20. Skye
20
SKYE
I step into Skye's boutique, the familiar scent of leather and expensive perfume hitting my senses. The security measures I've installed are working perfectly - pressure sensors, cameras, panic buttons. Everything designed to keep her safe.
Then I see him.
Some fucking suit is draped across her counter, designer watch flashing as he gestures, drawing another melodic laugh from Skye. Her head tilts back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. His eyes track the movement like a predator.
My fingers find my watch automatically, twisting the band. The familiar metal grounds me as unfamiliar emotions tear through my chest. This visceral need to stake a claim, to eliminate the threat - it's primitive. Uncontrolled. Everything I've trained myself not to be.
"The fit is perfect." His voice carries across the boutique. "But maybe I should try on something else. Get your expert opinion again?"
Skye's amber eyes catch mine before she can respond. A slight smirk plays at the corners of her mouth - the one she always wears when she's about to say something designed to crack my composure.
"Sorry, my expert opinion is needed elsewhere." She straightens, every movement deliberately graceful.
The suit turns, his easy smile faltering as he takes in my presence. Recognition floods his features. He backs away from the counter, from Skye, like he's been burned. Smart man. Most people have that reaction when they realize who I am. What I am.
I approach the counter, each step measured despite the foreign urge to rush forward, to put myself between them. My watch ticks against my wrist - steady, controlled. Everything I need to be right now.
Without taking my eyes off the man, some low level runner I'm sure, I move behind the counter with deliberate steps, each movement a calculated display of power. The suit retreats another inch, but the distance isn't enough to satisfy this foreign darkness clawing at my chest.
My hand finds Skye's waist, fingers splaying across the silk of her dress. I pull her against me, feeling her sharp intake of breath. The curve of her body fits perfectly against mine, like she was designed to be here. The thought is dangerous - emotional - but I can't stop myself from tightening my grip.
"I believe you're done here." My voice comes out low, controlled, despite the possessive need burning through my veins.
Skye leans into my touch, that familiar smirk still playing at her lips. She knows exactly what she's doing - she always does. It's part of what makes her so fucking dangerous.
"Thanks for stopping by." Her tone carries none of the warmth it held moments ago. "If you want to leave the suit on the bench, I'll charge it to your account and send it to you."
The suit's eyes drop to where my hand curves around her waist, understanding finally dawning across his features. "Of course. I'll just-" He gestures vaguely toward the changing area, already backing away.
I watch him head to the back, tracking his movements until he disappears into the sectioned off fitting rooms. My thumb traces small circles against Skye's hip, an unconscious gesture I only notice when she shifts against me.
"Jealous, Luca?" Her voice carries that edge of challenge I've come to expect. She twists in my grip, amber eyes searching my face for any crack in my composure.
I should step back. Should put distance between us until I can analyze this loss of control. Instead, my fingers dig deeper into her silk-covered skin.
"You know exactly what you're doing." The words come out harder than intended, revealing more than I'm comfortable with.
"Trying to provoke a reaction?" My lips brush against her ear, voice pitched low enough that only she can hear. "Always pushing, testing my control."
I hate that the guy is still in the store, that she ever smiled at him at all. His presence grates against my nerves, knowing he was just leaning across this counter, trying to catch Skye's attention.
Shifting us, I press forward, caging her between my body and the glass display case. She can't move and no one can see what I'm about to do from this anger. The silk of her dress whispers against my suit as she shifts, trying to maintain professional distance despite our position. But I'm done with distance.
My hands find her hips, fingers splaying wide before sliding down. The hem of her dress rises inch by inch as I trace patterns against her thighs. Her breath catches - a small, desperate sound that shoots straight through me.
"Quiet." I tighten my grip, the pads of my fingers pressing into soft skin. "Unless you want everyone to notice."
A customer browses nearby racks, completely oblivious. Skye's hands grip the counter edge, knuckles white with tension. She's fighting to keep her expression neutral, but I can feel the tremors running through her body.
"Someone could see," she whispers, but her legs part slightly - an invitation I don't hesitate to accept.
My hands slide higher, mapping the curve of her thighs, memorizing every reaction. This possessive need to mark her, claim her, threatens to overwhelm my carefully maintained control.
I have never wanted anyone like I want her. I didn't understand the guys that couldn't keep their dicks in their pants. I was more than happy without ever being touched.
But Skye makes me want everything. Every smile, every laugh, every gasp and moan. I want her to keep it all.
"Then you better keep still." I drag my teeth against her neck, just below her ear. "Wouldn't want to draw attention."
She nods, spreading her legs further and dragging a ledger toward her so she looks like she's hunched over it instead of what's actually going on. The trust in that gesture hits me like a physical blow. I should step back, analyze why she affects me this way. Instead, I let my fingers climb higher, drinking in every shuddered breath and barely contained whimper.
My fingers work beneath her dress, finding her already wet for me. Pushing her thong to the side, I press against her clit first, firm circles that have her biting her lip to keep quiet. The way she writhes against my hand, fighting to stay composed while I unravel her, sends a jolt of possessive heat through my veins.
"You’re mine," I growl into her ear, my voice low and rough. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you. You understand?"
She nods, her breath hitching as I slide two fingers inside her. Her walls clench around me, tight and desperate, and I can’t help but smirk against her neck. "Good girl."
Her hands grip the edge of the counter, her knuckles white from the strain of keeping quiet. I move my thumb back to her clit, applying just enough pressure to tease. "Tell me, Skye. Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she whispers, her voice trembling. It’s barely audible, but it’s enough.
I press deeper, curling my fingers just enough to make her gasp. "Say it louder."
"You." Her body trembles as she tries to hold herself together. "I belong to you."
The words send a surge of satisfaction through me, something primal and possessive that I’ve never felt before. It’s not the control I’m used to - this is raw, unhinged, and it scares me how much I fucking crave it.
Her hips rock against my hand, desperate for more, but I slow my pace, drawing it out. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so."
She whimpers, her body shaking with the effort to obey. The way she fights for control, the way she wants to please me, it’s fucking intoxicating. My fingers move slower, teasing her, stretching her until she’s panting against my chest.
"Please," she breathes, her voice broken and desperate.
I press my lips to her ear, my voice a dark promise. "Come for me, Skye. Let them all see how good you are for me."
Her body tenses, her orgasm crashing through her as she bites down on her lip to muffle the sound. I feel her clench around my fingers, her entire body trembling as she falls apart in my arms.
I don’t pull away. I keep her close, my fingers still inside her as she rides out the waves. When she finally goes limp against me, I just stare at her, a slight sheen over her face and her eyes hooded with bliss.
If anyone had been watching, they definitely know what happened. But my presence tends to keep everyone at bay, and honestly, I wish they had watched. That itch beneath my skin is clawing at me to demand everyone know she is mine .
Slowly, I pull my fingers out and lick them clean. She watches, slack jawed, as I savor the taste of her.
Then I reach for her, my hands shaking slightly as I smooth down her dress, fingers trembling against the silk. The loss of control burns through my veins like poison - foreign, dangerous. I've killed men without blinking. Orchestrated empires falling. Never once has my pulse quickened, my composure cracked.
But here, watching Skye's chest rise and fall as she catches her breath, I'm undone. The usual emptiness in my chest fills with something raw and untamed. Something that makes me want to tear apart anyone who looks at her wrong.
Her amber eyes meet mine as I adjust the strap of her dress, sliding it back into place. That familiar smirk plays at her lips, but there's something softer beneath it. Something that makes my hands shake harder.
"Your tie's crooked." She reaches up, perfectly manicured nails grazing my throat as she fixes my windsor knot. The casual intimacy of the gesture hits like a knife between my ribs.
I should step back. Create distance. Analyze why she affects me this way. Instead, I let her straighten my tie, watching how the light catches the gold flecks in her eyes.
She presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, gentle in a way I don't deserve. Everything in me screams to run, to lock down these emotions threatening to crack my carefully constructed walls.
But her fingers curl into my shirt, holding me close, and for the first time since I watched my mother die, I think maybe control isn't everything. Maybe there's power in letting go, in giving yourself to someone completely.
The thought terrifies me more than any gun to my head ever has.