Chapter 6 #3
I don’t flinch. "I walked into the right one." The silence that follows isn’t playful at all. He stares at me. Something in his face shifts. The laughter is gone. The room feels different now. He sits there, not saying a word, and I suddenly become very aware of how close I am to him.
"Why do I have to kiss you, Weston?"
I look at the floor. My voice comes out rough. "Because… she flirted with you."
Gio blinks. I press on, the words tumbling faster now. "She was looking at you like she’d forgotten I even existed." I break off, swallowing. "So since she used you to get under my skin," I mutter, staring at the floor, "maybe I can use you to get under hers…"
Oh dear God. If he tells me to get the hell out, I’ll just nod. I’ll nod and walk out and disappear into the mountains forever. Because after that line, I deserve it.
His brow lifts slowly. "So… you’re using me?" There is a pause, a little too long. Then Gio gives a short laugh. "Damn," he says, shaking his head with a crooked grin. "Didn’t think you had it in you, Rava."
I stiffen. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
He shrugs lazily. "I always thought you were the type to take the moral high ground. You know, let her go, be the better man, blah blah. But no. You wanna hit her where it hurts."
He leans in, smirking. "And where it hurts is me, huh?"
I exhale sharply through my nose. "Don’t flatter yourself." "Oh, sweetheart. Too late." He takes a sip of his drink, studying me over the rim. He enjoys this.
"But still," he says, setting the glass down, "asking me to kiss you? That’s wild. I thought you were straight."
I stare at him. "This isn’t about that."
"Oh, I think it’s very much about that."
I look away, regretting everything again. "Maybe this was a mistake, I’m sorry, I don’t even know what I’m doing," I mutter.
I stand, ready to leave, but he grabs my wrist before I can go far and pulls me back down.
I sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t let go, even when I’m seated. "Why do you want this, really?" he asks again, quieter now. I hesitate.
"Because I don’t want her to think she can win. I don’t want to feel like I’m the one who cared more. She humiliated me, Gio. And you… you could make it look like I’ve already moved on. Like I don’t even see her anymore."
"Well," he says, head tilting, "you’d wish you’d moved on with me. That would actually be an upgrade."
My jaw drops. I shove him softly.
"It’s fake," I mutter. "And I want it to stay fake."
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he steps in front of me, and while I’m sitting on his bed, he reaches down and hooks a finger under my chin. He lifts my face toward his, slowly. "First of all," he murmurs, lips curving, "don’t use the word ‘is’ like we’ve already agreed. I don’t remember saying yes."
I swallow hard. He’s right. I swear, the room tightens. His finger is still under my chin, keeping my face tilted up, not letting me look away.
I shut my mouth fast. I don’t trust myself to speak. He moves his tongue slowly across his teeth, exhaling through his nose as he crosses his arms. "So, let me get this straight," he says coldly.
"You want me to risk your dad skinning us alive, or, worse. Throwing me out of the next meeting, blacklisting me, physically torturing me, maybe even having one of his guards kill me, all so you can pretend to be over your ex?"
I don’t say anything. He tilts his head.
"For a kiss that’s meant to belong to a girl who tried to crawl into my lap a few days ago? That’s what we’re doing?"
I look down again. Shit.
"That’s… disgusting," he says. "It’s sick."
I stay quiet. But then he lets out a sigh. A smirk creeps back on his lips, too slow to be innocent.
"But I’m Gio," he says, shrugging. "I live for sick things."
I look up, surprised. He meets my gaze.
"Damn, first time someone risks this much just to kiss me. You owe me. Big."
"I know," I say softly, standing again, half-smiling. "Thank you." I turn to leave.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going?"
I freeze. "What? It’s in two days."
He tilts his head, eyebrows raised. "You really are clueless." I turn back to him.
"What?"
30) Beg
Rava
The door clicks shut behind me.
His hand presses against it, trapping me between the cold wood and his presence. I can feel him even if he isn’t touching me.
Gio takes the chair across from me and straddles it backward, his arms resting on the backrest as he stares.
"What?" I say, my voice tighter than I want.
He tilts his head. "You ever kissed a guy before?"
No. And I’m probably gonna die from anxiety in your room because you’re the first.
My stomach clenches. "No..."
"Good to know," he says, like he’s mentally taking notes. "So... since we’re doing this... we’re gonna do it right."
I narrow my eyes. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he says slowly, "I’m not letting you walk into that stupid party and kiss me like you’re scared of your own mouth." He grins. "I’ve kissed a straight guy before. Once. Disaster. I could tell it was his first second in the deep end."
I roll my eyes, hard.
"I don’t care what you’ve done with other guys."
That gets him. His eyebrows lift. "Jealous?" he says, smile sharp.
"No," I snap too quickly. "Don’t flatter yourself."
"Mhm," he murmurs, leaning back. "Sure." He stands. He moves toward me slowly again. My back is still against the door.
The way he moves... it feels like I’m not a person anymore.
I’m nothing but prey.
Food.
The boy my father hates the most, the one with the sharp tongue, stands right in front of me, about to put that same tongue in my mouth.
His voice drops lower.
"I’m not gonna be the guy you awkwardly freeze up in front of, in public, like some teenage crush. So if you’re gonna fuck it up, better you do it now."
My whole body locks up. I step closer to him.
"Gio, wait—"
"No one’s watching," he says. "No evil parents. No Sophia. Just me. And you."
I should say no. I want to say no. The room feels too small suddenly, too hot. Every breath is too loud. "Just kiss me and get it over with," I mutter.
He laughs. "Oh no," he says, stepping in with that infuriating look. "You don’t get to rush me now."
I glare at him. "Gio—"
He tilts his head, pulling me closer to him. "Go on, Weston. Beg for it."
My stomach twists. "I’m not begging."
"Mm." He circles me.
Not touching, just orbiting, like a goddamn heat source. "You sure? You’re standing there like someone pressed pause on your body."
"I’m not—"
"I can hear your heart from here," he murmurs, lips ghosting close to my ear. "She’ll never believe it unless you sell it."
"I am selling it."
"Please." His breath warms my neck. "You look like you’re being held at gunpoint."
He finally stops pacing. Stares at me, like he realizes what he just said. "If it helps," he murmurs, "if you actually freak out, we stop. You say the word, we’re done."
Okay. That’s... comforting. Kind of.
"But if you don’t freak out..."
His hand comes up, and he lets his thumb drag under my jaw. "I promise," he murmurs, eyes dropping to my lips,
"I can make it worth your while."
I swallow hard. Still looking at him. "I’m not freaking out," I snap. "Just do it."
"No." He grins. He leans in, hand curling in the collar of my shirt. He’s not pulling me in. Not exactly. Just holding me there. Making sure I can’t go anywhere. Making sure I don’t want to go anywhere.
"Come on," he whispers. "Just once. Say you want it."
My throat’s dry. My face is burning. My legs feel like jelly. He’s too close. "I want—"
"Yeah?" he breathes. Our lips are nearly touching.
Then he pauses, smiling. "Too slow."
And he kisses me.
He kisses me nothing like I expect.
He kisses me slowly. Painfully slowly. Almost hesitant. Like it’s his first kiss ever.
A soft exhale leaves him, and I swallow it right away.
"I’m gonna walk you through it," he whispers softly. "If you want this to look real, we’re doing it right."
His hand finds my jaw. His fingers slide into my hair like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams I should never know about.
The first spark of something that should not be here.
He sucks on my bottom lip.
His mouth moves slow, and then I feel it. That faint brush of cool metal.
His lip ring.
The one I pretend not to notice, the one I try so hard not to stare at every time he talks.
God. Even that’s unfair. Even his mouth comes with attitude. It makes it worse.
Better.
Hotter.
Like he marks the danger right on his lips so I won’t forget who I’m kissing. He yanks my head back just a little, like I’m something he’s about to devour. Like he needs my face exactly where he wants it. Not an inch off.
He brushes the strands of hair out of my face, like they’re getting in his way. And then his hand just... stays there. Right on the side of my head, holding my hair back for him.
"Open your mouth."
I do.
Our tongues are basically at war, and somehow he’s winning without even trying.
I swear, when I realized he would be in Italy too, I expected arguments-and-insults kind of war.
Not a tongue war.
Then his mouth brushes against my jaw. "Touch me."
I pause.
"Put your hands on me," he says, that low teasing tone curling around every word. "She’ll be watching where they go."
I hate how easily I listen.
I raise a hand and touch his jaw. Gently. My fingertips brush the stubble and I feel him lean into it.
Oh fuck. Then I rest the other hand on his chest. Right over his heart. It’s beating like crazy.
Good. He’s not as calm as he acts.
He bites my lower lip with a smirk and says, "Lower."
I exhale through my nose, fingers dragging down his sides until I feel the hem of his shirt.
He laughs quietly, like this is fun for him. Our mouths find each other again, slower now.
He bites my lip. Just once. My breath catches.
His hands stay in my hair, steady, grounding me, making sure I don’t run.
"You’re getting it," he whispers. "Good boy."
I flinch. I am not okay. I want to die.
I hate how much that does to me.