Chapter Twenty-Six
I can’t say I’m surprised he went to a lawyer, but I am surprised at how quickly he went.
He’s still unsure, the way he raised his chin in defiance by the pool, but then scurried after me, he’s conflicted, and I’m gonna enjoy wearing him down.
He was so close, verging on the edge of snapping back, then recoiling.
It’s beautiful. I find myself enjoying those moments of defiance, those little bites where he pushes back; it’s extremely sexy.
And it’s going to make his submission to the whole situation far more satisfying than I was expecting.
I’m actually enjoying having him around. I could have watched him swim for hours. His long, lean body glistened as he cut through the water; his muscles flex and twist with every stroke, and I found myself mesmerised by his movements.
The following weeks are a mix of him ignoring me, pretending I’m not in the room, his gaze darts around me, even though his skin pebbles when I speak, and he has to acknowledge me.
When he cracks and snaps back at me, the snark that seeps out before he tries to rein it in is just exquisite, and my evenings follow with me watching him swim.
I watch him strip out of his clothes. The way he slides the fabric over his body makes me hard.
The way he dives in, he’s so fucking elegant.
I watch every inch of skin as it moves and ripples under his movement.
It’s perfection. Not a mark mars it, and I want to leave teeth marks.
I want to litter it with fingerprints where I grip his hips and pound into him.
I want to kiss and bite and lick along his neck, his jaw, his shoulder.
I want to suck and bruise that sensitive bit right behind his ear.
I long to mark his perfect chest, his defined abs, the way he licks his lips when he’s thinking.
I want to bite that lip. I want to see the blood pool, and I groan.
“Mr Ricci.” I’m broken from my inner thoughts by the housekeeper.
“Mr Ricci hasn’t arrived home yet.” I glare at her before checking my watch.
I’ve been so lost in my thoughts, and I hadn’t realised how late it was.
I pull out my phone and dial his number; straight to voicemail.
I pull up the tracking app because I’m not completely insane.
His phone is in the back of the university car park.
I check his watch tracking, and that’s in the same place as his phone.
I pull up the car’s data. Same place as the phone and the watch.
Maybe he’s just sitting there talking to a friend.
But that thought sparks something in me.
He’s been consistent in his timing arriving home.
He’s normally home within thirty minutes.
But, checking my watch, he’s over an hour late.
That doesn’t feel right. I clench my fists, the hairs on the back of my neck tingle, and I snarl.
“I’ll deal with it,” I snap as I rush to my feet and head to the university.
I swear if he’s with a girl, I will wring his neck. If he’s with a guy, then all bets are off. I’ll destroy them both.