Chapter Forty #3
I stare at him, a few weighted seconds passing while he stares back, and I contemplate this…
attraction. Yes, I hate it. But then it’s not just me who’s feeling it.
As confirmed by the way his dark eyes are now gliding down my chest, coveting the new piercing in my left nipple.
I didn’t have it the last time he saw me…
Maybe I was on the right track at Edge. Maybe distraction could be my weapon for now…
Until I get that knife back.
Setting down the clothes he gave me, I lift an accusatory brow. “You’re just going to sit there while I get dressed?”
“Is that a problem?” He murmurs snidely.
“Yes,” I grumble, battling his condescension with my own snark. “Ever heard of privacy?”
His grin goes devilish. “But I’ve kissed it, carino.” He leans back on his elbows. “Tasted it… Run my tongue up and down it while you—”
“That was through the clothes,” I teem under my breath.
We go on having another staring contest until he eventually sighs and lies back again, petulantly covering his eyes with his hands.
“Better, baby bird?”
My jaw tics in endless irritation for this psychotic asshole and his bizarre seductive superpowers. Honestly, how can he be so infuriating while also being solely responsible for the yearning flames licking my insides…? All those spots only he seems to set on fire.
Spinning, I give him my back, assuming he’ll be peeking, because he doesn’t exactly boast integrity. The thought has me smirking to myself while I drop my towel, looking over what he picked for me and wondering if there was any rhyme or reason to his selection.
But as soon as I see what it is, I realize… yea. There is definitely a reason.
It’s a dress. Similar to the negligee I was wearing for way too long, which I have since thrown away—so I guess it’s nice that there’s another one like it.
Ugh, focus, you ditz! This is awkward.
I’m not sure why he’s giving me a dress to put on right now. Does he think this is all I wear after he saw me in one last night?
And how would he have known that if he built this place four years ago??
I want to ask these questions, but he already told me to stop once, and I don’t exactly want to piss him off more. I mean, I do, but I probably shouldn’t.
Right now I’m jut nervous because I don’t know what he wants from me. I have a few ideas… The dress from Fendi’s escort collection confirms it a bit more.
Either way, I think I’m more worried about keeping myself under control than him, and that’s a problem.
Releasing a breath, I bite the bullet and just step into the underwear, since I’m taking way too long.
They’re a bit more normal than the lace ones.
Not that I have a problem with lace… I think we know I don’t.
But it’s not something I wear all the time, especially when being held hostage inside a giant birdcage by a rich, evil mafioso.
It just screams, You belong to me now, another idea I refuse to deal with my eager feelings on right now.
These panties are closer to what I usually like to wear for everyday occasions, only the ones I buy are technically for men, and these are not.
There should be no conceivable reason he would know that, though, since I was wearing regular briefs during our last encounter.
Granted, they were still bougie as hell.
I haven’t worn straight guy undies since I was like thirteen.
You could say I have a thing for undergarments. Not quite a kink, I don’t think… But I definitely feel sexier when I’m wearing some hot panties.
Let’s just say you won’t catch me in boxers. No shade, there are just so many better options to make my butt look fucking awesome. If they happen to technically be designed for women, so be it.
He also gave me knee-high stockings to go with the dress, but I’m going to pass since I’m sorta feeling how smooth my legs are right now.
Lastly, I pull the dress on over my head, unable to help the subtle grin tweaking my lips. I look hot, which pisses me off even more, so I scowl it down.
I hate admitting that he somehow knows my style. I also hate the way the attention to detail in this abduction is starting to make it feel like I do belong to him now.
Like he’s a sultan and I’m the concubine he just bought with an ox and some spices from the east.
I catch sight of the price tag on the dress and roll my eyes to the moon and back.
This is just… entirely too much.
Thoughtful kidnapping cannot possibly be a thing. Though if it were, I think it’d be right up El Diablo’s alley.
Turning back around, I step tentatively over to the bed while watching him. Lying half-on, his long legs bent over the edge while he covers his eyes with his hands. I have to bite my lip to hold a chuckle in.
He just looks so ridiculous doing that. El Presidente of the Colombian cartel, in his affluent attire… It’s odd to see him acting like a normal person, and a goofy one, at that.
But again, I don’t really know him. This is only the third time I’ve spoken words to him. Already a longer encounter than last night, though we really just went straight from me threatening him to me on my back with his lips running up my inner thigh…
Fuck.
As much as it feels like we should know one another, we still don’t. More to the point, I don’t believe anyone truly knows Manuel Blanco.
“Are you done??” He barks, sitting up and reaching one of his hands out in front of him. As if he really isn’t peeking at all. “I know girls take longer to get ready, but I’m way too impatient for that. If you’re not done yet, I’ll dress you myself.”
My lips curve. Completely against my will.
“Angelito?” Brow creasing, his mouth slopes into this sort of lop-sided grin. “Are you about to kill me…?”
A snort bursts out of me, and he finally uncovers his eyes. His expression is one of boyish amusement. But the grin melts off as he gawks, round, dark eyes running from my bare feet up my frame, slowly, until they eventually land on my face.
My burning hot fucking face.
The thing is, he’s not giving me the I’m going to eat you alive look. It’s in there, but it’s hidden behind some other things. And those are what’s currently making me want to puke all over my fancy dress.
He thinks I’m weird…
He doesn’t understand me.
I mean, I don’t understand me either. But he’s The Ivory…
He knew my father well.
Is he thinking about how disappointed my father would be…? That his son likes to dress in women’s clothes…
I feel like we’ve been silent for way too long, and I’m shifting my weight, wondering how I can squirm away from his scrutinizing.
“You’re oh-for-three, pajarito.” He finally says, softly.
His face is gleaming. Villainous, but still… unexpectedly vibrant. Shinier than I ever expected the evil fucker who ruined my life to look.
Is he teasing to hide his discomfort?
Does he even experience discomfort? Don’t you have to be human to feel such things?
“I told you, when I kill you, it’ll be with my father’s knife,” I murmur, taunting him while he continues to stare. “Is this why you’re really holding me in here? So you can pick out my clothes and dress me up like your own life-sized Barbie…”
A sinfully delighted smile swoops up his unreasonably pink lips. But I can’t even focus on how much its sheer prettiness is bothering me…
I’m too busy quivering from the even bigger bucket of ice-cold insecurities I just dumped over my own head with my stupid joke.
Barbie… Really??
You had to call yourself a girl and a doll in the same breath…
What the hell is wrong with you?
Sure, he doesn’t seem weirded out. But I’m panicking a little, and I don’t even understand why.
It was a joke… Fuck, lighten up.
Not every word out of your mouth needs to mean something.
“You caught me,” his voice comes out in an almost seductive purr as he stands. Close enough that if I wiggle my toes, they’ll touch his fancy Italian loafers. “I always wanted my very own dolly to play with. Do you not like the stockings?”
“They’re… nice,” I mumble. His head slants. “But, um… I don’t need them.”
He nods, hovering, covetous gaze pouring over me once more.
I’m not breathing. Which is a problem, since my heart is beating way too fast and I really need to take a breath.
But instead I’m just locked in place by his glittery black irises, and the scent of him, like rich leather, saffron and smoke.
He smells exactly like an attractive man twice your age who looks at you like he wants to drape you over his lap and bring one of those large, dominant hands down against the quivering flesh of your ass in a delectable smack!
I flinch when he reaches out to touch a wisp of my hair. Unaffected by my jumpiness. I’m sure he likes it.
“It’s longer than the last time I saw you,” he murmurs, sounding almost awestruck. By my hair having grown out a few inches.
As if it’s some illustrious magic trick only I can perform, not a basic human trait.
“Well, it has been four years,” I quip, just barely pulling off the sass I was going for.
“Oh, has it, guasón?” He deadpans, scoldingly, though there’s too much amusement on that pink fucking mouth. I huff and bite a grin away while he watches it closely. “I hadn’t noticed the longest four years in recorded history.”
My grin slips away and I gape up at him. He’s really only an inch or so taller than me, but I’m sure I’ll always be looking up at him…
A scared little boy on the floor of the closet.
Why is he saying these things to me…?
Like last night… Acting as if he missed me terribly. Like he’s been driving himself mad waiting for me to show up and try to kill him again. It makes no sense.
He’s my parents’ killer, and I’m the true heir to the throne he sits on.
We’re enemies. But more than even that, we’re virtual strangers.
The longest four years…? Really??
“You already have me in the cage, Diablo,” I mutter. “You don’t have to feed me lines like you’re trying to pick me up in a bar. As we speak, I’m your prisoner.”
“Why are you being grumpy?” He asks calmly.