Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lorenzo
The water scalds my skin, but I don't adjust the temperature. I need the burn right now, need something to cut through the haze that's been clouding my brain for three days.
Since she threatened to find someone else.
My fist slams against the wall.
"The next male name I speak will be whoever I fuck instead."
Her words echo in my head for the thousandth time. The casual way she said it, makes me furious. The thought of another man's hands on her makes me want to burn this entire city to ash.
My cock throbs, hard and aching like it's been since that day at the mall. Every time I close my eyes, I see her in that blue dress. All that exposed skin, the curve of her spine, the way she looked at me over her shoulder. Daring me. Challenging me.
She's been doing it for three days straight. Those looks across the dinner table. The way she bites her lip when she catches me watching.
Yesterday, she wore one of my shirts to training. Nico raised an eyebrow, but I couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stare at my clothes on her body while my cock tried to punch through my pants. I didn't even get mad that she's stolen my shirt.
I wrap my hand around myself, desperate for relief, but stop immediately. No. I won't give in. Not like this, not when tonight I have to stand next to her at our engagement party and pretend I'm not dying to throw her over my shoulder and lock us both in my room for a week.
The water runs over my shoulders, down my chest. I press my forehead against the cool marble, trying to find some control. Some piece of the man I was before Sophia Torrino walked into my restaurant and destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself.
She keeps pushing. Every day, she pushes harder. This morning at training, she pinned me during a grappling exercise. Straddled my hips and pressed her hands to my chest, her face inches from mine.
"Do I win?" she asked, breathless and flushed.
I could have thrown her off easily. Should have. Instead, I lay there like an idiot, my cock so hard I thought I might die, while she smiled down at me like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Nico had to clear his throat three times before I remembered we weren't alone.
I turn the water colder, but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. I've tried working out until exhaustion takes me. I've tried drinking myself numb. I've tried avoiding her completely, which only makes her try harder.
She's everywhere. Her scent lingers in the hallways. Her laugh echoes from other rooms. Even when she's not physically present, she's there in my head, those honey-brown eyes challenging me, daring me to break.
The engagement party starts in two hours.
My hand moves on its own, wrapping around my length. Just once. Just to ease the pressure that's been building for days.
"I can help you there if you need it."
I freeze. My eyes snap open, and I turn to find Sophia standing in my bathroom doorway. She's wearing jeans and a white silk blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders.
"Get out." My voice comes out rough, strained.
She doesn't move. Instead, she steps closer, her eyes never leaving mine. "No."
"Sophia—"
She kicks off her heels, one at a time. They hit the marble floor with soft thuds. Then she's stepping into the shower fully dressed, the water instantly soaking through her clothes.
"What are you—"
The words die in my throat. Her white blouse turns transparent, clinging to every curve. Water streams down her face, her neck, pooling in the hollow of her throat. She looks like something out of my darkest fantasies, this stubborn, infuriating woman who refuses to let me push her away.
She trails her hand down my chest, her touch light but burning hotter than the water. Her eyes stay locked on mine, honey-brown darkened with something that makes my chest tight.
"Sophia." Her name comes out like a warning.
She rises on her toes and presses her mouth to mine. The kiss is soft at first, tentative. Then her tongue traces my bottom lip and I'm lost. My hands fist at my sides, fighting the urge to grab her, to press her against the wall and take everything she's offering.
Her hand slides lower, wrapping around my cock. I groan into her mouth, the sound torn from somewhere deep in my chest.
"Fuck."
She strokes me slowly, her grip perfect despite her inexperience. Water runs between us, her soaked clothes creating friction against my bare skin.
"Make me stop," she whispers against my lips, her hand maintaining that torturous rhythm. "If you really don't want this, make me stop."
My head falls back against the shower wall. I should. I should grab her wrist, push her away, maintain the boundaries I've been desperately trying to keep. But her hand feels like heaven and hell combined, and she has destroyed whatever self-control I had left.
"I can't." The admission tears out of me.
She makes a soft sound of triumph, her thumb circling the head of my cock in a way that makes my knees weak. Her free hand slides up my chest, nails dragging lightly across my skin.
"Good," she breathes, pressing closer despite her wet clothes. "Because I'm tired of waiting, Lorenzo. Tired of you pushing me away when we both know this is what you want."
Her hand speeds up slightly, and I bite back another groan. My hands are still fisted at my sides, knuckles white with the effort of not touching her. If I touch her now, I won't stop. I'll rip those wet clothes off her body and take her right here against the shower wall, consequences be damned.
My control shatters completely. Her hand works me with perfect pressure, her mouth hot against mine, and I can't hold back anymore.
"Sophia—" Her name breaks on my lips as I come harder than I knew was possible, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
She doesn't stop kissing me, doesn't stop stroking me through every pulse, drawing it out until I'm gasping against her mouth. My legs threaten to give out, and I have to brace one hand against the wall to stay upright.
When she finally releases me, I'm wrecked. Completely destroyed by this slip of a girl who just brought me to my knees without even taking off her clothes.
She steps back, water still streaming over her soaked blouse and jeans. Her eyes hold mine. She looks like a goddess of vengeance, beautiful and terrifying.
"There," she says softly, reaching past me to turn off the water. "Now we're even."
Even? My brain struggles to process her words through the haze of my release. She steps out of the shower, her wet clothes clinging to every curve, leaving puddles on the marble floor.
I watch, frozen in place, as she peels off her soaked blouse. The wet fabric hits the floor with a slap. Her jeans follow, the denim stubborn and clinging to her legs. She strips down to her underwear. Black lace that makes my spent cock twitch with interest again.
She grabs one of my towels, wrapping it around herself before turning back to me. I'm still standing in the shower, water dripping from my hair, trying to understand what just happened.
"I need to get dressed," she says, her voice casual like she didn't just destroy me. "I have an engagement party to attend. My fiancé is expecting me."
She picks up her wet clothes, holding them away from her body.
"You should probably get ready too," she adds, heading for the door. "Pietro won't be happy if we're late."
She pauses in the doorway, looking back at me over her shoulder. Water still clings to her skin, her hair dark and tangled from the shower. She's never looked more beautiful or more dangerous.
"Oh, and Lorenzo?" Her lips curve in a smile that promises retribution. "Next time you want to jerk off thinking about me, just ask. I might be willing to help."
Then she's gone, leaving me standing naked in my shower, my release still coating the marble wall, my brain completely scrambled.
She played me. Perfectly. Three days of torture, of pushing every button, and then she strikes when I'm most vulnerable. Takes what she wants and leaves me devastated in her wake.
I didn't touch her. Not once. My hands stayed fisted at my sides even when every instinct screamed at me to grab her, to press her against the wall, to claim her properly.
Because fucking her quickly in a shower isn't what she deserves. She deserves to be worshipped, to be taken apart slowly and carefully until she's sobbing my name.
And after tonight's party, she's going to get exactly what she's been begging for.
She'll get it all. Every dark fantasy I've been fighting. Every filthy thought that's kept me awake. I'll fuck her until she can't walk, can't think, can't remember any name but mine.
Until she's begging me to stop.
The thought should disturb me. Instead, it makes me hard again.
Sophia
I clutch the towel tighter around my body, wet clothes bundled in my arms as I peek out Lorenzo's bedroom door. The hallway stretches empty in both directions. Thank God.
My bare feet slap against the hardwood as I hurry toward my room. Every shadow makes me jump. If Pietro sees me like this, practically naked and dripping water from Lorenzo's room, I'm probably dead.
The twenty feet to my door feels like miles. My hands shake so badly I nearly drop the wet clothes twice. Finally, I slip inside and lean back against the closed door, shaking.
What did I just do?
I drop the soaked clothes in a heap and press my palms against my burning cheeks. The towel barely covers me, and I'm suddenly aware of how exposed I am, how reckless that was.
I went to his room to talk. Just talk. I was going to tell him I'm nervous about tonight's party, about facing all those people who'll judge me as a Torrino. About pretending to be in love when my feelings are anything but pretend.
I wanted to tell him I'm scared too. That I understand why he keeps pushing me away, because this thing between us terrifies me just as much.
But then I heard the shower running.
I should have left. Should have waited in his bedroom or come back later. Instead, I found myself pushing open the bathroom door, steam billowing out like an invitation.
And then I saw him.
One hand braced against the marble wall, the other... God. His head thrown back, lips parted, his eyes closed.
Every muscle in his torso stood out in sharp relief.
The V of his hips led down to where his hand moved in steady strokes.
Scars crisscrossed his chest and ribs—evidence of the violent life he leads.
Water traced each ridge and valley of muscle, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare.
He was magnificent. Dangerous and beautiful and completely lost in whatever fantasy played behind his closed eyes.
Something took over then. Not courage exactly, but something wilder. The need to touch him, to be the reality instead of the fantasy, overwhelmed every rational thought.
The look on his face when he opened his eye. He wanted to push me away. I saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands fisted at his sides.
But he didn't. He let me touch him, let me take control, let me watch him fall apart under my hands.
The power of it was intoxicating. This man who commands an empire, who has people killed with a word, trembling because of me. Coming undone because of my touch.
I loved every second of it.
But now, alone in my room with adrenaline fading, the fear creeps back in. What if I pushed too far? What if he's angry? What if this ruins everything?
I drop the towel and grab fresh underwear from the dresser, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. My hands won't stop shaking.
The black dress hangs in the closet, waiting for tonight. In less than two hours, I'll have to face Chicago's criminal elite as Lorenzo's fiancée.
And I'll have to do it all while knowing what Lorenzo looks like when he comes.
I sink onto the bed, still in just my underwear, and wrap my arms around myself. The compound feels too quiet, like everyone can hear my racing heartbeat, like they all know what I just did.