23. Ara
Iwasn’t expecting the head of the Italian Mafia’s penthouse to look so…ordinary. Luxurious, yes. However, I also expected… I don’t know… spiked heads on the wall or something.
The apartment is immaculate. Deep, woody tones are painted throughout. It’s big… too big for a man to possibly live in by himself. However as I glance behind at Lorenzo, I consider maybe Luca is never truly alone. I doubt he cooks or cleans for himself. I imagine the only thing he is willing to do himself is bloody his hands. That’s because he enjoys it.
I walk down three steps and into an entertainment room with ceiling to floor bay windows admiring the perfect view of central park. It all seems peculiar to be invited in here. I knew his address and how often he frequents this apartment. I never thought I’d manage to get in here…so freely at that. It was a test no doubt.
“You can leave, Lorenzo,” Luca says. The burly head of security seems unsure as to whether he should leave. From what I can sense, no one else is in the apartment. It was rather flattering that at least his personal bodyguard considered me as a threat. “Go make sure her friends make it home safely.”
My eyebrows furrow in confusion as Lorenzo dips his head respectfully and then leaves. “Why would you ask that of him?” I ask pulling the suit jacket closer around me. The moment I realize I’m doing it, I throw his jacket off. It’s too big for me. It comes down to my knees, and it smells like him. I now smell like him.
“You’re worried about them, aren’t you?” he asks as he pours a glass of red wine and offers it to me. I don’t take it. The truth is, after the drive, I need more fresh air—not another drink—as I try to sober up.
I had sent them text messages to inform them I left and asked them to let me know when they got home safely as well. I look at the time on my phone and still haven’t received a reply, and it’s a little past two in the morning.
Luca steps into my space and places his hand on my chin. He tilts my head to the side, assessing me. “The marks have gone down, though I doubt you’ll be able to sit for a few days.”
Red streaks my cheeks. I actually let him spank me and wrap a belt around my throat. Worse? I got off on it. Does that make me just as much of a sicko as him?
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says as he grabs my hand. My eyebrows furrow at his tender grip as he walks me down a hallway, through a bedroom, and past a bed with wooden posts. When we walk into the ensuite, I see a spa bath is already filled with hot, steamy water.
“What is this?” I ask, finally building the courage to pull my hand out of his.
“I had the housemaid run us a bath prior to arriving. I’ve also organized your preferred brand of cleansers, night creams, and something for you to change into. My jaw opens.
“Because that’s not creepy at all,” I say.
“I don’t need to hear that from you of all people,” he hauntingly says as he checks the temperature of the water. “Now strip.”
I must be out of my fucking mind right now. I glance out the window that overlooks Central Park and the busy night life. Out of all the places I could be in the city how had I wound up here? “What twisted game are you playing right now?”
He sits at the edge of the spa bath impatiently and blows out an irritated breath. “You smell like sweaty, disgusting people, and I can’t stand it. Besides I want to clean the cum off your legs so I can replace it.”
My jaw tightens. Some of the things he says are still shocking, vulgar, and possessive. “I’m not just going to be your little side piece because you say so.”
He stands with a wicked smile. Shades of the dimly lit light highlight the sharp cheekbones and full lips. Swollen lips from where I’d bitten and demanded more from him. He presses me against the bathroom counter and places his hand on either side of me.
“You want someone to tell you sweet nothings. A nice guy.”
I choke out a startled laugh. “Are you serious? You’re what trying to be…nice?”
He casually shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it nice, per se. Rather self-serving. Now take off this dress before I do.”
A breath rattles out of me. Is this just prelude to him drowning me like some kind of trophy brought back to his den?
“No, I don’t have intentions of drowning you in my bathtub,” he chastises. I shudder under the impression he just read my mind. Or the realization I’ve become so transparent to this man that he misses nothing.
Luca drops to his knees, and I flinch as he carefully begins to undo my heel. It’s almost comical seeing such a large man bent over to undo something as delicate as my heel strap. He slides the first heel off and puts it to the side.
Confused, I do as he says and undo my dress. I look behind at the mirror and see two bruise marks strapped across my ass. Wow. It hurt at the time… but I also enjoyed it. To see his branding is surreal. A reminder his brutal nature isn’t so far beneath the surface. It needs to be quenched in every sense.
I step out of my second heel and feel almost exposed as he looks back up at me through thick eyelashes. When he stands, I’ve dropped further in height without my heels and crane my neck to look up at him.
He seems to struggle with himself. I can see the burning desire in his gaze, but he steps away and clears his throat gesturing to the bathtub.
“I’m still not going to drown you,” he says as he picks up his glass of red wine and takes a sip. “I’m going to get you a bottle of water. When I return you better be in that bathtub.”
He closes the door behind him and I’m left in his bathroom. Alone. I’m waiting for the joke or for someone to jump out and attack me, but nothing happens. I look at myself in the mirror as if looking at myself for the first time. Small bruises mark my body from his possessive grip. I touch myself realizing how much cum remains. Both his and mine.
Am I out of my fucking mind for having sex with this man? Sure, I’m on birth control but that doesn’t mean accidents don’t happen.
I step into the bath a shiver racing over my spine at its stark heat. It’s deep and I let it swallow me whole. I sit at the edge looking out the window, embracing the heat that’s quick to go to my head with the mixture of alcohol.
Luca steps back into the room grabbing his glass of wine and passes me a bottle of water. I carefully take it, skeptical.
“No, it doesn’t have poison in it,” he adds as he sits on the outer edge of the bath still clothed.
His momentary kindness is confusing. I want to ask him if he’s going to join me but it also feels too intimate. He grabs the loofah and my preferred shower gel. “Turn around,” he commands.
“Why?” I ask.
“So I can wash you.”
My eyebrows furrow as I turn. I either hit my head at the club or drank way too much because none of these actions add up to the file or firsthand impression I have of Luca Armani. The warm loofah circles against my back. I can barely breathe as I focus on each swirl and stroke.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask nervously. I don’t like it. This level of intimacy. The parallel version of what I’d seen of Luca already. This is not the man I know. Not that I entirely know how to deal with that version, but this version is…almost gentle. And entirely not Luca Armani.
“All pets need to be bathed at some point, don’t they?”
My teeth grind, and surprisingly a laugh echoes behind me. I awkwardly look over my shoulder awestruck. A genuine laugh. Something that is beautiful and frightening in equal measure. If I’m seeing this surely I’m already dead.
The loofah rolls over my shoulder and across my chest. I can’t help but notice how sensual the traces are under his unyielding attention. I grab the water bottle and gulp. Am I drunk?
“I’ll ask you again, Ara. Why are you stalking me?” he asks.
“Stalked,” I correct. “Past tense. I don’t find you interesting anymore.”
He chuckles and his voice comes out like a sweet caress and promise. “Oooh, but surely you don’t think you have the choice to leave, now do you?”
His hand trails down my stomach, and my eyes lock with his. “You don’t own me, Luca.”
The hand continues lower and the rough bristle of the loofah rubs against my sensitive clit. He shifts his hand so his fingers rub against my lips. “I would say there’s plenty of me that owns you, wouldn’t you agree?”
My body naturally sinks into him and I hate that his chest turns into the support I need when his finger dips into my swollen pussy. “Now I’ll ask again nicely, sweetheart. What are you trying to gain from me?”
“Your charming personality of course,” I say dryly.
A second finger dips inside of me, and I know my back is soaking his dress shirt, but I don’t even care. The suction from the warm bath adds another element of pressure.
He leans into me, his hot breath against my ear. “I’ve been called many things. Charming is not one of them. You are mine, Ara, until I say otherwise. Do you understand me?”
At the fierceness of his words, I slowly open my eyes, competing with pleasure and determination. Fuck does the bastard know how to make me come undone.
“I plan on keeping you here. Filling you with my cock for the next twenty-four hours. I want you so swollen by Monday that every time you try to sit down, you’re reminded of how my cock feels in that sweet cunt of yours. I’m going to brand your ass black and blue and you’re going to beg me for more.”
Fuck.
He slips in a third finger and I moan every time his fingers curl and hit that spot.
“Why?” I breathlessly say. “You can have anyone.”
“It’s only you I want.”
His words shouldn’t give me any kind of comfort, but those final two pumps put me over the edge, and I’m a traitor to myself. Fuck does he smell good. Fuck does he feel good.
Then I’m also suddenly reminded these are the hands of a murderer. A man who wears a mask and tricks others into submission.
I’m falling for it. Well, at least my body is.