Page 49 of High Stakes
He looks at me, confusion flickering across his face for a moment before it’s replaced by frustration. He grabs my legs,yanking me down the bed, his grip like iron. Panic surges through me, and I start to thrash, trying to pull away from him.
“Stop it,” he snaps, his voice a growl as he struggles to hold me still.
I don’t stop, can’t stop. The thought of him using that thing on me, of being treated like nothing more than a vessel for his child—it’s too much. My body reacts on instinct, fighting against him with everything I have, but he’s too strong. He pins me down, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hands gripping my wrists above my head.
Tears stream down my face, my chest heaving with sobs. “Please,” I beg, my voice a broken whisper. “Please, Leone… don’t do this.”
His eyes are stormy, his frustration evident, but there’s something else there too—hesitation. For a moment, he just stares at me, his breathing heavy, his grip on my wrists loosening ever so slightly. It’s as if he’s trying to figure out what to do, torn between anger and something else.
Without thinking, I lean up and press my lips against his.
The kiss is soft, tentative, and completely unexpected. I feel him tense, his entire body going still as if he’s been shocked. For a second, I’m terrified I’ve made a terrible mistake, that he’ll push me away and punish me for defying him. But then, he doesn’t move. He just stares down at me, his expression unreadable, the turkey baster still clutched in his hand.
I pull back slightly, my heart hammering in my chest, and I see the confusion in his eyes. He’s caught off guard, unsure of what just happened. I can’t tell if he’s angry or something else, but I can’t stop now. I have to show him there’s another way, that we don’t have to do this like it’s some sort of transaction.
I lean up again, brushing my lips against his once more, this time with more intent, more passion. I feel his grip on my wristsloosen further, and I take the chance to slide my hands down to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt.
He groans, a deep, low, guttural sound that sends icy fear through me. And then, to my relief, he tosses the turkey baster aside, letting it clatter to the floor. His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, his mouth claiming mine with a ferocity that takes my breath away.
The anger, the frustration, it all seems to melt away as he kisses me, his hands roaming over my body with an urgency that makes my heart race. I can feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding back, trying to maintain control, but there’s a desperation in his touch that tells me he’s just as affected by this as I am.
He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with lust as he looks down at me. “You want this?” he asks, his voice rough, almost disbelieving.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “But not like before. Not with that.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He reaches down, yanking at the waistband of my panties, pulling them off with a roughness that sends a thrill through me. His shirt follows, buttons flying as he tears it open, his movements hurried, almost frantic.
There’s no more hesitation, no more doubt. He’s made up his mind, and so have I. This isn’t about love, but it’s not just about power, either. It’s something in between, something that neither of us can fully understand, but it’s enough for now.
He pushes into me with a force that makes me gasp, his hands gripping my hips as he starts to move. It’s intense and overwhelming, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, but it’s also exactly what I need. I cling to him, my nails digging into his back as I lose myself in the sensation, letting the heat between us burn away the fear, the doubt, the pain.
For a moment, there’s nothing else—just the two of us, tangled together, our breaths mingling, our bodies moving in a desperate, frantic rhythm. It’s raw and primal, but it’s real, and it’s enough.
When he finally collapses on top of me, spent and panting, I feel a strange sense of relief wash over me. We’re both breathing heavily, our bodies slick with sweat, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel afraid.
He doesn’t move right away, just stays there, his head resting on my chest, his breath warm against my skin. I can feel the tension slowly draining out of him, his grip on me loosening as he relaxes into the aftermath of our unexpected tryst. I run my fingers through his hair, the dark strands slick with sweat against my fingertips.
“Where’s Milo?” I ask him.
His head lifts from my chest, his gaze meeting mine. His eyes are a bit softer now, worn around the edges.
“He’s downstairs getting ready to head to the casino, where I should be.” He answers gruffly, rolling off me and onto his side. His hand stays draped across my stomach, fingers tracing circles on my skin when Milo steps into the room as if he heard us speaking about him.
His eyes move to Leone beside me, then me, and to the turkey baster, his lips quirk in the corner.
“I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Milo says, Leone rolls and sits up. Milo moves to the closet and returns with a fresh shirt since Leone ruined his. Leone grabs his pants, seeing them wrinkled. Milo passes him a fresh shirt before groaning, returning to the closet, and grabbing him fresh pants.
“You don’t need to dress me!” Leone snaps at him.
“We are late,” Milo tells him, returning with pants.
“Not my fault; she refused the other method,” Leone says as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. He pulls his black slacks on.
“Can I come?” I ask, wanting to get out of the house. I’ve hardly left, though Leone did let Rocco bring Sienna to see me yesterday, but I am sick of being cooped up. Leone looks at his watch.
“Only if you hurry,” he says, and I perk up.
“Really?”
