32. Azra
Azra
Music pulses through me like a second heartbeat, loud and relentless. In minutes, I get lost in it. The thump of the bass drowns out the noise in my head and vibrates the fear from my chest, but only if I don’t look too closely at the truth.
My nature is too carefree, almost floaty, and it takes me a moment to realize why.
The candy Isabella gave me at the start of the night wasn’t just sugar-laced, was it?
I should have known. If her childhood was anything like mine, it would take more than a handsome face to make her forget the horrors of her past.
I’m mad she drugged me, but honestly, I also don’t mind.
The wooziness softens the dread and anger I’ve been carrying for days. I’m getting married tomorrow to the man I crossed countries to pursue. I should celebrate that I’m one step closer to the revenge I’ve been planning for four years, but I feel miserable.
Antonio only moved the wedding forward hours ago, and Isabella organized this hen party just as fast. I thought she’d hate me when Matteo failed to show up hours later to collect her, but she’s been buzzing around all night like she’s the bride.
Sober Azra would investigate her motives with more suspicion. She would also have fought harder to stay home, claiming she doesn’t want her big day’s photos ruined by dark bags under her eyes, but I no longer recognize the woman in the mirror anymore.
She’s a stranger.
Desperate for a moment to think without having my every move scrutinized, I lean toward Isabella’s group of friends and shout over the music, “I’m going to get some air!”
Isabella waves me off, too busy soaking up the attention of multiple suitors to care where I’m going.
When I head down the hallway toward the bathrooms, unsurprisingly, two men peel off the wall and follow me. Antonio’s goons haven’t taken their eyes off me in the slightest over the past ten hours.
Anyone would swear I failed the purity test with how possessive he’s been acting.
Halfway to the bathroom, an arm curls around my waist and plucks me into an alcove. My accoster’s hold isn’t rough or painful. It’s firm and unmistakable.
Before I can react to being unexpectedly grabbed, the two bodyguards rush in.
They don’t stand a chance against the man holding me hostage.
Even with one arm banded around my waist, my accoster takes them down in seconds.
He punches Guard One in the face, instantly rendering him unconscious, and subdues Guard Two’s interest with a brutal kick to the sternum.
In an efficient, controlled minute, they hit the deck without so much as a groan.
I don’t require seeing his face to know who has taken them down. My body knows, not to mention Guard One’s fear when he slowly comes around.
He’s carrying a gun but is too scared to use it.
What more confirmation do I need than that?
When Matteo guides me into the manager’s office, I don’t fight him. I don’t have it in me. Besides, denying this man’s advances is pointless. Even when he treated me like a whore, I stared at him as if he hung the moon and stars.
The second the door shuts behind us, the air shifts.
Matteo is drunk. And angry. Really angry.
So am I.
He smells of liquor and cheap perfume, and the combination twists my jealousy into an ugly disease I’ll never beat.
“Have you drunk so much that you don’t care which brunette you pluck off the dance floor? Any will do, as long as you get what you want, right?”
While snickering at the jealousy I plan to blame on the remnants of whatever Isabella slipped me, Matteo rakes his eyes over my body. His gaze is wild and unfocused but burning with something I refuse to name.
“Did he touch you?” he demands, voice rough. “Is that why he brought the wedding forward? Because he doesn’t want anyone to learn that you broke the purity clause earlier than the contract states?”
The aggression in his tone should scare me. It doesn’t. It isn’t the kind that makes me feel unsafe. It makes me feel wanted.
That’s worse.
So much worse.
I start to speak, but he steps closer, too close, and the room spins with the effects of the drugs and the music still echoing in my bones.
And him.
Matteo drags his fingers through his hair as if a firm tug will outrun his thoughts. “Answer me, Azra. Did he fucking touch you?”
Forever stubborn, I fold my arms under my chest. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
Hand halfway through his hair, he looks at me. Truly looks.
“Wanna bet?”
Heat flashes between us as he seizes my wrist and yanks me toward him. It takes a moment, but I slip out of his grip like I did on the gym’s mat earlier this week, then ram my elbow into his ribs and throw my fist into his face.
He grunts, but my blows don’t keep him down for long. This time, he tugs me back until his torso warms my back and his cock digs into my ass.
I throw back my head as taught, but Matteo dodges it.
“Try again, micina.”
His nickname sparks an idea in my head. I spear my nails into his arms, drawing blood.
My aggression only hardens him further. He braces his cock against the seam of my ass, and it swells far above the two dimples in my lower back.
“Sick fuck,” I mutter, my voice a mix of awe and disgust.
“So fucking sick,” Matteo agrees, his tone changing. It doesn’t sound as angry as it once did. It’s more subdued.
When he crowds me against the desk, I push up on my toes. It’s unclear whether I am attempting to kick him in the shins or realign our crotches. I’d say it’s a bit of both.
He arches me over the desk and pins my hands above my head with one hand before the other moves to the hem of my dress. It’s one of the ones he bought for me, so of course the hem is indecent.
Goose bumps follow the trek of his hand when he drags it from behind my knees to high on my thigh, but I still try to fight.
“Get the fuck off me.”
“Soon,” he replies, as if I said something else.
“Are you hard of hearing? I said get off me.” My last two words come out with a quiver when he slides his big, manly hand under the flare of my skirt. His touch is featherlike but catastrophic to my head. It intoxicates me more than any drink could.
His fingertips stop just short of my panties, and I want to kill him for it.
“Did you say something, micina?”
I don’t talk. I can’t. His hot breaths are an inch from my pussy.
Speak, my head screams. My body, however, has an opposing viewpoint. It does nothing but shudder with excitement.
“That’s what I thought.”
I moan when he grazes my clit with his index finger. I’m so wet I should be embarrassed. Instead, I roll my hips forward in desperation, willing to use the corner of the desk to get off if it will take the edge off.
Matteo tsks me before he pulls me back so not even a full thrust will connect my clit with the wooden trim.
“Asshole.”
I hear his smug grin more than I see it.
When he rests his thickened shaft back between my butt cheeks, I arch into his touch. I hate myself, but Isabella drugged me. That excuses everything, right?
He flips up the bottom of my dress, exposing me. A hot, rough moan hits my back when he spots the thin line of material wedged between my butt cheeks. This dress was too body-hugging to wear normal underwear. I had to borrow a pair that went with the garments he’d purchased for me.
“Did you wear these for me… or him?”
Hating the arrogance in his voice, I reply, “I didn’t know you’d be here. Make of that what you will.”
The heady aroma of lust fills the room when he slaps my ass cheek firmly enough to mark before he mutters, “Liar. Being photographed with me here earlier this week is the only reason they granted you access to this floor.”
Since I can’t dispute his claims, I remain quiet.
Confident that my legs are shaking too much for me to run, Matteo releases my hands and twirls me around to face him. He stands so close that there’s no way I can twirl without the most intimate parts of our bodies colliding.
Breathless, I crank my neck back and peer up at him. His eyes are even glassier now than they were this morning. I don’t think it’s just liquor fueling his motives, though. “Matt—”
He grabs my face with his calloused hands and pulls me forward until our lips collide, silencing me. His tongue piercing between my gaped mouth swallows my surprised yelp. He duels it with mine before he samples every corner of my mouth with slow, timed licks.
Days of frustration, anger, and unwanted desire pour into our embrace. We kiss for several long moments, the tension excruciating. I grind against him and moan into his mouth, desperate for more.
He kisses me like the world is ending before he lifts me onto the desk and spreads my thighs wide so he can fit between them, his mouth never leaving mine. When his hand creeps between us, I bite my bottom lip with hesitation before straying my eyes to the office door.
It’s closed but not locked.
His thumb finds my clit through my scant panties, and I squeeze my eyes shut and thrust my head back, unbothered that our exchange could get busted.
One touch and I am burning up everywhere.
“Matteo…”
He works my clit faster, loving the change in my tone. It went from brimming with anger to bursting with need.
Stroking me hard and fast, he brings me to the very edge with nothing but the tips of his fingers. His skills are mesmerizing, and I’m soon under his spell.
As my vagina seeks something to cling to, he pushes his tongue back into my mouth with force. The thought of any part of his body deep inside me, claiming me, brings stars before my eyes.
“Oh god,” I gasp as shimmers wreak havoc with my body.
Pulling away from his sinfully delicious mouth, I stare up at the ceiling, fighting not to let this end yet. I need more than a quick, fast orgasm to make it through tomorrow. I need a bank vault of arsenal.
Either Matteo knows this, or he’s not a man who gives up without a fight. In two quick heart-throbbing seconds, he falls to his knees, tugs my ass off the desk, pulls my panties to the side, then spears his tongue deep inside me.
I lose the fight in an instant.
As I moan Matteo’s name on repeat, my entire body convulses. My screams are neither quiet nor shy. I shout his brilliance loud enough to be heard over the bass, uncaring who hears, until my throat is raw.
Blood pulses between my legs as I fist his dark locks and pull him back toward me, mushing his mouth with my drenched pussy.
“One more,” I beg, unconcerned by his brief chuckle. “Please.”
A second climax builds fast and strong as I shamelessly grind against his face.
“Have you ever been told you’re quite bossy when an orgasm is on the line?”
“No, I haven’t been told that.” I rock against his mouth, loving every spasm his touch rewards. “But don’t act like you wouldn’t kill them just for the thought that they may know that.”
His growl sends a delicious shiver up my spine. Then his mouth is back on me, teasing, piercing, and utterly devastating. He eats me like a maniac, and my next climax hits so fast that I’m not ready for it.
Its strength and ferocity are paralyzing. I can’t stop moaning and screaming; however, Matteo’s dedication doesn’t relent. He licks, bites, and sucks at me until I’m a quivering, blubbering mess.
I’m so spent that in a quick tug, yank, and pull maneuver, he removes his cock from his pants and hovers at my opening. His dick is thick and long, covered with throbbing veins I’d give anything to run my tongue over.
My head is so paralyzed with euphoria that I only remember he can’t pound into me when I clutch his fat cock. The colors of my friendship bracelet starkly contrast with his perfectly tan dick.
“We can’t,” I blurt out, my voice still husky with arousal.
Matteo freezes with his cock nestled between my vaginal lips, the vein in his neck pulsating. “What?”
“We can’t,” I say again, my words stammering. “It’s… I…” I hate myself for how much pain my following words blister through his eyes. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”
I expect him to walk away, to growl, to do something.
I didn’t anticipate silence more maiming than any pain I’ve endured before.
After a beat, the anger I was expecting eventually comes.
Faster than I can blink, he spins me around. One hand squashes my head to the desk while the other assists in coating his shaft with the evidence of my multiple orgasms.
His aggression is a huge turn on, but I can’t give up this close to the finish line.
“Matteo… please.”
I grit my teeth, loathing the lack of conviction in my tone. I sound like I’m begging for him to take me, because in a way, I am. It would be easier to go back on my promise if I forced him to do it for me, but that would also be the coward’s route.
I’ll never be the coward these men think I am.
“Matteo, stop! We can’t do this.” I thrust against him, moaning when the broad head of his penis pierces an inch inside me. “I’m not yours to pen—”
“You’re not mine?” he asks, voice thick with fury.
When I peer back at him, something flickers across his face. It could be anger or relief, but it’s gone before I can name it.
Our combined scents waft into the air when I sheepishly shake my head. “No. I’m not.”
He mutters something under his breath, something violent and frustrated, then lunges his hips forward. Mercifully, since he’s no longer gripping the base of his penis, his engorged head slides past my clit and jabs into my stomach instead of tearing through my virginity.
A squeak escapes my lips when he punches the desk with enough force to crumble the wood under his hand before he yanks back and storms for the exit, uncaring that his dick is still hanging out.
“Matteo—”
He’s long gone before his name slips from my lips. The office door buckles under the weight of his departure, as well as my knees when he grabs a waitress’s wrist and drags her toward the exit while muttering, “You wanna fuck? Let’s fuck.”