He releases my wrists to run his other hand along my body, angling my head exactly where he wants it. Finally, I’m free to touch him, and my hands go straight to his hair. Fisting in the dark strands, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left between us.
This time it’s consuming, desperate. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I meet him stroke for stroke, giving as much as I get. All the energy from the fight was redirected, channeling into this instead.
His hand under my shirt slides higher, thumb brushing the underside of my bra, and I arch into it with a gasp that he swallows. He makes that growling sound again, the one that vibrates through his chest, and grinds his hips against me in a movement that leaves me breathless.
He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my jaw, my throat, finding the pulse point and sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
“So fucking responsive,” he murmurs against my skin.
I feel how much he wants this. Wants me. His hard length presses against me through our clothes, the tension in every muscle, the way his breathing has gone ragged and desperate.
“Chloe,” he groans against my neck, pulling back just enough to speak. “Christ, you’re —”
I pull him back down, not wanting words, not wanting to think. Just wanting to feel. His weight. His heat. The slide of his tongue against mine. The way his hand is palming my waist and pulling me harder against him.
His hand slides down to grip my thigh, hitching my leg up over his hip. The new angle makes us fit together even better, and when he rocks against me deliberately this time, I cry out.
“That’s it,” his voice is pure sin. “So responsive; I love it.”
His mouth finds mine again, muffling my moans as his hands wander my body, moving down. Just a little more —
And that’s when reality crashes back in. Raffaello’s comments. His knowing looks. The way he keeps hinting that he’s seen me before, that he knows who I really am.
If I let this continue, if I let myself fall into whatever this attraction is with Basili, and then he finds out the truth.Finds out that I’m Delan Toa’s daughter. Everything will utterly explode.
He won’t just send me away. He’ll see it as a betrayal. The one he’s been waiting for all along. Proof that I am exactly the threat he suspected.
And Emmanuel will be caught in the middle of it all.
The cold reality crashes through the haze of arousal like ice water.
“Stop.” The word comes out strangled as I put my hands on his chest and push against him, breaking the kiss. “Stop, we have to —”
Basil goes completely still on top of me. For a moment, he doesn’t move, panting, his hand still under my shirt, his body still pinning me to the mat. Then, slowly, with a harsh swallow, he pulls back.
“Chloe —”
“Let me up,” I say, pushing against him again. I can’t look at him, can’t bear whatever expression is on his face right now.
That prompts him into action, and he moves immediately, rolling off me and onto his feet in one fluid motion. I scramble up on shaky legs, pulling my shirt down, trying to control my own emotions.
“Chloe, wait —”
“You made your point.” The words come out clipped, harsher than I intended, defensive. “I’ll just deal with Raffaello.”
“That’s not what this is about,” he says in frustration, reaching for me as he speaks. “I wasn’t trying to —”
I avoid his touch, slipping out of reach as I retreat back toward the doorway. Still not able to meet his gaze.
“I need to check on Emmanuel.” I use it as an excuse to escape, grabbing my shoes as I turn toward the door.
“Damn it, Chloe —”
But I’m already out the door, practically running back to the main house.
I don’t stop until I’m in my room with the door closed and locked behind me. Only then do I slide to the floor, pressing my hands to my burning face, and let the tears fall as I try to catch my breath.
What am I doing?
