Made Monster (Curse Made #2)

31. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Olivia

T he next few days, I run. I run like I used to at Ironwood, like I am running for my life, like the hounds of hell are snapping at my heels. I run because Satan himself bought me the shoes to do so, and somehow he got my size perfectly right. Each day, I clock up a half marathon, locked away in his gym. We have become two strangers living together, two roommates avoiding each other and managing it perfectly well. I have learned his movements, his time in the kitchen, the way music pulses from his room when he’s inside it, and when he leaves, the ding of the elevator when night falls fills me with anxiety. Where does he go when he leaves? And even worse: who is he seeing?

The silence is unbearable at times, and I understand Alessandrio’s bitterness. He and Emilio have spent a year as they are, hidden away from the world, only finding acceptance in a society of other monsters who can hide behind the faces of men. The heavy music would drown out the silence, the gym would exhaust him, and the binoculars allow him to watch the world go by. I too find myself drawn to the binoculars, but they only make me feel lonelier as I watch people in the bar across from his window socializing and living—being normal. Whatever that is.

I have officially lost track of the days when I find a note on the counter one morning. The door to the gym is closed and I know if I tried the handle, it would be locked.

Party tomorrow night.

Donatella will be here at 5:30 to prepare you.

Prepare me? Like I am some piece of meat waiting to be stuffed and put on the stove. I like the old lady. She’s kind and her hands are gentle despite the firmness of her voice.

“But I don’t need her help anymore,” I say to no one as I reach for the pen and scribble a reply.

Tell her not to bother. I can manage my own ‘preparations’ from here.

And I can. I’ve watched her with a childish curiosity as she used the makeup and the hair tools, turning me into a woman of their world. I can manage it, and I know if I mess it up, my fiancé will tell me as much. Annoyed that he couldn’t be bothered to tell me this in person, I toss the paper and pen down haphazardly. I don’t want to see him anyway, I remind myself. When I let him almost bring me to orgasm, a line had been drawn in the sand, and a part of me is glad he stopped. Reaching a high like that with his expert fingers would have made this curiosity I have harder to ignore. It was blurring lines—being around him was confusing me. Just looking at his face, the way in some lights and angles, I see what could be beneath it all. The way his eyes still have that humanness about them, like the curse couldn’t deny him his beauty even as it carved him anew. My mind tries to wander to his body, but I turn the television on to distract myself from that thought, because even tugging on those strings has my stomach in knots with need.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I will not allow him that power over me again. He has shown his hand and it’s dripping in distrust and hatred. Mortal enemies? Well, he can get in line because apparently, just my existence is enough to warrant death. Pain and memories sweep in, and I release a ragged breath. Would my mother have had me if she knew where my existence would lead? Would she have made a different choice if she knew my birth would culminate in her death? Shame is a powerful teacher. Alessandrio Greco is not a knight in shining armour. He is one of many villains in my life and I would do better to remember as much.

Blue eyes settle heavily on my skin, the kindling in them unmistakable as they scrape the length of my body in a leisurely manner. My new-found confidence would be easier if he didn’t look like this. White dress shirt with its collar open revealing a hint of powerful pecs covered in fur, sleeves rolled up around powerful forearms. Even his pants look perfectly tailored to his long legs with their muscular thighs.

I swallow around the rising lump. God, he is… Nope. I turn away, desperate for something to distract myself with. God, Olivia, pull your shit together . He said it himself; he is the enemy. I walk with a forced confidence, toward the view, knowing and feeling his eyes on me.

Doing my makeup and hair was an experience, sifting through the memories of all Donatella did and putting my own spin on it. It was surprisingly enjoyable as I focused on enhancing rather than hiding my features. The eyeliner almost had me throwing in the towel, but I feel like I nailed it on my third and final attempt. Taming my hair was another challenge, but I let the blow dryer do most of the work till it was smooth and passable, falling around my shoulders in soft waves. All in all, I like what I achieved, and if my fiancé has anything to say, I might just rinse it all off and go barefaced in protest.

“Shit.” The harshness of his voice has me looking over my shoulder in alarm.

“You look good,” he says with a resigned shrug.

“So do you.” It’s all I can think to say as I turn my face away, hating the way my mouth pulls up in a soft smile and praying he can’t see it in the reflection on the glass.

Moments later, heavy material falls across my shoulders, making me stagger back until I meet something firm and radiating with heat.

“You will be cold tonight,” he grinds out, words stirring the hair against my ear and sending a shiver down my spine.

His reflection hovers just over my shoulder, an imposing mass of predator, horns shimmering beneath the down lights. I reach up and our fingers brush as I feel the thick material of a coat he placed over me.

“I wouldn’t have picked you for a gentleman,” I say, stepping away, allowing my sarcasm to hide my unease as I struggle to put distance between us.

“What kind of monster do you take me for?” A bad one. “Can’t have people thinking I neglect my fiancée. ” The way he says that word, it’s hard to think it could fool anyone into believing this is a love match.

It’s not long before he’s commanding me to follow him and I am grateful for the movement. The coat, and that he felt the need to put it on my shoulders, has chipped away something I had tried to make solid. Not a good start to what I foresee will be a long night. Our silences are always long and drawn out, and this one is no different, both of us lost in our own thoughts as he drives out of the garage.

“Do you expect any more ex-girlfriends to ask for a moment?” Probably a stupid question to fill an awkward silence in a tension filled car between two ‘mortal enemies’ and yet it’s been bugging me as the anticipation of tonight has built.

“I don’t have ex-girlfriends.” I believe him; the way he spits the word girlfriend, it’s even worse than his use of fiancée. “Carla’s husband is seventy-two years of age.”

My mind spins. The woman who stepped in to speak to Alessandrio couldn’t have been much older than me. She was beautiful and my stomach twisted with jealousy as I walked through the crowd, the thought of them together making me painfully aware of his disdain toward me. Seventy-two though . Disgust sweeps away any other negative thoughts. That poor woman. It must be horrific.

“Before the arthritis set in, his favourite pastime was slapping her around,” he continues, as if to drive home how bad I should feel for questioning his motives. “A husband forcing his wife is still rape, you know?” I blanch at that. Alessandrio’s body reflects my disgust, the way his shoulders coil in, his profile set in a mask of violent anger.

“How do you all get away with it?”

“Don’t lump me in with them,” he snarls violently.

“I’m sorry… I—”

“Don’t make assumptions about me,” he snaps, and I feel my face flush.

If the energy in the car was tense before, it’s nothing compared to now. Man and monster radiate rage and I am glad he has to focus most of that energy on the road. Embarrassment swells in my gut. I hadn’t meant to accuse him. My question stemmed from my personal pain, but he hasn’t read my file, so he wouldn’t grasp how strongly I oppose violence against women. And yet his rage at the idea of my accusation is palpable. It’s a living, tangible thing, and I can’t help the way my eyes devour him with curiosity. I find it hard to believe he has never hurt a woman. His actions with me speak of a man who isn’t gentle… but he has never struck or maimed me. He has intimidated me, terrified me and not exactly been gentle—but he’s never actually hurt me.

Another mansion looms up in the dark, lit up like a Christmas tree. I am instantly grateful for the heavy coat across my shoulders as I step out onto the gravel driveway. One thing I always loved about Ironwood was the view, the trees reaching as far as the eye can see. And this place, with its tree-lined driveway, renews that yearning. Somehow with the life moving beyond the glass, Alessandrio’s apartment makes me feel more alone than the solitary sea of trees from my life before him.

A hand warm and silky slides against my own. When his palm settles against my skin, it only serves to inflame my senses. It’s a reminder of velvet gliding up my thigh. I close my eyes for a moment, willing myself to forget the feeling and allow him to drag me up the driveway. When I open my eyes, I can’t help but stare at every powerful movement of his body, every step sure and predatory as he leads me along. He stops at the foot of the sprawling steps leading up to the glowing home and whirls on me. A hand curves around my waist pulling me in close, still unsteady on my heels, my body collides with his and I let loose a sharp exhale. The lights behind me catch on a knowing smile. Bastard.

“Emilio and Lucia are hosting this party.” My eyes flash with surprise.

“This is their home?”

“Absolutely not. They wouldn’t invite the Outfit to their home to go snooping around in their space.” Oh. “This is an engagement party.”

I almost ask who is getting married, but I know exactly whose engagement party this is.

“No. I—”

“You can and you will,” he says it so casually, so unaffected all the while my heart begins a wild hammering. “Just follow my lead. When I touch you, just pull on that memory of me knuckle deep in your pussy.”

I actually gasp, scandalized as that knowing smile pulls into something wicked and taunting. It sets a different flame igniting in my gut, one of a woman who practically threw herself at a monster, only to be denied. And now that monster is taunting me. A smile of my own softens my face, and I watch him falter as uncertainty flickers across his face. Two can play this game, and I am done being his fucking toy.

“Well,” I say, pressing in closer and blinking up at him. “Let’s not disappoint them.”

His eyes narrow in suspicion and I want to clap myself on the back, even as I bury how good this feels, pressed against his warmth and strength. Alessandrio pulls back with a growl and sets a punishing pace up the stairs, his hand rigid against my own as he forces me to follow. So much for being unaffected.

A cheer erupts as we enter the house, and I am blinded by the dazzling glow of a room full of raised glasses and glamorous people. My fiancé tugs me forward, and I feel him slide the coat from my shoulders and pass it to a man beside the door. A sea of wide eyes and smiling faces stares back at us, making me feel like they have stripped me naked and put me under a spotlight.

“Smile,” I shiver as the word fills the shell of my ear and his hand slides against my waist.

“Say cheese!” a woman shouts, and the bulb of a flash goes off in my face, making me press back against him. The woman lowers the camera. “We will try again later,” she says, eyes darting with fear over my shoulder.

Play the part. Looking like a deer caught in headlights will convince no one that this is a happy union, nor is it going to ruffle Alessandrio’s feathers and teach him a lesson. So I press back further into him, molding my body and ignoring the way my ass settles against him. The only sign of the effect it has is the tightening of his grip as I return the smile of those around us.

“Thank you so much for coming,” I say breathlessly, ignoring the way nerves shake my voice.

“So diplomatic,” Alessandrio drawls in my ear.

“Just playing my part,” I say between my teeth and laugh softly, as if we are sharing a private joke.

Emilio and Lucia part from the crowd, one terrifying in his size and image, the other dazzling in a sparkling cocktail dress shining with sweet happiness. Lucia reaches for me and I allow the reprieve. The feeling of the monster behind me— against me— was almost overwhelming. She kisses both my cheeks, drawing me in close. Her dress is a dazzling spectacle beneath the light.

“You look beautiful,” she whispers.

“As do you, this is like diamonds.” I gesture at her dress. “You look beautiful.”

“’Beautiful? This is the skin of a killer, Bella,’” she whispers, brown eyes wide.

“Huh?” I pull back, alarmed and confused.

This girl is a killer? Surprise has me backing away. My hesitance seems to clear something in her gaze and she offers me a broad smile. Not creepy at all . What the fuck?

“ Twilight ! You know?” Her smile falters, alarm coating her own features.

“Twi—what?”

Her mouth pops wide. “You haven’t read or watched Twilight ?”

“Come on Team Edward, what have I told you about catching flies?” Emilio draws his wife toward him, her eyes almost manic with excitement.

“She hasn’t seen Twilight , my love,” she whispers excitedly and I shoot Alessandrio a confused stare.

His face, however, stalls questions. The harshness has melted away, a smile replacing any of its usual hard line as he watches his brother lead his tiny wife away, whispering conspiratorially to him. Alessandrio looks younger like this, and my chest tightens. He shifts his gaze to me, and a crashing wave of distrust and caution takes over the soft openness.

“What?” he asks.

“I…” I what? I like your face? Why don’t you look at me like that? “Nothing. She just—” I pause, looking for the right words as his eyes seem to bore into me. “She just called herself a killer. Is she?”

I don’t expect him to throw his head back and laugh, nor did I expect the way it makes me feel. It shouldn’t be appealing, those sharp teeth on display, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the fur, but I am lost beneath its effect.

“Lucia Greco a killer?” he says with a gasping breath.

“Well, I am glad you find me so funny.” I stab a finger into his chest.

He snatches my pointer and tugs me in close till our bodies collide—again. Already breathless from his nearness, I swallow as his other hand twines beneath my hair, claws scraping gently against my scalp. My whole body ignites, like he is the tinder to my flame. I am acutely aware of my breasts brushing against his shirt and the low tug in my hips with a need I have been trying desperately to deny.

“Why do you always look for a way to touch me?” His voice is low and tight.

“I don’t,” I protest. “You do. Since the beginning, you have always looked for a reason to touch me.”

“Yeah, but I won’t deny I touch you because I can,” he drawls.

Well, so can I, I want to say, but I am not sure that wouldn’t lead to more of his disarming laughter.

“Come on, you two. The happy couple needs to mingle and thank their guests,” Lorenzo inserts himself.

Alessandrio lets me go and I can finally breathe again. Self loathing floods my body at how easily he affects me and I reluctantly follow him as he leads me around the room, moving between different well-wishers. People don’t look at him for long. Most gazes slide to me where they remain curious and scrutinizing. All the while, I am very aware of the enormous and warm hand pressing into my lower back. Leonardo De Luca is here with Nico Vivaldi and another older gentleman. I notice he only has one of his made men with him, and feel relieved it isn’t the laughing man.

“To the happy couple,” Leonardo says, raising his glass and piercing me with a stare.

The two men with him follow suit, Nico Vivaldi’s head shining as he nods enthusiastically. Alessandrio slips a hand around my waist, fingers caressing and inflaming the skin of my hip as they trail over the dress soothingly. I see Leonardo’s gaze acknowledging that hand and can’t help but smile at him with the borrowed confidence of my fiancé’s touch.

“Olivia, this is Lucia’s father, Don Bianchi,” Alessandrio says, gesturing respectfully to the man I hadn’t recognized.

Is this the man who forced his daughter to marry a monster? His face is warm and yet I have to bite my tongue, forcing myself to take his proffered hand.

“My daughter has told me all about you.” You are lucky she still speaks to you, then.

“All good, I hope,” I reply, offering him a smile.

I know this dance now, the making nice with people who I wouldn’t even spit on if they were on fire. This is a disgraceful institution and I want to burn it to the ground.

“I heard you will take the Dolmino seat at the table.” I take a moment to realize that Leonardo is speaking to me.

Both Vivaldi and Bianchi fall silent, their gazes curious as they, like the Outfit‘s Don, await my reply.

“This isn’t the place to talk business,” Alessandrio says from beside me, his voice warning.

Leonardo’s gaze moves to Alessandrio. Oily dislike spills across his features, darkening his eyes, lips tightening as if to say something but thinking better of it. All the while Alessandrio’s fingers continue to slide against my dress, unmoved by the man before us.

“Well,” I begin, praying Alessandrio’s hand doesn’t stop. “I have the money, I have the name and I now have the support of one of the strongest families in New York and the fiancé to match.” I give Leonardo a saccharine smile and see his eyes flare. “It’s the next organic step in my rise to the seat. Looks like this society could use a little shake up with a woman in a top job.”

Both Niko and Lucia’s father look delightfully stunned. Leonardo De Luca, however, looks like he swallowed something rancid. Good. I continue to smile at him like I have just put them all on notice. Let these men think I plan on making waves, because if I took the seat, I would definitely shake things up.

“Gentlemen,” Alessandrio fills the dragging silence. “I promised my fiancée a dance. Enjoy the refreshments.” I hear the amusement in his voice, but find myself swept up in the idea of dancing with him.

He tugs me away, moving us through the crowd of well-wishers and into another room. It’s a massive space, low lit with a band playing jazz music in one corner. It seems like the furniture has been removed to make space for a dance floor, but from the looks of it, many people don’t seem inclined to use it except for a few older couples. Either that or it's too early in the night and everyone else needs a little liquid courage. I shoot Alessandrio a weary look. I don’t know how to dance properly and if he plans on forcing me to swing dance or something, I will plant my heel in his paw.

“Don’t look so terrified,” he says, pulling me in close.

I watch his face as he lifts my arm to his shoulder and grips my other hand. A hiss escapes my lips when his other large hand clasps my waist, pulling me even closer before settling across my lower back. When I am in place and he begins to move, I can’t help but feel the flames that lick at my cheeks as I try to hide my lack of experience.

“Relax,” he drawls, drawing out the word. “You just took on three men who are high stake holders without batting an eyelash and yet dancing terrifies you?”

“Dancing with you terrifies me,” I whisper, looking around.

Apparently, my fiancé’s appearance was enough to send the only other two couples fleeing. I’m struck by how that makes me feel. Is this what it will always be like for him? Tolerated by most who think it better to be on the right side of a monster than the wrong, and feared by the rest? The musicians’ notes faltered when we entered, and now, as I look at them, they avoid eye contact and tightly grip their instruments with white knuckles.

“Does it upset you?” I ask absentmindedly.

“I don’t get upset, Olivia. Even before this, my presence was… controversial—tolerated only.”

I snort at that and he presses me closers. Our gazes meet, and the world around us seems to have gone still. He is staring down at me like I am a puzzle, and yet I haven’t figured him out either. A want builds in my chest, rising and spilling across my tongue, begging me to bridge the divide. When did my hand on his shoulder find its way into the fur at the back of his neck? My fingers twine and toy with the longer strands there as if it were his hair. When did our feet stop moving? And why are his eyes resting on my mouth with a look of ravenous hunger? I want to kiss him, and I might be missing something, but I think he wants to kiss me too. I tug gently down at the fur on the back of his neck, down toward me and my waiting mouth.

The shift is instant, I feel as well as see his body tightening, the muscles coiling beneath my hands and for a moment I panic. His eyes dart to the side, away from me.

“We will finish this later,” he growls low, and before I can question him more, I am released.

The silence is real; the musicians have stopped, and the doors are closed. Alessandrio’s body becomes a wall of predator as his arm sweeps me behind him, but not before I see who is in the large space with us. A predator of a different kind, a demon the way he moves quietly from shadow to shadow.

“A toast,” his harsh voice slips from the darkness and makes me shiver. “To the happy couple.”

“A toast for what, Galdano? A long and happy life?” Alessandrio spits back as the man peels away from the wall and shadows.

Galdano laughs without humor. “I wouldn’t go that far, little Greco.”

He isn’t alone. My eyes were so stuck on the vile man with his black eyes and hollow face that I didn’t even notice the two men sticking to the shadows behind him. I go cold with dread, my stomach dropping at the sight of them, and I step closer to Alessandrio, hands gripping his waist.

His body is taut, like one of the string instruments from the musicians waiting to be plucked, but I know the note will be sour and violent. A hand finds my thigh, as his arm sweeps behind him, gripping me tight as if to say don’t move, don’t draw attention to yourself. But it is too late.

“Your brother would be so proud, Olivia,” Galdano taunts, addressing me.

Alessandrio growls with so much menace my hands relax in surprise.

“With a face like that who could blame him for wanting you,” he continues on, unperturbed by the hulking monster flesh before me. “A honey trap if we ever saw one, and we know how you can’t help yourself when it comes to the women.”

“I’m going to enjoy ripping your tongue out.” I don’t even recognize Alessandrio’s voice as it drips with menace.

There is a flash of metal as the men behind Marco Galdano flash their weapons and my heart fills my throat.

“You think those can stop me?” Alessandrio says, stepping forward, forcing my hands to fall.

“No. Please,” my voice croaks with fear.

“Do you know whore runs in her family? ” Galdano gestures to me and icy dread fills my stomach. “The kind of two-timing whore you just shouldn’t trust,” he continues lazily.

Alessandrio’s stance widens a predator about to launch himself at his prey and, despite everything, a deep-seated fear settles over me.

Bang.

I am the only one to jump, a scream leaping from my mouth as the doors swing open, cracking off the plaster walls.

“Marco!” Leonardo De Luca enters the room.

The Outfit leader is followed closely by Emilio, Lorenzo and other men with weapons drawn.

“Get her out of here,” Emilio snarls at his brother, pointing at me.

Alessandrio looks ready to protest, his body still wired for a fight. There is a loud pop, a sound I have only ever heard on the cops and robber movies shown in Ironwood. My gaze snaps up. One of Marco’s cronies slides slowly to the floor, a dark stain leaving a trail down the wall in his wake. Leonardo De Luca passes the gun—the murder weapon—back to one of his men, before a stream of sharp Italian sprouts from his lips as he shoves Marco toward the other end of the room and the door he must have slipped in through.

“Alessandrio,” my voice is a whimper, a sad shadow of its usual sound.

My eyes lock on that dark smear. Will it leave a stain? Bile rises in my throat, then something warm but firm grips my chin, and a mass falls over me, two blue blazing points the only light in the consuming darkness.

“Don’t look,” Alessandrio commands and for the first time, I oblige him without a fight.

There is a beat of breath before my feet leave the ground, legs swept up and my arms clutch his shoulder. His strength only moments before was terrifying and now that strength is my strength. I bury my face in his neck, the soft fur comforting as I inhale his smell. Leather and man. My arms tighten, and I breathe in his scent with zeal, desperate for the comfort of him.

It’s just me and him; the party and everything else fades to black. It takes me off guard when his fingers slide through my hair to cradle my head. I know when we leave the home because the cold rushes in, chilling my bare arms.

“Alessandrio!” a feminine voice calls and I recognize it immediately.

Lucia.

I reluctantly remove my face from Alessandrio’s neck.

“You can put me down now,” I whisper, peeking up from my lashes.

Even from this angle, I see his intent, the clenched jaw, and the narrowed laser focus of his gaze. He ignores me and I become very aware of every movement of his body as he takes the stairs easily, as if the extra weight doesn’t burden him. He carries me across the driveway to a dark Mercedes, a door at the rear open, Lucia half hanging out of the car. Her gaze is wild, face tight with concern.

“Is she hurt?” she questions Alessandrio.

“No. Put me down Alessandrio. Please,” I try again, squirming against him.

He relents, tipping me so my feet find the gravel, but his arm around my back remains locked in place.

“What happened?” Lucia implores her brother-in-law.

“Marco Galdano,” he says simply, as if that is the only answer needed.

I can tell it’s the only answer Lucia needs by the widening of her eyes. “He wasn’t invited. We specifically requested for Leonardo to bring any other made man but the Hanged Man. Why would he allow that?”

“Now is not the time to talk family business,” Alessandrio states, nodding his head at me.

His words sting like a slap to the face. The night’s events prior to Marco’s interruption have gone up in flames and leaves the taste of ash in my mouth. I wrench his arm from my waist to put distance between us. You took me! The words are on the tip of my embittered tongue, ready to explode forth and burn him the way he has burnt me.

“Not here,” he growls low in warning.

“I didn’t take you for a fool,” I seethe, and his eyes glint as I whirl away and move unsteadily toward his car.

If I thought the tension in the car on the way here was tight, it’s nothing compared to the way it is on the way home. I know Marco Galdano had one thing in mind when he appeared uninvited, to sow the seeds of doubt in Alessandrio’s mind. And Alessandrio seems to have let him poison the already rough waters between us. The parking garage is cold as he opens the door to let me out. I can’t even look at him as he stands there, afraid that if I do, I will boil over. The elevator ride up to his apartment is full of glacial silence. This time he’s the first one out and I pray he has no visitors because I fear what I will do if he rubs that in my face. The moment we enter his living room, however, my control slips and I break the silence.

“You think I am a two-timing whore?” I breathe.

He turns to face me, a wicked smile on his monstrous face. “I think you are the perfect honey trap.”

If I could slow time, I would. If I could have snatched my hand from the air, I would, but its physics and his words give me the reason I need to lash out. My anger has always been a problem. I have never had a physical outlet for it other than running. I expect him to snatch my hand from the air like he did once before, but the moment it lands, I know running would have been the better option. My palm meets his furred cheek with a force that surprises me and I stare at the offending limb, a cold wash of dread spilling over me. His face is still twisted away as if he can’t quite believe it himself, his jaw clenched tight.

“I—” I begin, but bite my tongue.

I’m what? Sorry? I’ve officially lost my mind? But he doesn’t give me the chance. He snatches my arm, grip tight and punishing as he drags me toward the hall. I try to dig my heels in, but it’s no use. He’s too fucking strong. He kicks in my door and I expect him to shove me in, but he walks straight over the threshold, slapping the light on with his free hand as he passes.

“Alessandrio.” His name is a plea.

It falls on deaf ears as he drags me across the room. He finally relinquishes his hold when we are in the centre of my cage. He looks like a predator on the brink of attack, prowling back and forth before me, his face shifting to glare at me every so often. His rage is palpable.

I fucked up. He warned me and now I see the war waging beneath his fur, his fists clenched at his sides. Fear of what he might do, my guilt and this building need have me reaching for the zip of my dress. The sound dragging his eyes to me. They narrow in suspicion more than rage and as I slide the dress over my shoulders, his paws stop completely as fabric pools around my high-heeled ankles.

The cut of the dress meant I didn’t need a bra and I feel its absence immensely as his gaze burns a fiery trail to my peaked breasts. My cheeks heat as those same eyes drag back up to clash with my own and he bares his teeth, those sharp points glinting with menace. The only sound is his heavy breathing, my own is trapped in my chest. He backs up a step and folds himself into the plush chair, leaning back against it.

“Why stop there?” His voice is rough and my skin prickles as he gestures an enormous claw tipped hand to my lace panties.

Maybe I am what he accuses me of. Using my body like this to pull him from a rage and distract him from whatever dark path he might have taken. Or maybe my desire has chosen to test his restraint, because if I am truly honest with myself, I want him and that want seems to make self preservation fly right out the fucking window.

I take a tentative step forward. His eyes rise to meet my own and I move closer. I move until my thighs are nudging his knees, demanding him to let me in. He does with a quirk of that twisted brow, a look that makes my insides melt with all its wicked intent.

Barely breathing I stand before him, every moment feeling as though it has led us to this, his eyes move leisurely down only to pause at the juncture of my thighs. The last bit of flesh to be revealed.

“Take them off,” he says, voice rough and I suck in air.

His gaze snaps back to mine, and I feel my cheeks heat. Alessandrio leans his massive body forward, eyes not leaving my own. I gasp when I feel two velvet fingers slide beneath the sides of my panties and draw them down just as slowly as his eyes devoured me.

“You know I can smell your pretty pussy? The heady heat of your desire for me, it’s like a fucking drug.” His words are harsh as he inhales deeply, making me whimper.

I had feared that, feared he could smell my scent and it would betray me. But right now, as our eyes bore into each other, I cannot think of any other thing than what my pussy is telling him with its scent. Fuck me. Take me. Claim me. With one furred palm he pushes me back and for a moment I panic, fearing he will stand from that chair and all my want will leave this room with him. Long terrible fingers work the buttons of his white shirt and I watch mesmerized as inch by delicious inch of his furred and rippling muscles are revealed.

“It’s only fair,” he growls, ripping the shirt from his shoulders and tossing it to the floor.

“Yes,” I breathe, the only response I can form as those same hands drop to his belt buckle.

I see the outline of him beneath his pants, pressing and demanding release. His movements are slow as he pulls the belt free and his death tipped fingers work the zipper. In one lift of his hips, his cock springs free of its confines. Oh God. I have a moment of panic as I take in the sheer size of him. Raising my eyes to his face, I find a knowing lazy smile on his wicked mouth.

“Don’t look so frightened, princess. You want this.” He sniffs the air and my lower body tightens. “I can scent it,” he growls, standing so fast I barely register the movement before he’s looming over me.

I hear the metallic clatter as his belt hits the floor, his pants falling to his paws. He captures my throat, grasping it to pull me forward, and his mouth comes down. Those blue eyes keep me tethered as his tongue sweeps out over my lips. It’s over too quickly. I want to capture that tongue and draw it between my teeth, but I am being turned and find my back meeting the hardness of his chest, the silken fur tickling and caressing.

“You have been driving me fucking wild, you know that?” he breathes in my ear and I convulse as his words slide down my spine.

His hand is still on my throat, the other commanding my attention as it glides over my ass and under, finding the part in my thighs so that two wicked fingers slide against my hot sex. My moan is desperate as they part me, reaching up between my thighs and depositing wetness all along my folds, until they clamp down on my clit, pinching. My moan disrupts this monumental silence as I pulse beneath his fingers, pressing back, finding his length against my ass and his fingers remain clamped around my throbbing clit.

“Please,” I gasp, trying to grind myself into him.

“Are you a honey trap?” His words fill my ear, his fingers tightening on my clit and making me gasp as the twinge of pleasurable pain answers.

“No,” I plead.

I’m his to mold. He pulls me back, sitting and taking me with him. His rough hands part my thighs over his so I am spread wide. There is no time for self-consciousness in my vulnerable position. My hands clutch the arms of the chair, fingers digging into the soft material for support. The tip of his cock is just visible, nestled against my pussy, and I move my hips experimentally, sliding myself along his length. There is a low rumble at my back and I lean further into him, feeling his breath on my neck.

“Put it in,” he growls.

I want this, I remind myself as I stare at his massive length and reach down to trace him. A sound of surprise fills the room as I wrap a hand around it and find something beneath the velvety softness. It’s ribbed. I slide my hand up over the length, shocked even deeper as they pulse beneath my palm.

“Ribbed for your pleasure.”

“Is this a part of the curse?” I whisper.

“It was very thorough,” he grits out and I can hear his teeth grinding.

I lift my feet and plant them beside his knees on the plush chair, praying it can hold our weight as I lift my hips. Licking my lips with determination and grateful he can’t see my nerves, I guide the head of his cock to my entrance. It's so big, and at this angle I know he will go so deep he might touch my soul. I feel his hands slide beneath me to cup my ass.

“I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. Like he is going to support me through this whole thing and my chest swells with want for more. Slowly I lower myself, taking gulping breaths as his cock stretches me and I feel each rib. I trust his hands but still grip the arms of the chair for support, knowing I am one wrong move from impaling myself, my wetness making it a perilous descent. The further down I go, the further my eyes roll back, fingers curling like claws into the chair’s arm. He feels so fucking good. Those ribs pulse with each inch of him I claim and soon he is breathing just as heavily down my spine.

“You are doing so well,” he grits out. “Just a little more and that pussy will be stuffed full of me.”

My moan is loud. The way he says me feels like a brand on my skin as I breathe through the last few inches. We let out a collective breath as I seat myself fully, allowing a moment to breathe as my sex stretches and adjusts around his size He is sin, wicked and true. The moment I take all of him, that gentle support dissipates into something dominant and demanding. He sits up, pressing into my back as his hands slide up, gripping me beneath my knees, pulling them to my chest.

“You think you can torture me and get away with it?” he snarls in my ear, punctuating his question with a roll of his hips thrusting up.

I cry out as my eyes roll with the intensity of his thrust and the way it hits something deep inside me. I scrabble for the arms of the chair, but he has all my weight, his strength impossible as he raises me up, just enough so that the tip of his cock is perilously close to sliding out. Then he drops me back down, impaling me with a loud, wet slap so I am forced to take all of him in one swift motion. My cry shatters the room, his cock stretching me to my limit.

“You struck me tonight. I warned you to never do that.”

His words sound distant, as the feeling of him inside me overwhelms me. His grip under my knees pulls tighter, and I am spread wide.

“I am not one to easily fall to my knees, little viper; you are not in control here. Look at you now. Spread wide and impaled on my cock, your pleasure is at my mercy.” His words are hot breaths in my ears.

As if to drive his point home he lifts me again, this time he thrusts as he slams me down. My retort dies on my tongue in a garbled mess as I take all of him, my pussy punished by his size. In my haze and building pleasure, my fingers find my clit and I hear a rumble of a chuckle.

“Even like this you defy me,” he snarls, biting my neck and making me gasp at the sting of it.

Still my fingers slide over that slippery bundle of nerves, circling and teasing as he sets his pace, lifting and thrusting so we are like two atoms colliding, demanding to be made into something new.

“Yes,” I cry out. “Fuck my pussy,” I beg drawing lazy circles around my throbbing clit.

He slips free and I cry out, writhing as his length settles against my dripping entrance, trying to find the release that I was so close to.

“Fuck you were made for me weren’t you?” Alessandrio’s words tease the lobe of my ear. “Now put my cock back into that sweet pussy.”

With the help of his lifting hands, I guide him back. His hands beneath my thighs relinquish their grip, but only so he can press closer to my back and spread me wider. He swats my hand away from my heated flesh, replacing it with his own, slapping me hard enough to make me cry out.

“Bounce on it princess, and show me you deserve to come.”

My legs are finely muscled, strong, and resilient. Years of running till my legs shook all culminate in this moment. I use those muscles to do as he commands, my pussy sliding up easily along his length, the wet sound of our bodies obscene as I seat myself hard on his thick cock.

“I deserve it,” I moan, bouncing on him like my life depends on it.

“You do Liv, you fucking do.” And with that his fingers begin to work my clit.

They swirl, flick and pinch, carrying me higher and higher. My whimpers fill the room as my orgasm draws nearer and I see stars, praying he doesn’t stop this time. His own groans and snarls of pleasure move the hair on my neck as it clings to my sweaty skin. I am wound so tight and ready to spill over when my legs finally give out. His fingers continue to draw tight circles around my clit and I come with a force that has my head kicking back into his neck. The sound I make is animalistic as my body convulses around those ribs, sucking his cock deep and still his fingers work, swirling around and around.

“Keep coming,” he says as his fingers drag out my pleasure. I feel those ribs shifting inside of me— widening . “You are doing so well.”

I scream, and his grip keeps me spread wide and open, his fingers sliding until I’m grinding on him, close to another wave, greedy for something I didn’t even know was possible.

“Fuck,” he rumbles, it's part throaty growl, part moan as those ribs make it impossible for me to even buck my hips.

I can feel them moving inside me. His fingers on my clit become feathery and teasing, so at odds with him, soft and toying. My next orgasm finds me entirely unable to move. I feel my body milking his cock and the hot spray of him deep as his own body convulses. All I can do is collapse back against him, his heartbeat hammering through my body as dark spots appear in my eyes with the intensity of coming undone.