Chapter 23 Chapter 23
He leans back against the desk, his belt still open, his shirt half unbuttoned, as if he had just concluded a particularly successful contract and not experienced the most miserable interruption of his life. “You're pretty when you're jealous!” he finally says. I laugh dryly, "You're imagining too much, De Luca! I'm not jealous because you fucked that girl, it couldn't be less interesting to me! I would compare it to how much I care when a sack of rice falls over in China! But what interests me are exactly two things! My reputation and ruining your fun! It may be that your fucking contract makes me your little bitch, BUT you're not going to ruin my reputation by being unfaithful! Forced marriage or not, we had to swear fidelity to each other, so stick to it!" He pushes himself away from the table and slowly approaches me, not rushing, not threatening, just like someone who knows exactly what he wants. The look in his eyes is hard to interpret. No real grin, no trace of regret. Just that cunning sparkle that tells me he's enjoying this situation in his own damn way. “So if that's your ‘disinterest,’ Petrovich...” He stops right in front of me, damn close. I feel his breath on my skin, still smelling the bitter residue of sex and perfume on him. But in his eyes, there is now nothing but... me. “...then I honestly wish you would get really upset!” I'm about to retort when he suddenly grabs me with one hand on my neck and the other on my hip and pushes me hard against the wall behind me, without hesitation. “Let me go,” I hiss. “Why? You're so into it right now, we should keep it going,” he murmurs. Then he leans forward, his lips just a breath away from mine. “Your reputation is important to you, I get it...” His voice is deep, provocatively calm. “But you're not here because you're afraid people will think something wrong! You're here because you want to know if I'm serious! If I'll take you back! If you're enough for me to not give a damn about the others!” I want to laugh, push him away, anything. Instead, I remain frozen. Damn it. “You're talking nonsense!” He smiles crookedly. “And yet here you are. Furious! Burning with rage! Because of me!” Then he kisses me, and his kiss is not some tender crap, not some tentative something. His mouth on mine is pure demand. Punishment and confirmation at the same time. And as much as I want to hate it, I kiss him back. One second, two, then three. My body reacts faster than my mind. Shit. I push him away. Hard. Breathing heavily. “Touch me again without asking and you'll lose both hands,” I growl. He grins, not intimidated, more... amused. "You really should learn to be honest, Nicolai! And your little charade over the last few days, do us both a favor and stop it... with this fire, I definitely like you better than when you're pretending to be depressed!“ I take a few steps back, wanting to put space between us, wanting distance. But his gaze follows me. Like a trap. ”But of course you're not jealous, am I right?" he says mockingly. I clench my hands into fists at my sides so tightly that I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms. “If you think—” He doesn't let me finish and interrupts me by claiming my lips in another merciless kiss. I hate him, I hate how he kisses me and how his lips feel on mine, I hate how much my body reacts to it and how it completely clouds my mind. To make matters worse, I let out a gasp and he immediately seizes the moment to push his tongue into my mouth. It's not tentative, tentative, romantic play, no, his tongue dominates me, forcing its rhythm on me and completely overwhelming me with its taste. Damn, I feel that warm tingling in my lower abdomen again and how my cock presses painfully hard against my jeans. Shit, keep your wits about you, Nicolai, it's just a kiss from him, the guy I hate, a man, for hell's sake. When Alessandro pulls back just enough to look at me, he grabs my arms in one swift movement and pins them above my head by my wrists. His left knee pushes between my legs, forcing them apart, and he presses his body even closer to me. I can clearly feel that he has an erection again. I can feel it clearly against me because he hasn't put it back in his pants yet. His cock presses against me unhindered, separated from me only by the thin fabric of my clothes. My thoughts revolve endlessly around the heat of his body that I feel, around his kiss that I still feel on my lips, his taste that still lingers on my lips, his erection pressing against me, this damn erection that he has... because of me? No, Nicolai, don't think like that, let it go, just think about something else, I tell myself. I see the grin spreading across his lips. Something, I want to say something, to counter him with something, but I can't. Why can't I? Why am I so trapped? Why is this damn monster inside me so quiet? My thoughts are interrupted by Alessandro's voice. Alessandro leans forward, his breath brushing my ear, warm, demanding, so damn present. “Go on...” he whispers hoarsely, with that dangerously calm voice that unsettles me more than any threat. “...whose cock is throwing you off balance, Petrovich?” I want to scream. Yell at him. Kick him, bite him, hit him, anything to destroy this moment. But I can't. My heart pounds in my chest as if it wants to break free. My thoughts race, but my body... my goddamn body remains still. Trapped. Overheated. He presses his knee harder against me, his hands holding me like a vice. I could fight back. I should. But I do nothing. “You're shaking,” he observes. Not mockingly, but with genuine interest, as if I were some kind of experiment that is reacting differently than expected. “Shut up,” I manage to say, hoarse, gasping for breath. “Why? You like the truth much better than your pretty little play...” He bites my earlobe, not gently, but demandingly, and I feel the air leave me. “You hate me, I know! But your cock is a damn traitor!” I turn my head away, press my lips together. But my reaction has long since betrayed me. He laughs softly, that dark, piercing laugh that cuts into my neck like a razor blade. “Maybe you really should think about it, Nicolai,” he whispers, “whether you hate me... or whether you just hate how much you want me!” I ram my knee into his side, not fully through, but enough that he lets go in surprise. I push him away, gasping, full of anger and shame and something that feels much worse: desire. “Don't ever touch me again,” I hiss. He straightens up, calmly pulls up his pants, fastens his belt as if nothing had just happened. His gaze remains on me. Not victorious. Not triumphant. Just... lurking. “Don't worry, Nicolai,” he says calmly as I walk to the door. “I won't tell anyone how hot you really are for your husband!” I stop. I don't turn around. “My mother is expecting me at the family dinner on Sunday, Vito is sending Sebastian to pick me up! And as much as I dislike it, you're invited too!”