing erection—unobstructed and bare—right between my buttocks. He rubbed himself against me once, slowly and dominantly, and whispered, “You’re trying to distract yourself, Nico. In your head, you’re begging a woman because you’re damn afraid of how much a man throws you off balance. But your body is trembling for me. You’re almost there, and you’re going to come in my hand right now while you say my name. Show me who really owns you, Nicolai.” The cold water lashed mercilessly over us, but all I could feel was the searing heat radiating from his body. His words hit me with the force of a bullet. “In your head, you’re begging a woman because you’re damn afraid of how much a man throws you off balance.” A state of shock paralyzed my muscles. My heart skipped a beat—an agonizing one—and my mind was suddenly filled with a deafening, bewildering silence. He knew. By all the gods, that damn phantom had completely dissected me.