Chapter 178 ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT

Chapter 178 ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT


He said them again.

He said those words again. And it scared her. It scared her a lot.

Realizing what she had just done, she wrapped the sheet around herself, hiding herself from his predatory gaze.

“This was a mistake,” she whispered to herself, but he caught it.

With a frown etched into his face, he asked, “What? What was a mistake?”

Tightening her hold on the sheet around her, she shifted from him, making a move to get off the bed. “This was a mistake. We shouldn't have… we shouldn't have done this. It was a mistake,” she responded, trying to leave the bed in haste but Alessandro was quick enough to hold her back in place. “Isabelle, what are you saying?” His voice sounded almost painful, like he forced the words from the innermost part of his heart.

He doesn't get to sound like that.

She didn't like that he sounded like that. Not when she was the one hurting. Not when she was the one who was held captive, whose father was murdered before and who had to run to another city out of fear.

She was the one in pains, not him.

“I'm saying, that all these, all these was a mistake. We shouldn't have done this,” she repeated, confirming what she had said earlier. “I'm married, and we're getting a divorce. This is wrong… so so wrong,” she whispered, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

Alessandro’s frown depeened as he watched her. He couldn't make sense of what she was saying. There had been connection when they kissed a while ago, something that made him understand his feelings for her even better and now, she wants to pretend like nothing amazing happened between them.

It sounded quite shocking for even him to believe.

His eyes looked like that were ready to burn her into bits, but they softened after a while. He spoke up, his voice all gentle and coaxing, “We're not getting a divorce. And neither is Alexei your real husband. He can't be your legally married husband when you are still married to me. If anything, he forced you into something illegal.”

“He didn't force me into doing anything. I wanted to get married to him.”

Alessandro thought for a while, his expression still as calm as ever, which was something she was utterly not used to. 

“Isabelle,” he called out in a manner that came off as seductive. “We’re not getting divorced. I know you're still angry, probably very pissed at me. You might think you hate me so much that you don't even want to speak to me, and that's fine. I'll wait for you. I'll keep waiting till the day you decide that I deserve your love, that I'm worth loving. My being here and confessing my feelings to you, I know it does not make up for every single thing I've done—including Giovanni’s death.” His expression hardened when he mentioned Giovanni, but he tried to keep it calm. “But I'm not sorry about killing him at all,” he revealed, eyes cold and honest.

Isabelle shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin.

“He killed my mother and he deserved every bit of what he got. I spent years trying to seek revenge and I wouldn't have been fulfilled if I didn't kill him with my own hands.”

He still didn't get it.

He didn't get the fact that she was angry because he made her watch even when she begged and pleaded that she didn't want to. They held her—his men. They held her in place and made her watch as the knife went in through her papá.

All that doesn't just go away because Alessandro Moretti suddenly realized he was in love with her. A feeling that she was sure would go away after he finds out what she had been planning, and who she planned it with.

“No, you don't get to say that,” Isabelle fired back, wrenching herself off his grip and leaving the bed.

“I'm only being honest with you. Isn't that what love entails? That I be honest?”

She didn't like the way she was feeling. It felt like her heart was twisted into itself, and her head felt like it could spiral out of control at any moment. All of a sudden, she just wanted to curl up into the sheets and cry.

She looked at him, trying to search for something she wasn't sure of, then she looked away, letting the tear that threatened to fall to roll down her cheeks. 

She was so confused and had no idea what to do.

So she did the next thing that came into her head—she bolted.

She ran into the bathroom and shut the door after her, hoping that he didn't come in.

Isabelle stood under the shower, letting the water trickle down her skin, trying to wash every remnant of what they just did. 

It was a mistake.

It was something that shouldn't have been done—she tried to convince herself.

After what seemed like a minute had passed, she heard him…

“Isabelle.” 

Her name came out low and in a husky tone, one that had restraint in it. She looked over the glass cabin door, although it was fogged over, she could still see him. All of him.

His hand was against the glass and he exhaled slowly.

“Go away.”

She saw him run a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling. “Please… please, Isabelle. Don't push me away. I can take anything but not you pushing me away like we haven't been separated for the past one year and months.”

“Whose fault is it?” she reprimanded, turning away from the door.

There wasn't any response. Only the sound of the door being opened was what filled up the silence. He stepped inside the shower cabin, and suddenly it felt too congested for her… like he was taking the entire space up. His masculine frame embodied that aura that only seemed to scare enemies away, but didn't have the same effect on her. If anything, it made her breath catch up in her throat.

He stood opposite her, letting the droplets of water stream down the hard lines of his body. 

Alessandro’s dark eyes roamed over her, accessing her like she was something to be devoured. And for some reason, she forced her gaze down, noticing how hard his cock was already—thick, veiny length erected and directly close to her core, seeking entrance. She stepped back even though she was so tempted to do quite the opposite.

Alessandro let his gaze trail over her, regardless of his self-restraint hanging over a thin thread. He took her hand gently in his and led it to his chest, splaying her hands across it.

“Can you feel it? Can you feel how my heart beats for you?” 

She bit her bottom lip, pressing her hand against his chest. 

Isabelle could feel it. 

There was no denying that. She could feel everything just by being this close to him.

“It's something beyond my control,” he whispered, his voice turning huskier. “And I'm always used to being in control, but you have me… you have Alessandro Moretti in your palms. You're breaking me by trying to push me away,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “I told you already—I'm willing to wait for as long as it takes you,” he told her, voice shaky as he spoke. “But I can't sign those papers. I won't. It'll be the death of me.”

He shifted her hand again, from his chest, he slowly took it down, down his stomach until he got to the V area. He stopped, gaze still locked with hers.  His stare changing into something else and Isabelle realized that he was seeking her permission to continue.

She swallowed, wet her lips but never spoke up. Alessandro took it as a go ahead and proceeded with moving her hand until it was firmly wrapped around his cock.

A low growl rumbled through his chest, and he closed his eyes, arching into the feeling of having her hands around him. He dropped his free hand to the wall behind her and moved forward towards her.

“This… this is what you do to me without even trying. You've turned me to an obsessive man who gets a hard on whenever his wife is close… whenever thoughts of her comes in. That's what you do to me.”

She gasped, lashes already wet. Her heart was beating so fast, and it was entirely for a different reason other than fear.

“Go away, Alessandro,” she managed to let out, even though the words were weak. Isabelle realized that his hands weren't on hers again, yet her hand was still wrapped around his dick absentmindedly and had begun to trail around the tip.

He dipped his head, his lips hovering over her pouty ones. “Say it like you mean it and I'll step out. And I won't bother you again till you're ready to accept me… accept us.”

The words got stuck in her throat, unable to let themselves out.

That was his cue, because he took her bottom lip first, grazing his teeth against it gently before sucking on it. She whimpered, pushing herself against him without thinking while her hands remained wrapped around him.

“I'm losing my shit, Isabelle. With you close, I'm finding it hard to think straight. What have you done to me?”

What have you done to me?

What have you done to me?!

She should be the one asking him that question. He was the one who stepped into her world and turned it upside down. He was the one who knew just how best to confuse her feelings, making her wonder which one was actually the true one. He was the one confusing her right now, spilling his feelings and cajoling her to just accept him for the monster he was.

He wasn't supposed to be asking the question.

She was.

But she didn't say any of those things. 

“I don't know,” she breathed out, sane thoughts flying out the shower cabin.

Impulsively, she ran her hand over his chest then down his abs until her fingertips grazed the lowest part of his abdomen. Then she quickly backed up. Isabelle kept her eyes on her hands as she explored his muscled chest, but his eyes were on her the entire time. She ran her fingernails lightly over his chest, scraping across his nipples, and he exhaled deeply.

Isabelle stifled a smile and repeated the motion then moved lower. Avoiding his groin, she moved on to his legs, massaging his strong thighs, before she returned to his torso once more. A while after her teasing movements, he grew a little harder. Her hand paused on his abs.

“You’re killing me,” he drawled, struggling to stay in control. His voice was deeper than before. She ran her hands back up to his chest, following the water droplets and then down again, over his hips and down his thighs, and then on the way up, she brushed over him with her thumbs, barely touching him. Alessandro grew harder immediately, and she repeated the motion then moved back up to his chest. His eyes were keen as he watched her, his breathing deeper and his body taut.

Isabelle loved that she could break through his demeanor with such a little touch. It felt empowering.

Exhilarating.

His eyes traveled over her body, lingering over her breasts and then his lips found hers. 

This time around without asking.

The kiss started slow at first, like they had all the time in the world to explore, then it took a harsher route, with Alessandro biting down at her bottom lip while Isabelle's fingernails grazed his back, his neck and everywhere else her fingers could find… possessively, leaving her marks on every single inch of his skin that she could. In minutes, they were panting like they had just run a marathon and Alessandro’s eyes had darkened, turning him into the selfish, conniving monster that she knew him to be. Except this time around, they were filled with something else—pure, untamed lust.

He wanted her.

He wanted to devour her. He needed to cure the insatiable desire he had riling up within him for the past one year. And that untamed desire drove him into saying the next words that rolled off his throat,

“Hand my control back to me.”