Chapter 15
15
Cecely
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
His eyes are locked onto mine, unrelenting, digging. Waiting. For me to speak. For me to admit something.
I don’t.
Because I’m not sure what to say. And also? Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to barf all over the place. Come on, morning sickness. Now is not the time to rear your ugly head.
Claudius exhales, jaw tight. “Cecely, this isn’t going to work if you can’t be honest with me.”
A bitter laugh escapes me.
“Honest with you.” I huff, shaking my head. “That’s funny.”
“And why is that?”
I cross my arms, my pulse still too fast.
“Because I’m pretty sure you’re not being honest with me.”
He stills, just slightly.
I press on.
“Why are you so worried about helping my sperm donor?” My voice doesn’t waver, but my heartbeat kicks up. I refuse to call that man my father.
Instead, I watch Claudius. For a flinch. A tell. A reaction. I get nothing. So I push harder.
“You’re not an Elite Member, so why do you care if he dies?”
The air between us thickens. Something shifts in his gaze just for a second. It’s gone before I can name it. But I saw it. I know I did.
“I care because I’m a member of the Brotherhood.” His voice is steady, absolute. “If he dies, it puts us all at risk. Our secrets. The things we’ve done.” His gaze hardens. “All of it is compromised.”
I hum, tilting my head. “Sure. But maybe you’ve taken on this task so you can be a martyr.”
His expression darkens.
“What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I lift a brow, watching the way his fingers curl just slightly against the armrest.
Got you.
“If Gabriel isn’t dead and comes back to kill you,” I say smoothly, “you’ll go down in history as the man who died saving the Head of the Defiant God Brotherhood.”
His jaw tightens. The air between us crackles, heavy and charged. It’s probably not wise to sit here and push his buttons, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Maybe it’s because I want to see just how far I can go. Or maybe it’s because I want to see him break.
Claudius’ voice is calm, but there’s something lethal beneath it. “You never answered my question.”
I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Which one? You ask so many.”
“Did you sleep with my brother?”
I shake my head slowly. “No.”
For a split second, I see relief flicker in his eyes. I let him have it, just long enough for it to settle. Then I shatter it.
“There wasn’t much sleeping done.”
His gaze sharpens, but I’m not finished.
“I did, however, let him fuck me senseless.”
His body goes rigid. Good. I lean in slightly, dropping my voice to something dangerous and taunting.
“He made me come so hard I almost passed out.”
His breath hitches, barely perceptible. But I catch it. And I don’t stop.
“We did dirty, depraved things.”
He’s so tense that I think he might spring out of his chair at any moment.
“The kicker?” I let the words linger, savoring them. “I’d do it again.”
A slow, sharp silence stretches between us. Tension thick and suffocating. His gaze burns into mine, something dark and dangerous swirling behind his eyes.
I tilt my chin up, unflinching.
“So that’s why my face turns red when you mention that night.” I lean back, arms crossing over my chest. “Anything else you want to know?”
The air between us is static, heavy, charged. And for the first time, I think I’ve truly gotten under his skin.
He takes another slow pull from his cigar, exhaling deliberately, the smoke curling between us before drifting my way. The scent is rich, smoky, intoxicating. It shouldn’t smell this good. But it does. Still, I know it’s probably not good for the baby. So I stand, smoothing my hands down my jeans before crossing the room to the window.
Outside, the sunlight dances across the water, turning the waves into a sheet of liquid gold and sapphire. For a moment, I let myself breathe. Then my gaze snags on the cliffs. Jagged. Dark. Unforgiving.
“Was it that cliff over there?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend.
“Yes.”
The word is low. Close. Too close. I jump, my breath catching, as I realize he’s right behind me. So close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. A slow, deliberate warmth pressing into my back. My pulse skips, stutters, then quickens.
I should step away.
I don’t.
I just stand there, staring at the cliff and water that swallowed his twin whole, with the man who pushed him standing so dangerously near. And I wonder which one of us is really in control right now?
As if answering my unspoken question, his breath fans my ear.
Then, in a voice low and rough, he murmurs, “You drive me crazy. I didn’t prepare for that.”
A shiver races down my spine. I spin, turning so we’re facing each other. We’re close. Too close. So close that when I move, our chests brush.
A slow, charged moment stretches between us. I can feel the heat of him, the sheer presence of him, the storm in his gaze pulling at something deep inside me. I should sidestep him and run back to my room. I don’t.
Instead, I hold his stare, heart pounding, pulse thick and insistent. His jaw tics. His fingers flex at his sides, like he’s holding something back. Like if I say the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, he’ll stop holding back at all.
I moisten my lips, feeling the weight of his gaze as I try to focus on anything other than how close we are.
“Thank you for letting me out of my room,” I say, my voice huskier than I intend. “I was going stir-crazy in there.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift away. “It was for your safety while I was gone.”
My eyebrow lifts. Gone?
“You were gone? Where did you go? When did you get back?”
His lips twitch, like he finds my sudden curiosity amusing.
“I left after you were settled in your room.” His voice is calm and unreadable. “I went back to London to finish some business at my home. I returned today.”
London.
Business.
And not once did I know he was gone.
I don’t like what that says. That my captor can disappear, and I wouldn’t even know it. That I’m at the mercy of his schedule, his decisions, his control. The question builds before I can stop it. What exactly did he have to finish in London? Was it business? Or was it something… else? Something to do with a woman? And why in the hell does that thought make my stomach twist?
I refuse to examine that feeling too closely.
Instead, I square my shoulders and ask, “What kind of business?”
His head dips just slightly, his gaze flickering over my face like he’s already figured something out.
Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, he says, “Why do I get the feeling that you’re jealous?”
My pulse skips, then spikes.
I straighten, crossing my arms, willing my face to stay neutral, unaffected.
“I’m not.”
Claudius’ smirk deepens, something wicked and knowing flickering in his gaze.
“Oh? Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
He hums, considering me for a moment, then tilts his head. “I have a way we can test my theory.”
I should back down… shut this down. Anything. But I don’t.
Instead, I lift my chin. “I’m sure this will be enlightening.”
His eyes darken, something sharp and dangerous lurking beneath the surface.
“I think you should kiss me.”
My stomach drops. My eyes bug.
“Why on earth would I want to kiss you?”
He shrugs, entirely too calm for someone who just threw a grenade between us.
“To prove that you’re not into me.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “Is this some kind of freaky thing because you know I slept with Gabriel?”
His expression hardens instantly.
“This has nothing to do with him,” he growls, voice rough and dangerous.
The air between us shifts, thickens. Charged. Unstable. And then I act without thinking. I lift onto my toes, grabbing onto his shirt. And I kiss him.
The moment my lips touch his, it’s like something snaps. Claudius goes still. For a fraction of a second, it’s just that—a press of lips, a test, a dare. Then he moves. His hand shoots out, curling around the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as he yanks me closer. A sharp, startled gasp escapes me, but he swallows it.
The kiss turns hungry, punishing, consuming. His mouth claims mine like he’s been waiting for this, like it’s been simmering under his skin, waiting to detonate. And I? I should pull away. I should shove him back, end this before it’s too late. But I lean in.
My fingers grip his shirt, fisting the fabric as his other hand slides down my back, pressing me against him. Heat coils low in my stomach.
I hate him.
I hate him for challenging me, for provoking me, for making me feel like I have something to prove. But what I hate even more is this kiss, because it feels so damn good.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, a teasing scrape that sends a shudder down my spine. I retaliate, biting back, earning a low, satisfied growl from deep in his chest.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulls away. Breathing hard. His eyes are stormy, burning, lethal. And I feel wrecked. Shaken. Like I just crossed a line I can’t uncross.
Claudius smirks, thumb brushing across my swollen lips, eyes gleaming with pure, wicked satisfaction.
“Not jealous, huh?”
Bastard.
“Hard to say,” I shoot back, my voice dripping with challenge. “You were kissing me pretty hard there, Claudius.”
As I say the word ‘hard’, my gaze flickers downward. Just for a second. I don’t mean to. I can’t help it. And, oh. He’s hard.
My breath catches.
My gaze snaps back up, only to find heat staring right back at me. His lips part, his breathing controlled but heavy. Something in his expression shifts. Something primal and unrestrained.
A slow smirk curves his lips.
“Careful, Cecely.” His voice is gravel and silk, smooth but laced with warning. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to think you want something.”
I lift my chin, refusing to back down.
“Maybe I do.”
His eyes flash, something feral sparking beneath the surface.
“You really want to test me right now?”
The space between us shrinks. The air grows thick. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer power of his presence pressing against my every nerve. I should walk away. I should say something smart, deflect, break the moment.
But I hold his stare.
And I wait.
Because I want to see what he’ll do next.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. His eyes burn into mine, like he’s debating whether to end this here or take it further. And then he moves. It’s not slow. It’s not careful.
One second, I’m standing there, breathing hard, waiting for him to snap. The next, his hand is on my throat, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse, and his mouth crashes onto mine. Heat explodes between us. His lips are rough, punishing, claiming. My fingers dig into his shirt, twisting the fabric as I arch into him, as he backs me against the window.
The glass is cold against my spine. He’s hot everywhere else.
He grips my hip, pulling me flush against him, against the proof of exactly how hard he is, and a sharp, throbbing ache blooms deep in my stomach.
I should pull away…
But when I do break the kiss, it’s only to let a wicked, knowing smile curl my lips as I whisper, “Hard to say who’s testing who now, huh?”
His grip tightens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me again. Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. But either way, we’ve already crossed the line. And there’s no going back.
His breath fans against my lips, his voice low and cutting.
“Guess you’ll do anything to get in bed with an Irons.”
The words hit like a slap, sharp and cruel, knocking the breath from my lungs. My whole body goes rigid with anger. But before I can snap back, before I can throw my words like knives, his mouth is on mine.
Hard.
Demanding.
A punishment.
Heat floods through my veins, melting the fury into something dark and consuming.
I should push him away.
I should slap him for that comment.
But I kiss him back. His tongue sweeps against mine, stealing whatever breath I had left. The kiss turns into a battle, neither of us willing to lose. I bite his lip hard and he growls, gripping my hips and pushing me back until I hit the window again.
My head smacks against the glass, and I take my anger out on Claudius’ mouth. And I hate him for it. But I also need more. The moment stretches. It’s hot, reckless, dangerous. Then, just as suddenly as he started it…
He pulls away.
Our breath mingles, heavy and uneven. His gaze scorches me. I wipe the back of my hand across my lips, glaring.
“Go to hell.”
He smirks, eyes gleaming, the dark amusement in them making my pulse tick faster.
“Already there.”
I should walk away. I should end this before it spirals even further. But I don’t. Because I need to get in one last dig.
So, with my chin lifted and my voice dripping with mock nonchalance, I say, “Gabriel is a better kisser.”
It’s a lie.
A blatant, calculated lie.
Because no one—and I mean no one—has ever made me feel this amount of passion and desire from just a kiss. Not even close. And the thought of taking it further? Of what it would feel like to be completely consumed by him? It’s dangerous. And it’s exactly why I have to push him away. Even if it means poking the beast.
My dig lands exactly the way I intended. His smirk vanishes. His jaw tightens. And then he steps away. The space between us feels colder, like the heat from our kiss has been ripped away too fast, leaving me off-balance.
He doesn’t look at me when he speaks.
“Go back to your room.” His voice is gravel, his posture rigid as he turns.
I should let him go. I should take the win and retreat before I do something stupid.
Instead, the words slip out.
“Wait.”
I’m surprised when he stops. Slowly, he turns his head, his gaze unreadable.
I swallow. “What do I say to Gabriel?”
Something flickers across his face. It’s too fast to catch, but there. Then his expression hardens again.
“Whatever in the fuck you want.” His voice is sharp, dismissive. “I don’t care.”
But his eyes betray him. Because he cares. He cares a lot. And now I know it.