“Apparently I didn’t do a very good job,” she mutters, “since I got caught.”
I walk closer, stopping just a few feet away from her. “Where did you think you were going?”
“Home,” she answers, voice flat. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t my home.”
I crouch down in front of her so we’re eye-level. I see the exhaustion in her gaze.
“I was willing to cut you some slack,” I tell her quietly. “But after tonight, you’ve ruined every privilege you had. No more leaving this room. You don’t step foot outside that door unless I personally allow it. No more walks around the house. No more breakfasts downstairs. No more conversations with the staff. You stay in here. Locked in. Until I decide otherwise.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue.
I stand up, turning toward the door.
Something flies past my head, missing my face by barely an inch, and hits the wall with a thud. Her sneakers.
“Fuck you, Lombardi!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nico
I look at the shoe that missed my head by barely an inch, then slowly turn my gaze back to her.
Eleonora is on her feet now, chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury.
“So now you remember I exist?” she spits. “All it took was me trying to run for you to stop ignoring me for three whole fucking days? Acting like I don’t exist, avoiding me like I’m some disease?—”
I chuckle, low and dark, stepping closer.
“So this is how you ask for my attention? By trying to run?” My voice drops. “If you needed me that badly, all you had to do was ask, princess.”
“Don't call me that. And I don’t want your stupid attention,” she snaps. “I want to leave this house. I don’t care about whatever deal you have with my father. I’m going back to my sisters. I’m done being used by all of you. Fuck you.”
I close the distance in two steps, towering over her.
“Fuck me?” I repeat softly, dangerously. “If you ask nicely, I might just let you.”
“Only in your dreams will I let you touch me, Nico.”
“You keep saying that… but we both know that's not true.”
Before she can respond, I grab her by the throat — not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to feel her pulse hammering against my palm.
“Because last I checked,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear, “a few nights ago I had my fingers buried deep in that tight little pussy while you were moaning and screaming my name, squirting all over my hand. That wasn’t a dream, was it?”
Her breath hitches sharply. I know exactly where her mind just went. I feel her swallow against my palm.
“You’re feeling deprived, aren’t you?” I whisper, thumb stroking the side of her neck. “You got a taste of what it feels like to come on my fingers, and now you’re aching for more. That littletantrum tonight… was that your way of asking me to fuck you properly?”
“It wasn’t a tantrum,” she breathes, voice shaky. “I want to go.”
“Is that so?” I slide my other hand down her side, gripping her waist. “Because your body is telling me something very different. It’s practically begging me to bend you over and fill you up.”
I lean in until our lips are almost touching.
“Have I made an addict out of you already?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Is that it? You tasted me once and now you’re craving another hit?”
“I won't let you touch me,” she hisses again, but there’s no heat left in it.
