God.
When did I become so wanton?
I try to pull away, to break the kiss and hide my face, but the punishing grip in my hair holds me mercilessly in place.
With a slow, heavy pressure, he rubs his thumb over my clit through the damp silk. A loud moan rips from my chest, my knees turning to water as I sag helplessly against his solid frame. He traces deliberate, torturous circles over the sensitive peak, and pleasure rockets up my body in ways I’ve never felt before.
No, that’s a lie, my mind screams through the fog. I have felt this. On that fateful night under a mask, when he tasted me right there with his mouth. He is the only person who has ever made me feel this undone.
Suddenly, the friction stops. Before I can even register the loss, he hooks one finger into the elastic edge of my panties and drags them ruthlessly down my legs.
I drag my mouth away from his, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“What are you doing?” I demand, keeping my feet firmly planted on the floor, flatly refusing to step out of the silk.
Alessandro doesn't even argue. He takes his hand off my hair, wraps a single, iron forearm around my waist, and lifts me like I weigh less than a feather.
With his free hand, he easily pulls the panties completely off my feet. Mortification envelopes me the second I see the dark, heavy wetness staining them.
Before I can even utter a word of protest, he brings the silk to his face. He buries his nose deep into them, closing his eyes for a heavy, silent moment as he inhales my scent. When he opens his eyes, they are completely dark. Without a word, he stuffs the damp silk into his pants pocket.
I gape at him, my jaw practically hitting the floor. “You’re crazy.”
“Tonight,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips almost brush mine, “I want you to masturbate. And you’re going to do it while thinking about me, the man who now owns your life.”
Then, he turns away.
He’s about to return to the garage when the distinct, echoing sound of heavy footsteps rattles the stairs above us. Alessandro freezes. In a split second, his hand snatches my wrist, dragging me down the remaining steps of the stairway. He pushes open a small maintenance latch, shoving us both under the cramped compartment beneath the stairs.
It’s a suffocatingly small space, pitch black and smelling of dust and old concrete. I feel the first sharp claws of panic start to dig into my chest, the walls pressing in on me. I force my eyes shut and swallow hard, desperately fighting to stay composed. I refuse to give Alessandro any more ammunition to use against me.
Thankfully, whoever it is passes quickly, their heavy boots fading into the distance until silence returns to the stairwell.
Alessandro kicks the latch open and steps out with me. The moment I’m free of the dark box, I take a deep, desperate breath of fresh air.
“I have to take care of something,” he says flippantly, turning his back on me as if he doesn’t currently have my wet underwear in his pocket.
I know exactly what he’s talking about—the Kuznetsov man he was about to stab to death just minutes ago.
“You go up,” he orders.
I tilt my chin up, defiance flaring through my fear. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
Alessandro stops dead in his tracks. Slowly, he narrows his eyes and takes one predatory step back toward me.
A sharp shriek escapes my throat, and before he can even reach out, I spin on my heel and sprint up the stairs, never once looking back.
CHAPTER SIX
ALESSANDRO
I can still smell her on me.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
My gloved fists collide with the heavy leather bag hanging overhead, the echoing cracks bouncing off the walls of my private gym. I’m drowning in sweat, the drops flying off my brow with every sharp, violent snap of my wrists.
I’ve been down here for over two hours now, pushing my body to its absolute limits, burning and sweating, but the phantom scent of her skin won't leave my lungs.
