AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His voice rolls like dark, melted chocolate. “Dinner is… Oh, is this your room?”
He frowns as he looks around. “You can’t be comfortable in here.”
With his gaze holding me hard, he strides in, making the room feel like we’re in a doll’s house. He grabs both of my unopened bags. Lifts them like they weigh about as much as a couple of paperbacks.
As he strides out, he says, “Follow me,” an afterthought with a touch of impatience, like Keep up, as if I should have known what he was going to do.
Maybe I do.
So far, everything he does is slow and deliberate. Like a great emperor, like he has all the time in the world, and he owns it all. Everything is easy and unhurried. Everything except his walk. His walk is an act of war.
His rhythm is sinuous and solid, like an ocean current. He looks like his pace is slow and steady, but he’s too fast for me to keep up. Every five or six steps, I have to skip or jog behind him. His shoulders and his hips make a steady, arrogant dance that’s so steady, it’s like the world belongs to him.
Watching from behind leaves me breathless with a dry mouth and squirmy in my pants.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alessio Fortuna shows me into a fresh, airy third-floor room. Two large windows let in sunshine, filtered through the leaves of blossom trees nearby. The king-sized divan is scattered with big pillows and draped with a silky, embroidered turquoise throw.
The room has a couch and a chair, as well as a desk by one window. Two large carved wardrobes are on either side of a comfortably sized dressing table. Large mirrors soften and diffuse the light. Bright, painted landscapes hang in elegant, gilt frames.
His voice is as cold as a cellar. “You’ll be more comfortable here.” He opens a door, “Your bathroom is through there.” It’s huge, tiled all over, with a clawed-feet bath as well as a walk-in shower area.
“If you need anything, tell Jaggers.” He steps back into the room and stands in front of me. I’m not short, but my eyes are about level with the hot swell of his chest. His presence is borderline overwhelming, and the scents of him send my pulse pounding.
“You should have space for all your clothes and powders and paints and potions.”
His mocking lilt and the slight incline of his head show what he thinks of me. He sees me as a shallow, superficial airhead. Reaching deliberately forward, he lifts my chin on the crook of his forefinger.
My thighs tingle.
A chuckle rumbles in his chest, almost like he sees me squirm. Then his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare.
My heart flips and I remember that I need to breathe.
With his fingertip, he turns my head a little to one side. Then the other. A trace of a sarcastic grin pulls at the side of his mouth, and his head shakes slowly from side to side. His eyes rake all over me as he does.
The soft lining of my bra feels scratchy. My buds harden and rub, sore and hot.
His eyes smolder as he cups the back of my head in his hand. Then slowly, deliberately, he strokes his thumb behind my ear, down the side of my neck, and then down my throat.
His thumb slips around my throat. Presses on my windpipe. Like he’s showing me what he could do. Or perhaps what he might do. He looks in my eyes as he squeezes. He’s looking for a reaction.
I show him defiance.
I grew up in the Life. Pain and fear are not so new to me. Uncontrollable sensations of thrills are not so familiar as an endurance test, but I’m not going to give in to give him the satisfaction of letting it show.
His scent rises and I feel heat in front of my stomach. He makes me afraid. But I like it. How fucked up is that? As he comes nearer, I think about the knife I have strapped to my ankle.
He takes hold of the top button of my shirt with both hands.
With both of my hands, I grab his wrists. They’re too thick from me to get a proper grip, and he’s like iron, far too strong for me to resist or even to move. Under his sandalwood and musky cologne is a thick, darker, earthy scent that makes me panicky hot.
“Mm.” He rasps, “You smell good.” He could be talking about a steak au poivre.
His chin tips slightly up as his nostrils widen. Carefully, deliberately, one by one, he undoes the top four buttons of my shirt. I’m still holding on to his wrists, but I can’t even slow him down or deflect him.
He looks into my eyes. “You’ll do what I tell you.”
