AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Two steps are all I make it outside the opening to the bathroom.
Two faltered steps out the door and I come face to face with the reason why the air has become so thick.
The man I have laid in bed under the secretive blanket of the dark night and thought about is in front of me.
The sight of his composed, confident, commanding stature absorbs my breath, it’s sucked straight out of my lungs.
I gasp from the unexpected shock at seeing someone, let alonehim. My rational thoughts are obliterated. I stare, with what I am sure are doe eyes at the shock of him standing before me. His broad, lean length rests against the rough concrete wall. His thick arms are crossed over his black suited barrel of a chest and his legs are crossed at the ankles.
Devastatingly handsome, is all I can think.
His head is tilted slightly to the side and there is a look on his face I can’t quite decipher. He is a silhouette of self-control. An image of relaxed power. His eyes hold me prisoner, a kaleidoscope of blues swirling with green flecks that threaten with the promise of devious intentions. It’s unnerving. And enticing. The way he observes me is disturbing, piercing, an intrusion, yet a part of me pulsates for the heaviness he creates and captures my attention with.
He drops his arms and lifts his body from the wall with athletic strength. With the stealth grace of a predator, he takes the measured steps needed to reach my stationary figure.
My chest feels like it’s being incinerated by the held breath I have yet to release.
He lifts his hand and with the tip of his finger, he wraps it around one of the ringlets hanging by my cheek. His attention is solely on the strand of hair he holds captive, almost mesmerized by the streaking array of strawberry blonde, but I am not so naive that I don’t know he is aware of every sound that filters down this small tunnel from the commotion of the crowd shouting. His undecipherable gaze comes to mine and locks. “We meet again, giovane cucciolo.”
His voice is so deep, the bass so low. It’s filled with a darkness, a syrupy layer of threatening promise. I can only imagine it to be like the deepest, unexplorable part of the ocean. The mysterious part. The portion so deep, that it consumes those who dare explore it and never return.
This man is intense. Too intense.
“Breathe, giovane cucciolo.” He tugs on the curl he still holds prisoner. “Breathe,” he coaxes in a low masculine whisper.
My gaze slowly drops, almost as if I’m stuck in a hazy daze, to watch the movement of his lips as he speaks. They’re full, lush, suckable. My body relaxes. I’m stuck in an alternate space where I want to step deeper into him but also flee in fear of my impending death.
“Demetri…” I whisper his name with heated heaviness.
The muscle above his brow flexes, lifting the onyx hair, a silent reprimand.
“Sir,” I breathe, fixed to my spot in some kind of enamored spell.
The corner of his lip twitches with satisfaction. “Good girl.” His eyes glow with heated approval.
I sink into his strong form at the sound of his voice praising me. He steps into me and leans down, his nose a hair’s breadth away from the tip of mine. His breath beats against my lips, mixing with my own. I’m lost in this moment with a dangerous man. The most intimate I have ever been with any man.
My skin tingles.
I suck in a sharp deep breath, wanting to swallow more of him, but what the newfound oxygen does is give me a burst of reality to my numb brain. Clarity and self-preservation take hold. I force a step back. His hand falls slowly from my manipulated curl. He eyes me with curiosity.
“What does that mean?” I mutter with a heady breath. He twists his head, watching me. “What you keep calling me. It isn’t English. What does it mean?”
He smirks a grin that makes me want to slap him. It’s a salacious knowing reflex of cockiness. “Giovane cucciolo?” he repeats, asking as if he didn’t know.
“Yes, that.” A thrill runs through my body at the way his tongue rolls with the words.
“One day.” He steps into me.
“One day?” I ask in confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
His chest lifts and falls just as quickly, a contained huff of a chuckle. I amuse him. I watch him with speculation, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. The thought of him mocking me because I don’t know, irritates the hell out of me. Is he making fun of my intelligence? He may be much older, I’m guessing in his mid-thirties, but that is here nor there, age does not matter when he’s speaking a foreign language. I do not speak the language he has chosen to use; therefore, it is unbecoming for him to laugh.
“What language is it?” I snap. For all I know he could be calling me a dirty bitch. “Italian?” I question, guessing, with a tone, I can see he does not appreciate.
He straightens to his full height. “You should not be here.”
I’m taken aback. Where did that come from? It was said in a reprimanding tone. Why shouldn’t I be here? Why won’t he tell me what he keeps calling me? “I can go wherever I want.”
