Chapter 20 Piece by Piece
His head tilts slightly, studying me, and I grip the handle of the violin case a little tighter.
“I’m not one of your companies,” I say. “You don’t get to just takeover my life because you’ve got a hard-on for things you can’t have.”
He starts to walk toward me. It’s not a rush....it’s a slow invasion of my personal space. I swallow hard, my eyes darting toward the door. I’m not helpless. I could lunge for the handle, shove past him, and burst out into the hallway in front of the nurses and the grandmas. What would he do? Tackle me to the tile in an elderly facility?
Probably.
But I don’t move. My sneakers feel like they’ve been bolted to the floor, and my body is already beginning to thrum. I’m a mess of contradictions, my mind is screaming ‘fire’, but my nerves are begging for the burn.
Bastian stops a step away from me.
Close enough that the air shifts.
"The math is simple, Kaden," he says, his voice a dark and deep timbre.
"I’m obsessive.”
His voice is calm and certain. His gaze drifts over my face, then lower, taking his time like he’s studying something he intends to memorize.
“I don’t stop or pivot until I’ve mastered whatever I set my sights on.”
My pulse thuds harder.
“And right now,” he continues softly, “my sights are set on the way you’ll look when I’m coming inside you.”
Jesus Christ....I let out a dry laugh that comes out rougher than intended. “Wow,” I mutter. “Maybe dial the romance back a notch. At this rate I might actually swoon.”
The corner of his mouth shifts, not quite a smile. He steps closer until he’s fully in my space. He leans down, his breath ghosting over my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine.
His hand reaches out suddenly, fingers closing around the handle of my violin case. I tighten my grip automatically. Then he looks down at the case, then back up at me.
Holds my gaze.
He tugs lightly, not hard. Just...expectant.
And that traitorous little part of my brain, the one that apparently shuts down whenever this man looks at me like that, lets go. My fingers loosen, the case slips from my hand. Bastian sets it on the vanity behind us without even looking, his attention never leaving my face.
“You don’t want romance,” he says quietly.
My pulse stumbles.
“You want to be consumed. And I’m the only one hungry enough to do it properly.”
My brain blanks for half a second. I blink at him, trying to process his sheer audacity. But before I can respond, his hand moves. He reaches out and cups me through my jeans. A sharp breath tears out of my chest. My thighs hits the edge of the vanity harder as my body reacts before my brain catches up.
I try not to show it. Try not to give him the satisfaction. But my body betrays me instantly. My cock betrays me with a pathetic, eager twitch against his palm. I'm already hard, straining against the denim, reaching for the very hand that's trying to ruin me.
Bastian makes a dark sound of approval....a low growl from the back of his throat that vibrates against my chest. He starts to stroke me through the fabric, a slow rhythm that turns my bones to liquid.
"Just look at that," he whispers, his thumb dragging over the head of my length through the rough material. "Your body is a much better negotiator than your mouth."
My hips betray me, shifting forward into his hand before my brain can even process. I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I hate this. I hate how the mere proximity of him turns my convictions into paper-thin glass.
"If you think—" I start, but the words die as he crowds closer, his chest crushing mine.
"That’s where you're wrong, Kaden," he murmurs. The way he says my name.... it’s not a word. It’s an incantation. It’s a claim. "It’s not a matter of ‘if’."
He leans down, and I expect a kiss, a collision. Instead, he just traces the tip of his tongue along the seam of my lips. It’s a light, wet torture that makes me let out a soft, humiliating moan. My mouth parts, an instinctive, starving gesture for more, but he pulls back just an inch, his eyes dark with something both terrifying and compelling.
"It will happen," he continues, his voice a low vibration in the silence of the tiled room. "It’s a matter of when."
He pops the button of my jeans. The sound is like a gunshot in the small space.
"Of where."
He drags the zipper down, the metallic teeth snarling as he opens me up.
"And of how."
His hand slides inside, his fingers slipping past the cotton of my boxers to wrap around me. I squeeze my eyes shut, my head thumping back against the mirror. The sensation is immense, a sudden, blinding rush of heat that centers entirely on the friction of his palm.
I can’t help it, I look down. I watch as he frees me into the air. I’m hard as hell, thick and pulsing, the head already weeping with a desperate, shameful need. It’s borderline humiliating to be this ready for a man I’m supposed to despise.
"You.... fucking asshole," I gasp, the insult losing all its teeth as he begins to stroke me.
"Is that what you’re going to call me?" Bastian asks, his rhythm steady and demanding, his thumb circling my tip with agonizing precision. "While I’m fucking you senseless? "
My breath catches again, then suddenly my hand is being pulled away from the vanity. He takes it firmly and presses it against him instead. Right over the front of his slacks. The heat there is unmistakable. My fingers stay loose at first, barely touching. Like some stubborn part of my brain is still trying to remember dignity. Morals. Self-control.
Then I look up and meet his eyes.
Blue. Sharp. Electric in a way that makes my stomach twist.
For the first time since he walked into the room, he actually looks like he’s barely holding something back. My fingers tighten before I can stop them. The breath he releases is subtle, but I hear it. I fucking feel it. And God....
He’s solid under my palm. A thick weight that promises exactly the kind of ruin he’s been preaching about. He feels incredible. I’m already picturing it....picturing him over me, in me, filling every hollow space I didn't know I had.
"What do you want from me?" I ask, my voice broken and breathless.
He doesn't answer with words. He grabs my shoulder and spins me around. I let out a startled cry. He leans down, his mouth sinking into the sensitive cord of my neck, his teeth grazing the skin as he quickens the stroke on my cock.
"I want to own the way you breathe, Kaden," he growls against my skin, his hand a blur now, driving me toward the edge.
"I want to hear you sob my name into a pillow while I’m buried so deep inside you that you forget you ever had a choice.”
I’m seeing spots, the white tiles of the bathroom blurring into a smear of light. I’m shaking, my knees buckling as he handles me with a ruthless, beautiful efficiency.
“I want you to realize that from the second I saw you, there was never any other way this could end."
He isn't just jerking me off...he’s taking me apart, piece by piece.