Chapter 9 Dahlia
DAHLIA
Idon’t know what it is, but something overcomes me as I glance at the window and catch Mika staring at me.
My brain short-circuits. He drove me to absolute insanity tonight.
And coupled with the smug look I witness, daring me, I break apart and in a split second, I plant my mouth on Tristan’s before quickly retracting.
My eyes bug out, not believing I just kissed him.
I lost it. There’s no other explanation.
My heart beats a frantic rhythm, threatening to deafen me.
What have I done? Oh, my god. Anger shifts to clarity, and I gulp the rest of my drink, needing the hard alcohol to process my action and the implicit consequences.
“That was unexpected,” Tristan says, a smirk curling up the corners of his mouth. “Respect.”
I blink at him, still processing my out of the ordinary reaction.
I wouldn’t consider it a kiss. It didn’t even last a full second.
Not that Tristan isn’t handsome. He is—from his brown hair, thicker on top and trimmed on the sides, to those deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes and sculpted lips with a small mole on the side, to a well-crafted body.
Any woman would want him. He just has a certain something that intrigues you.
I guess I am the only unlucky one not to. Or lucky, I guess, depending on how you see it. His style speaks of refinement. He almost fools you into thinking he’s a gentleman, but behind his tailored-made suits lies a predator who leads his family with an iron fist.
My mind clears, and reality seeps through the fog, realizing what I did. I put his life in danger for what? A dangerous game?
Kirill, my personal guard, leans into me. My entire body freezes—not because of his nearness but because he interacts with me only if there is something important to discuss.
“The boss requires your presence,” he says in a neutral tone, but beneath the surface lies an undercurrent of worry.
I swallow, nerves running rampant through my insides, and I glance at Tristan, who appears as if he has no care. It must be nice to be that freaking smug.
“Dahlia, don’t worry about me. Now, go get your prize.
” He winks at me. Standing up, he towers over everyone as he buttons up his suit jacket.
Handsome, successful, and dangerous. Someone who could match Mika.
Yet my heart doesn’t even twitch. I am numb to him, like I am toward the entire male population, save one.
I remain frozen in place. Maybe if I don’t react, I’ll turn invisible and escape this situation of my making. Tiny breaths puff out of me in a vain attempt to ground myself.
Prolonging it would only make it worse.
And fuck Mika. He’s not my boss. That doesn’t diminish the control he has over my body, the grip he has on my heart. He owns every beat.
Fighting it would be futile.
I witnessed his state tonight and ignored all signs, spiraling in my hurt because his pain triggered mine. Damn this connection that is embedded in my life essence.
I give the guard a small nod, infusing more cheer and strength than I possess.
As I glance up toward the glass, I gulp. He’s there, biding his time. He sweeps his intense gaze from me to follow Tristan. Most surely thinking of a hundred ways to kill him for kissing me—kissing what is his. That’s the undeniable, unalterable fact.
On unsteady legs, I follow the guard. The music vibrates through me, playing with my nerves as Kirill makes sure the partygoers part for me, eyeing me with rapt curiosity. Great. Chin held high, I square my shoulders and plaster a smile on my face. Tonight took a wild detour.
Inside the elevator, I wrap my arms around myself. A strange mix of nerves and spite flows through my insides, making me want to simultaneously run away from him and straight into his arms.
Kirill extends his arm for me to enter the elevator, and the two guards stand taller on each side. When the doors slide closed, my pulse spikes up, and a sheen of sweat covers my nape. The whole situation is thrilling yet terrifying.
Don’t bring me up. That’s what I want to say to the inanimate thing, but I guess it’s time to face the consequences.
I burst out into hysterical laughter. I am pretty sure that if it weren’t for my brother being away, we would never have gotten ourselves into this predicament. It’s ironic. But I guess there is a higher power pulling the strings of my life, turning me into a puppet.
A stuttered breath rolls out of my mouth once the elevator halts, I walk out and straight into his office, bracing myself for the storm.
The door closes behind me, sounding final. I flinch as it traps me with Mika inside his office. I can’t escape him, anyway.
He’s leaning on the edge of his desk. My gaze follows the length of his body, starting from his leather shoes to the veins pulsing in his thick neck. His hair looks as if he raked his hands through it many times, seeking clarity.
My anxiety reaches a new level—so intense I can barely keep myself upright. But I feel so alive, proud that I am the only one who can shatter his control, who has so much power over him. Yes, because he’s mine just as much, even if he denies it.
That knowledge infuses me with a shot of confidence that shatters the moment my eyes meet his. His silver eyes light up; I expect any moment lightning to gather in them and strike me. He’s beyond handsome. A man who has the strength of thousands and the beauty of a god.
“What do you want?” I blurt out because every second he keeps quiet, I lose a bit of my mind.
He cocks his head. “Ah, baby girl, keep fucking up.”
I can’t believe his nerve. I march to him and stab a finger in his chest, frustrated that I can’t even leave an indent. He’s made of stone—body and heart. No wonder I always clash, breaking every bone and my heart whenever I try to get inside of him.
His hand flies to my neck, and he splays it over my heated skin, his fingers going up to my cheeks—not too hard, but hard enough to trap me. He easily subdues me, creating an inferno of want inside of me.
His eyes bore into mine as he lowers his forehead and presses it to mine. His hot breath fans my lips that hunger for him to kiss me—erase this perpetual thirst.
“What’s your problem?” I shout, pouring all my exasperation into it.
One of us will surrender, and it won’t be me.
He gnashes his teeth, and his voice drops to arctic cold. “How do you want him to die?”
I gulp. “Tristan has nothing to do with this. And you wouldn’t do it.”
He would. I have no doubt. Maybe I should retreat and come up with a better tactic.
His fingers dig deeper into my cheeks, forcing me to keep eye contact. He fires balls of electricity that zap through me, and it’s getting harder to breathe at the sheer intensity. The tension between us is so fiery, it wouldn’t surprise me if we caught fire.
“Stop me if you can.”
“It was me. I kissed him,” I confess, aware I gambled and lost. And now it’s time to pay my debt.
For a few seconds, betrayal flickers in his eyes, and that feels like a fist squeezing around my heart. No, I refuse to feel guilty. This ordeal is his fault.
Releasing me, he turns his back to me, slamming his fist into his desk hard enough that it might crack.
His muscles strain, threatening to rip the shirt on his back.
He’s teetering on the edge of control. But what pisses me off is that he’s still fighting himself.
I am here. His. So damn his that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t erase the indelible mark he has stamped all over my soul and body.
Yet, nothing I could do would crack him.
“Well, nice chat. See you around,” I force a cheer in my voice just to piss him off some more. I am about to move when he prowls to me, blocking my way.
His eyes charge like an explosive ready to go off. “Such a brat, and my palm is fucking itching.”
“Itching to do what?” I sass, arching a brow and continuing to provoke him.
“You want to act like a brat? Then you’re not leaving me another option.” He smirks. “Lockdown.”
One second later, a metallic wall slides down the window and the elevator—the only exit—trapping me inside with no way out.
The room plunges into darkness, save for the small circle of light from the lamp on his desk.
In one hasty move, he pushes me toward his desk.
My palms land on either side of me, the hard slap causing the contents to rattle like my insides.
I don’t know what is happening. It’s too much, but not enough.
Something foreign but familiar. His touch, his imposing presence, his demanding nature.
Everything in me demands to obey, to surrender.
A tremor wracks me the moment his finger glides down my spine, leaving goose bumps behind. My nipples pucker and desire unfurls low in my belly. Heavy pants roll out of my mouth, and my vision blurs. From one simple touch.
I lick my lips, my voice barely a whisper. “What are you doing?”
“Savor it, baby girl. What comes next is not for enjoyment, but punishment,” he says low, his hoarse voice tinged with a hint of desperation.
I almost choke on the spit gathering in my mouth.
My thighs clench at that word. I don’t know what is wrong with me to like the sound of my impending punishment. Maybe because I know this side is a part of him. Maybe because I trust him more than I trust anyone else. Or maybe I wish to be punished for putting us through the last three days.
I know we’re forbidden. He’s my brother’s best friend, and Enzo would never rest until he knew the entire story, would feel betrayed that we suddenly developed feelings for each other.
This is all I have. A few days with him before it ends.
“Punish me then,” I give him the permission he doesn’t need. It feels like I give him more than that, the permission to wreck me completely.