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Our interactions are always the same. We are at one another's throats, both of us daring the other to move their knife. It's thrilling, in an exhausting sort of way. Her temper tantrum starts and I walk away from her room, adjusting my trousers discreetly, closing the door behind me.
"Get a grip," I scold myself, pressing my back against the door.
"Feelings and princesses with attitudes," I repeat, my voice barely audible even to myself. "That's not what I need."
I step into my quarters and close the door behind me, the memory of Lulu's soft skin still lingering in my thoughts. Glancing at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, my eyes narrow; this isn't like me. I'm a man who controls every aspect of his life, and yet, she has somehow managed to invade my mind.
"Focus," I mutter, forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand. I approach my closet and begin to remove my clothing piece by piece, each item sliding off my body as if it were another layer of stress being shed from the day. The weight of my responsibilities seems to lift ever so slightly with each discarded garment.
As I stand there, half-naked, my thoughts inevitably return to Lulu. She's everything I'm not – rash, unpredictable, unapologetically spirited. And her body... God, her body. I recall the curves that hint at her sensuality and the way her dark curls frame her face, accentuating the defiance in her brown eyes. My arousal grows, and I grit my teeth in frustration.
"Damn it," I growl under my breath, my control slipping. It's not her, I tell myself. It's simply that I need release, and she just happens to be the attractive woman closest to me.
My phone sits on the dresser, and without hesitation, I grab it and send a text to a familiar number. The reply pings as expected, and I pace the room, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.
"Thirty minutes," I murmur, glancing at the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes until another business transaction begins – one devoid of feelings, complications, or the infuriating allure of a certain stubborn princess.
Thirty minutes to regain control over my thoughts and desires.
"Get your shit together, Giovanni," I scold myself, staring at my reflection once more. "She's nothing more than a distraction."
ChapterFive
My ankle throbs, and I sit up in bed to try and adjust the ice pack. It's warm against my swollen flesh, offering no relief. With a frustrated sigh, I push myself up, determined to find ibuprofen and another ice pack. My mind is occupied with thoughts of Giovanni as I hobble through the dark hallway.
"Damn him," I mutter under my breath, remembering the way his strong hands had been so gentle as they tended to my injury. He'd been so close, his scent intoxicating, but I refuse to fall for it. I won't be just another girl suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.
As I near the kitchen, strange noises echo down the hall, piquing my curiosity. I'm so bored; any excitement has become a welcome distraction. My heart races as I follow the sound, leading me to a double door similar to the one guarding my own chambers.
"Who could that be?" I wonder, pressing my ear against the cool wood. Voices filter through, one unmistakably belonging to Giovanni. The other voice belongs to a woman, unfamiliar and sultry. My pulse quickens, a mix of anger and intrigue coursing through my veins.
"Maybe this is something I can use against him,"I think, trying to listen more intently without alerting them to my presence. Adrenaline surges through me, overriding any rational thought.
I strain to hear more, my mind races with possibilities, each darker than the last. There are some noises I can't place as hard as I try.
Suddenly, Giovanni's voice cuts through the silence, harsh and commanding. "What a good fucking whore you are." The words hit me like a slap to the face, but it all starts making sense. The creak of bedsprings, the thud of a headboard against the wall, the moans of a woman. My heart races as I realize what's happening. Giovanni is having sex with someone behind these doors.
I know I should just go back to my room, forget about this and focus on my escape plan. But curiosity gets the better of me, and I want to see if the reality of him matches the fantasies I've been trying to suppress. With shaking hands, I carefully try the door handle, and to my surprise, it's unlocked. I figure Giovanni must have let his guard down, too caught up in his lustful activities to remember to lock the door.
I push the door open just a crack, enough to get a glimpse of the scene unfolding before me. In the dim light, I can see Giovanni's body moving with a primal intensity. His chest is adorned with tattoos, not many, but enough that they're hidden beneath his tailored suits during the day. Sweat glistens on his skin, muscles rippling as he thrusts into the woman beneath him. She moans his name, her breasts bouncing with each movement. He holds one of her ankles, pulling her toes into his mouth and sucking on them, driving her even crazier.
"God, Giovanni... yes," she pants, completely lost in ecstasy.
Standing there, watching through the crack in the door, I feel a wave of arousal wash over me. Of course, Giovanni looks like he would be a very good fuck. I hate myself for thinking it, but I can't deny the truth.
"Stop worrying so much,"I tell myself, trying to focus on anything other than the heat pooling between my legs."You're here to find something to use against him, remember?"
But as I watch Giovanni's body move with such raw power and skill, I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be the one writhing beneath him. To have his hands on me, his mouth exploring every inch of my skin. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, even as I try to push it away.
"Focus," I whisper to myself, forcing my eyes away from Giovanni's sweat-slicked form. "Find something to use against him and get out of here."
But as much as I try to deny it, there's no escaping the truth: part of me wants nothing more than to stay right where I am, watching Giovanni work his dark magic on the woman in his bed. And that terrifies me more than any plan for escape ever could.
As he turns the woman over onto her stomach, I adjust my stance, trying to get a better view. And there it is: his cock, wrapped in a condom but still unmistakably large. I imagine how it would feel inside me, stretching and filling me in ways I've never known before. My mind screams at me—this isn't what I want from him—but my body betrays me, aching with desire.
"Maybe I'm just into women like her,"I try to convince myself. The alternative is too much to process, so I push it aside.
He spits on her backside, the saliva running down between her cheeks. She wiggles her body enticingly, the curves of her hips rolling and undulating in slow, languid circles. Her backside shifts against the bed sheets as if inviting Giovanni to take her, her hands clutching the sheets beneath her as if she's trying to ground herself in reality. Her breathing is shallow and anxious, her movements desperate and inviting all at once.
