Chapter 15 #2
But then her lips part, and her soft whimper drags through my chest like a fucking blade.
My fingers clench in her wet hair as she kisses me back. Not tentative. Not unsure.
Certain.
Her mouth claims mine like it was made for this. For me.
It’s madness.
Indulgence.
Stupidity laced with starvation.
And I fucking slip, falling right into the illusion, where her lips feel like mercy and her hands make a liar out of every defense I swore I had.
Fuck.
I pull back. Just an inch. A breath.
I need to reset. Regain control. To stop spiraling into the eye of the storm she’s become.
But she stares at me. Wild-eyed. Cheeks flushed. Lashes spiked with seawater.
The trembling in her limbs has stilled. Her lips, once tinged with blue, are now a lush, damning red.
“Is that what you wanted?” I add steel to my voice. Force detachment into every syllable.
“Yes.” Her hands glide to the back of my neck, the drag of her nails awakening goose bumps along my nape. “But it’s not enough.”
My pulse slams.
“I want more,” she whispers.
I fist her hair tighter. A warning. A punishment.
“I feel nothing, Isla,” I grit out.
She flinches but doesn’t retreat.
She reads me. Not just with her eyes but her fucking soul.
I glare through it. Force myself to withstand it.
I feel nothing. I have to feel nothing.
“I don’t care,” she finally admits, inching closer, reclaiming the space I carved between us.
Her lashes flutter closed. Her breath ghosts across my mouth.
But she just waits there. Poised at the precipice. Driving me straight into hell.
“Please,” she murmurs.
It’s one word.
A whisper.
A goddamn weapon.
And I fucking succumb.
This time the kiss isn’t cruel. It’s catastrophic. A savage strike of retaliation meant to put her in her place.
I devour her mouth as if we’re at war. As if breaking her open fast enough will allow me to find the part of her that still hates me.
Yet instead of wilting, she moans.
Soft. Willing.
Alive.
Her nails scour my neck as she shifts in my lap. A slow, merciless grind that lights my nerves on fire.
I clamp a hand to her thigh, my fingers digging into the silk of her stockings in a silent command to stop.
She doesn’t.
She leans into it. No shame in her whimpers. No remorse in the timid movement of her ass against my lap.
I kiss her harder. Meaner. Desperate to destroy the intimacy she’s creating from nothing but violence and heat.
She gasps into my mouth, feeding my hunger instead of flinching from it.
I bite her lip. Hard. Then chase the sting with a ruthless sweep of my tongue.
Still, she moans.
Needier.
Greedier.
It should disgust me, the way she melts for cruelty. But all it does is fracture the walls I’ve built between us, stripping logic from lust, making me fucking rabid for more.
I yank at her hair, tilting her head back, holding her captive as I ease my palm to the hem of her skirt.
“You still want more, piccola tormenta?” I growl against her lips.
“Mmm.” She nods, her eyes remaining closed, skin flushed, mouth swollen.
Breathtaking.
Infuriating.
My hand drifts higher. Slow. Certain. Disobedient.
I should stop. Should fucking think. If only for a second.
Yet coherence is a luxury I no longer possess. I’m lost to her. To the soft rake of her tongue across her bottom lip. To the devastation in her surrender as her legs clench around my hand.
It’s instinct.
Biology.
We could’ve died, and now my body wants to claim what nearly slipped through my fingers.
To anchor. Mark. Breed. Own.
“You want me to touch you?” I reach the inner seam of her panties, her stockings just a whisper of resistance between me and holy fucking ruin.
She nods, the towel slipping from her shoulders. Her blouse clings to her body, translucent over the lace bra beneath.
I’m tempted to latch my mouth over a beaded nipple. To suck. To scrape. To make her scream.
I maintain my grip in her hair while I drag my thumb down the heart of her, over her stockings and underwear, my lips whispering above hers, my eyes closing to the madness as I trail a thumb toward her clit.
She’s so fucking perfect.
The sight. The sound. The smell.
I could stay here forever. On the brink. Poised between heaven and hell.
I wouldn’t have her, but neither would I lose her.
“Please,” she rasps.
A plea.
A summons.
A fucking annihilation of every shred of control I have left.
I drag my thumb lower, finding that sweet spot. The second I brush her clit she shudders, her nails turning into claws against my scalp.
“More,” she whimpers.
God help me.
I keep the pressure steady, circling slowly as her back arches and her delicate neck lengthens like an offering.
She pants, wild and rhythmic, as I drag my lips across her cheek.
“I can give you the high, Isla.” I dig my fingers into her stockings, on the verge of tearing them to get to the holy grail beneath. “Just remember I won’t be there when you come crashing back down.”
She moans, not hearing the threat through the pleasure. The sound so devastatingly carnal it almost buries the creak of floorboards echoing from the hall.
I still.
She stiffens.
And the siren spell she summoned splinters as we pause in the growing silence.
What the fuck am I doing?
Using her? Indulging myself? Pretending this is control when all I’ve done is hand her a weapon and begged to be shanked?
She’s in shock for God’s sake.
And I’m sitting here, feeding on her weakness like some cheap opportunist. I’m stronger than this. At least I’m supposed to be.
“We’re done here.” I look away, hoping the dismissal will urge her to scramble off my lap.
“Raffael, please don’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to. I hear it anyway.
Don’t back away. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t hurt me again.
I clench my teeth, having no choice.
“You’d prefer to be cheapened in front of my crew?” I glance back at her, sharp as broken glass.
Big mistake.
Huge.
She stares at me, her sad, tired eyes pleading for mercy. “Don’t.”
I scoff, bitter through the ache boring through my sternum. “It was a life-or-death situation, sweetheart. We got carried away. Don’t forget you’ve got integrity.”
Her eyes harden. “And don’t pretend you don’t care. You jumped in after me. You risked your life to save mine.”
“Of course I fucking did. I don’t need the complication of you dying on my yacht.”
She flinches as if I’ve struck her but raises her chin. “Here we go again. This charade is on repeat.”
I grab her hips, lift her off my lap, and set her on the floor. “What charade?”
“The one where you think your biting words speak louder than your actions.” She holds my gaze as I climb to my feet, my jacket sodden and pants heavy.
“You threaten me, then sleep on top of the covers. You’re cold and callous, but somehow my favorite meals show up on cue.
And then there’s the partnership—the convenient out that comes at your own expense. ”
I roll my eyes and snag a hand through my hair.
Breathe.
Focus.
“You’re reaching for something that isn’t there,” I warn.
“Am I?” There’s a plea in her voice. A sorrow so raw it flays me. “Despite the agreement, I know you won’t hurt me.”
“No?” I look down my nose at her. “Haven’t I already been doing that for years?”
Her shoulders tense. It’s another painful reminder of the damage I’ve inflicted. “You’re turned on, Raffael. You want me.”
True.
So goddamn fucking true.
“Wanting to fuck a broken little lamb doesn’t make me a good guy,” I snarl.
She gapes, as if the malice has reached down into her lungs and stolen the air she breathes.
All I can do is stand there and take it.
Pretend I’m not affected.
“I’m sorry to inform you your needy display didn’t save you from the mess you’ve created.” I give her a sad smile tinged with condescension. “Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed.” She stumbles to her feet, shaky.
I force my hands to stay at my sides—to not steady her.
Then that creaking from the hall returns, the sound of moving floorboards triggering rage I struggle to contain.
I twist toward the door, my pulse flaring. “Who’s there?”
More silence.
“Who the fuck is in the corridor?” I demand.
The door creaks open.
The prick who almost got her killed creeps forward.
“I found your phone,” he mumbles, raising my cell in his hand. “I thought you might want it.”
Red.
It’s all I see.
I thunder toward him, not giving a fuck when he scampers backward in retreat.
“Do you realize what you did?” I grab him around the throat and slam him into the wall. “You could’ve fucking killed her.”
“Raffael, no.” Isla scrambles forward.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I tighten my grip.
“I’m sorry.” He cowers. “I-I—”
“You made her fucking fall.” I snatch my cell from his hand and shove it into my pocket. “Her death would’ve been on you.”
He nods. “I’m sorry, sir. I-I—”
“Raffael, please.” Isla tugs at my arm. “You’re hurting him.”
“You need to get off my yacht,” I snarl in his face. “Now. Before I kill you.”
“Raffael.” Isla fights to unlatch my hand. “Stop.”
“She thinks I’m bluffing.” I hold his gaze. “But you know me, right? You know my family. My heritage. You’re well aware if you don’t get out of my sight you won’t live to see tomorrow.”
His head jerks in a frantic nod. “I do.”
“Then vanish.” I release him with a shove. “Before I make your disappearance permanent.”
He scrambles up the stairs on hands and feet as I pivot back to Isla.
She looks at me like she’s never seen me before.
And maybe she hasn’t. Not like this. Not without the suit, the smirk, the polish.
The curtain’s down, and all that’s left is blood and bone and fury.
“That’s how you should act around me.” I stab a finger in the direction the asshole fled and fight to level my breathing. “That’s the fear my family has earned.”
She raises her chin. Her fragility remains, clinging to the clumped lengths of her damp hair. But her fire still burns through the cracks.
“Go, Isla,” I snap. “Get out of those wet clothes and make yourself presentable. Just because you flirted with death doesn’t mean the slate is wiped clean.”