Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
W e eat in silence, the only sounds coming from chopsticks against containers and the occasional sip of water. The confession hangs between us—ten months of watching her without her knowledge. Even to my own ears, it sounds fucked up.
I've killed men without blinking. I've tortured information out of people who crossed the Ferettis. I've done things that would make most people vomit. But this—following a girl around New York, memorizing her schedule, learning her favorite foods—this is what makes me feel like a monster.
She stabs at a piece of kung pao chicken, avoiding my eyes.
If I hadn't been obsessed with her, if I hadn't followed her home that night, if I hadn't been there when Ivan's men attacked —she wouldn't be sitting across from me right now, pissed off but alive.
She knows it too.
Evelyn pushes her food around, then sets her chopsticks down with careful precision. Without a word she stands up and walks away, disappearing into the bedroom.
I don't follow her. What would I say? Sorry I stalked you, but hey, at least you're not being tortured by a Russian psychopath?
I finish my food alone, listening for sounds from the bedroom. Nothing. Not even the violin. The silence is worse than her anger.
I've never given a shit what anyone thought of me before. I've been called every name in the book—murderer, monster, phantom. None of it touched me. But the look in her eyes when she realized I'd been watching her for months—that cut deeper than it should have.
I gather the containers, cleaning up methodically. Maybe she's right to be disgusted. Maybe I am no better than Ivan—just another man trying to control her.
But I'd never hurt her. Not like he would.
I'm gathering the takeout containers when the bedroom door opens. My hands freeze mid-air.
Evelyn stands in the doorway completely naked, holding her violin against her bare hip.
"Fuck," I whisper, the word escaping before I can catch it.
My breathing catches in my throat as I take her in. The soft curve of her breasts, small and perfect. The dip of her waist flaring to rounded hips. Long legs that I already know the feel of wrapped around me. Her skin glows under the apartment lights, like polished marble but warm, alive.
She doesn't speak. Doesn't smile. Just walks toward me with deliberate steps, her eyes never leaving mine. The violin dangles from her fingertips, swinging slightly with each step.
I drop the containers back onto the counter, not caring when one spills over.
"What are you doing?" My voice comes out rough, strained.
She doesn't answer. Instead she stops in the middle of the living room, positions the violin under her chin and raises the bow.
The first note slides through the air between us, dark and sensual. I don't recognize the piece—something classical that builds slowly, the notes climbing higher then diving low again.
She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she plays, her body swaying slightly with the music. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath, her fingers leaping across the strings with impossible precision.
My cock hardens instantly, straining against my pants. I grip the edge of the counter behind me, my knuckles turning white.
She knows exactly what she's doing. This isn't just music—it's a fucking seduction. Every stroke of her bow, every slight movement of her naked body is calculated to drive me insane.
And it's working.
I can't look away from her. Can't move. Can't think beyond the desperate need to touch her. The melody wraps around me, pulling me to her like a physical force.
One step, then another. I move toward her like a man possessed, my body responding to commands I haven't given.
She doesn't stop playing as I approach. She merely shifts her position slightly, angling her body so I can see all of her. The violin sings under her touch, the notes flowing like honey, thick and sweet.
When I'm just a few feet away she uses the tip of her bow to point toward the kitchen counter where a high stool sits. The gesture is unmistakable—a command.
I almost laugh. Even naked and technically my prisoner, she's finding ways to control me.
I back up to the stool, never taking my eyes off her, and sit. The hard wood presses against my thighs, my hands gripping the edge of the seat to keep from reaching for her.
She continues playing, circling me slowly. The music changes—something faster now, more urgent. Her body moves with it, her hips swaying, breasts bouncing slightly with each sharp movement of the bow.
My breathing turns ragged. I've never seen anything like this—a woman using music as a weapon, as seduction. The fact that she's naked only amplifies the power of what she's doing. This isn't vulnerability. This is strength.
The melody builds toward something, each note more intense than the last. Her eyes never leave mine as she plays, and I see everything in them—anger, desire, confusion, need.
When the final note comes, it hangs in the air between us, vibrating with tension. She lowers the violin slowly, setting it carefully on the counter beside me.
Then she steps forward, positioning herself between my legs. I don't move, don't breathe. This is her show.
"You've been watching me for ten months," she says, her breath warm against my face. "Now I want to watch you."
She leans in, her lips brushing against mine. Not quite a kiss—just the promise of one. I remain still, letting her set the pace, even as every instinct screams at me to grab her, take her.
Her fingers trail up my thighs, over my chest, finally settling on either side of my face. She holds me there, studying me like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve.
Then she kisses me.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. Her mouth crashes against mine with a hunger that matches my own. Her naked body presses against me, warm skin against my clothed chest.
The kiss deepens, and something wild unfurls inside me.
I don't recognize myself anymore. What part of me decided to provoke him like this? Maybe it's the same part that's been drawn to him since the moment he took me.
Noah breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged. "What are you doing to me?" he whispers against my mouth.
I don't answer. I don't know the answer.
His hands grip my waist suddenly, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. Before I can react, he sets me on the kitchen counter, the cool marble shocking against my bare skin.
I grip the edge of the counter. His eyes lock with mine, challenging, possessive. My breath catches in my throat.
"Noah—"
"Shut up," he commands, his voice rough. "You played for me. Now I play for you."
His mouth finds my clit and my head falls back with a gasp. He devours me like I'm his personal meal, like he's been starving for this exact taste. My fingers tangle in his dark hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
Each stroke of his tongue sends electricity through my body. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but Noah isn't having it.
"Let me hear you," he demands against my sensitive flesh. "I want to hear what I do to you."
When his tongue circles that perfect spot, I can't hold back anymore. A moan escapes my lips, echoing in the kitchen. I feel him smile against me, satisfied with my surrender.
I clutch Noah's hair as waves of pleasure crash through me. I've never been touched like this, never been consumed like this. His tongue works magic between my legs, making me forget everything—Ivan, the danger, even my own name.
"Noah," I gasp, my legs shuddering around his head.
In one swift motion he stands, spins me around, and positions me facing the counter. His chest presses against my back, his breath hot on my neck.
"Grab the counter," he commands, his voice rough with desire.
I comply, my fingers curling around the cool marble edge. His body radiates heat behind me, making me hyper aware of my nakedness, of how exposed I am to him.
His hand slides down my stomach, between my legs. When his fingers find me, I'm already slick and ready. He slips one finger inside me, then another, his movements deliberate and controlled.
"You're so wet for me," he murmurs against my ear.
I bite my lip as he works his fingers deeper, curling them to hit a spot that makes my knees buckle. His other arm wraps around my waist, holding me up as he continues his relentless pace.
"Noah," I whimper, my head falling back against his shoulder.
He withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving me aching and empty. Before I can protest, he brings his glistening fingers to my lips.
"Taste yourself," he orders.
I hesitate for a moment, then part my lips. He slides his fingers into my mouth and I taste my own arousal on his skin. A groan escapes me as I suck his fingers clean.
"Good girl," he says, his approval sending a thrill through me.
Then he steps back, breaking all contact. The sudden absence of his body heat makes me shiver.
"Don't move," he commands. "Stay exactly like that."
I remain frozen, hands gripping the counter, my body humming with need. I hear him moving behind me, the rustle of clothing being removed. The anticipation is almost unbearable.
After what feels like an eternity I feel him return. His naked body presses to mine, his hardness evident against my lower back.
"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he says, his hands grasping my hips.
I feel him position himself at my entrance, teasing me with just the tip. My breath catches in my throat when he shoves forward, filling me completely in one smooth thrust.
Noah stretches me in the most delicious way. I gasp, my fingers tightening on the counter's edge until my knuckles turn white.
"Fuck," he growls in my ear, his hips flush against my backside. "You feel so good around me."
He pulls back slowly, almost completely withdrawing before slamming back into me. The force of his thrust pushes me into the counter and I cry out, a sound I barely recognize as my own.
"More," I say, surprising myself with my own hunger.
Noah's grip on my hips tightens. "What was that?" His voice is rough, demanding.
"More," I say louder, pushing back against him. "Please, Noah."
He rewards my begging with a series of deep, powerful plunges that make my vision blur. Each stroke hits something perfect inside me, building a pressure that threatens to shatter me completely.
"Look at you," he says, his voice strained with effort. "Taking me so well."
One of his hands slides up my spine to tangle in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my back further. The new angle lets him drive even deeper and I moan shamelessly.
"Noah, I'm—I'm close," I pant, feeling the tension coiling tighter in my core.
"Not yet," he commands, slowing his pace torturously. "Not until I say so."
I whimper in frustration, my body trembling with need. Noah leans forward, his chest pressing against my back as he continues his slow, deep thrusts. His lips brush my ear.
"You're mine now," he says. "Say it."
Part of me wants to refuse, to maintain some final shred of resistance. But my body betrays me, craving his touch, his possession.
"I'm yours," I breathe, and the words feel like both surrender and victory.
"Again," he demands, his pace increasing.
"I'm yours, Noah."
He reaches around, his fingers finding my clit as his thrusts become more urgent. The dual sensation is overwhelming and I feel myself teetering on the edge of release.
"Come with me," he orders, his voice ragged. "Now, Evelyn."
My orgasm quakes through me, my inner walls clenching around him as I cry out his name. Noah groans deeply, his hips jerking against me as he finds his own release, filling me with his warmth.
My legs shake violently, threatening to give out beneath me. Noah holds me up, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist as we both struggle to catch our breath.
Even as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through me I find myself wanting more. This hunger for him is insatiable, frightening in its intensity.
"Again," I whisper, turning my head to meet his surprised gaze. "I want more."