Chapter 18
Carlo
“You make sure to get this shit done, got it?” I echo into the phone, my tone sharp enough to slice through Milan’s nerves. I can imagine him sweating on the other end. I’ve been in a really crappy mood since last night.
Y-yes, boss,” he stammers. “I’ll handle it.”
“You better.” I hang up with a slam of my hand against the desk, muttering under my breath.
“Damn it.” I swing my head backward, resting it on the chair as frustration bubbles inside me. Seeing him so comfortable being held by that asshole kid riled me up. My fists clench involuntarily, the phantom urge to punch something—anything—burning under my skin. I felt like tearing the dude apart.
And I can see it now—I’m slowly fucking losing my mind because of that bastard. That smug, carefree asshole who’s still out there living his life, completely oblivious to how much of a mess he’s made of mine since he jumped on me.
“Boss?” My secretary’s voice cuts through my thoughts, hesitant. She’s standing at the door, one hand gripping a notepad, her brows raised in uncertainty.
“What?” I snap, my tone sharper than intended.
“Uh… I was just going to suggest something,” she says, her voice almost a whisper now. “Your father… Well, he mentioned he’d like to see you with someone—just for show. Maybe you could meet a lady tonight, at least for appearance’s sake. We know he’s watching, even if he doesn’t say it.”
That sly old man. Of course, he’s got his spies trailing me. He sounded like he didn’t give a shit about the time, but now it’s clear—he’s pulling strings in the background. My forehead throbs as a wave of annoyance hits me.
I rub my temples and exhale. “Fine. Get Sasha to my suite. I’ll head there once I’m done with work.”
The secretary nods quickly and ducks out, clearly eager to escape my wrath.
I arrive at the hotel earlier than planned. Hell, I needed my father’s men to see that I was in a hurry to meet a woman—let them run back and report that. If I’m playing this charade, I’m playing it well.
When I step into the suite, Sasha’s already there, lounging in nothing but lingerie. The sight is almost nostalgic—almost. She looks just like she used to years ago when we’d fool around.
“What do we have here?” she purrs, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The cocky bastard finally calls me up after three long years? What happened? Thought you found yourself a bitch better than me.”
Her lips curl into a teasing smile as she saunters toward me, hips swaying in that practiced, seductive way that used to have me ready in an instant.
But right now? Seeing her, I feel nothing.
“Oh, please,” I say, shrugging off my suit jacket. “I’m sure you’re the one who missed me, Sasha.”
“Hmm…” She smirks, stepping closer. “You’re still as stern as ever, but you’re not wrong.”
She reaches for my shirt, her fingers trailing over my chest as she starts to unbutton it. Her finger trails along my tattoo, her touch is familiar, practiced, she did that every time but I suddenly remember one more person who seemed to like it.
My mind drift specifically, to that night.
Blaze’s hands tracing my tattoos, his lips brushing over them like they were something sacred. The memory hits me out of nowhere, and I curse internally as a sharp throb shoots through my cock. Fuck. Not now. Not tonight.
I raise my hand and wave it dismissively, as if trying to physically shoo the memory away.
“Are you okay?” Sasha’s voice pulls me back to the present. Her eyes narrow slightly, her hand frozen mid-motion.
“Hmm.” I clear my throat. “I need to wash up. Wait for me.”
She tilts her head, a playful grin spreading across her face. “Oh, let’s do it together,” she says, trailing a finger down my chest. “Although I already showered when I got here.”
“What are we, lovers?” I scoff. “Nah. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You motherfucker!” she yells, grabbing a pillow from the bed and hurling it at me. “As if we’ve never done it before during sex!”
“Well,” I shrug, smirking, “I was either stupid or too caught up in the moment.”
She grunts in frustration, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. “Asshole,” she mumbles.
By the time I step out of the bathroom, water dripping from my hair, Sasha’s completely naked.
“Wow,” I say, raising a brow. “You’re in a hurry.”
“If you know that, then get over here,” she demands, her tone teasing but firm.
Instead, I pick up the bottle of red wine sitting on the table beside the bed and slowly twist off the cork.
“Nope,” I say, pouring myself a glass. “You come here. It’s gonna be a long night, and I need a blow job to start things off.”
Her eyes narrow, but a sly grin tugs at her lips. Sasha’s always been good with her mouth, and tonight, I’m not in the mood for foreplay or kisses.
She slides off the bed, kneeling in front of me. Her fingers wrap around the base of my cock as she pulls my robe off with her other hand.
I take a sip of wine, watching as her tongue flicks over the tip before trailing down the length of me. She sucks me in slowly, her tongue moving in circles, while her hand strokes in tandem.
The heat of her mouth, the slick, wet sound—it’s supposed to be enough to push my frustrations aside for the moment.
“You’ve still got it,” I mutter, running a hand through her hair but honestly I wasn’t feeling it yet.
She glances up, her lips curling into a smirk as she continues her work, her hand tightening slightly at the base.