Her eyes are wide, bewildered, a mixture of anger and something else, something akin to disappointment.
"This doesn't mean anything," I say. It's a lie, a desperate attempt to reassert the narrative, to convince myself as much as her.
"Keep telling yourself that," she murmurs, her voice a haunting echo in the sudden silence of the suite. Her eyes hold mine, unwavering. "Maybe someday you'll believe it. Because I don't. Not anymore. This means something. You can lie to yourself, but not to me."
The air in the suite is suffocating. I turn away, walking to the panoramic window that overlooks the glittering lights of Milan.The city hums below, indifferent to the silent war being waged within these walls. My hands clench and unclench at my sides.
She's a poison in my veins, an unpredictable force I invited into my perfectly ordered life. And now she's unraveling it from the inside out.
And I let her.
That’s the part that haunts me most. Not that she broke in.
But that I opened the door.
This doesn't mean anything.The words echo, hollow and pathetic, even to my own ears. A lie. A goddamn, pathetic lie. I feel her eyes on my back, burning holes through my tailored suit jacket. She called me out. She saw through my bullshit.This means something. You can lie to yourself, but not to me.
Her voice, that soft, knowing murmur, twists a knife in my gut. It’s not just the words; it’s the truth of them. The truth that I’m standing here, a man who built an empire on iron control, and a slip of a woman just blew it all to hell with a goddamn kiss and a challenge in her eyes.
Fuck control.
Fuck the operation.
Fuck the consequences.
All I can feel is the phantom press of her body against mine, the memory of her breath on my lips, the way her small gasp had hitched in her throat when I pinned her. The heat of her skin. The scent of her. It’s a goddamn addiction, and I’m shaking with the need for a fix.
I spin around, the city lights blurring behind me. She’s still standing there, exactly where I left her, a statue of defiance and hurt. Her eyes are wide, still holding that mix of anger and disappointment. But now, as I look at her, all I see is the raw, unadulterated desire that’s been clawing at my insides since the moment she leaned in outside the hotel.
"You think you know me?" I growl. I’m moving before I even finish the thought, closing the distance between us. "You think you can see through my lies?"
Her eyes widen further, a flicker of fear, yes, but also a spark of something else—anticipation. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back away. She stands her ground, and that just fuels the fire in my blood.
I’m on her in an instant, no gentle approach, no hesitant touch. My hands are on her, one gripping the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her soft hair, the other slamming against the wall beside her head, just like before. But this time, there’s no pulling back. This time, I’m not letting go.
"Then let me show you what else you don't know," I snarl, my mouth crashing down on hers. It’s not a kiss; it’s a goddamn declaration. A brutal, possessive claim. I devour her mouth, her lips, her tongue, tasting the lingering sweetness of her lip gloss. She makes a small sound, a muffled gasp of surprise, but then her hands are on my chest, gripping my suit jacket, pulling me closer.
Her response is immediate, fierce. She’s kissing me back, just as hungry, just as desperate. Her body presses against mine.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue plunging into her mouth, exploring every curve, every taste. My hand leaves her neck, sliding down her back, pushing her hips flush against mine. I feel the soft give of her ass, the hard ridge of my erection pressing against her, and a groan tears from my throat.
God, I need this.
I needher.
"Rafe," she breathes against my mouth, my name a broken plea that undoes me completely.
I kiss her harder, deeper, my hand sliding up from her hip to tangle in her hair. I pull her head back slightly, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and trail my lips down to the hollowwhere her pulse beats frantically. She shivers beneath my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips that drives me to the edge of madness.
"You have no idea what you do to me," I growl against her skin. "How much I’ve fought this. How much I've wanted you."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her nails biting through the fabric of my shirt. "Then stop fighting it," she whispers, her voice thick with desire, "and take what you want."
The challenge in her words snaps the last thread of my control. I capture her mouth again, this kiss more brutal, more demanding than the last. She meets me stroke for stroke, her passion matching my own, and I know with terrifying certainty that there's no going back from this moment.
Her lips are swollen from my mouth. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and I can see the pulse hammering at the base of her throat, the same pulse I just tasted, claimed. The sight of her like this, disheveled and wanting and utterly mine, sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through me that should alarm me.
It doesn't.
