Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LEA
The leather seat of the Bentley is cool beneath my thighs as Nico pulls me onto his lap, his hands spanning my waist. The privacy screen seals us into our own world of dark leather and quiet anticipation.
I stare into his eyes, so dark they’re almost black in the dim light. For all his control, right now he looks like a man coming undone. By me. By desire. By whatever this is between us that defies logic.
This is it. The final act.
A feeling of cold triumph settles in me. He’s completely consumed, exactly where Isabel needs him to be. The elaborate dance we’ve performed has led here. He used me as a pawn to get to my mother; I will use him as a sacrifice to avenge my father.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. His voice is rough, gravelly with need.
“You,” I answer, and it’s the truth. “Only you.”
His hands slide to my hips, fingers flexing into my flesh. “Good.” The word is a brand against my skin. “Because after tonight, there will be no doubt who you belong to.”
The possessiveness in his tone should repulse me. This man, who orchestrated my father’s murder, who held me captive—I should feel nothing but hatred. Instead, my body responds to him, a betrayal I can’t seem to stop.
It’s just biology, I tell myself. Physical chemistry. It means nothing. But the lie is flimsy even in my mind.
He trails his fingers up my bare thigh, pushing the hem of my dress higher with torturous slowness.
“I’ve been thinking about this throughout dinner,” he says, his other hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat.
“Watching you pretend to eat while all you could think about was my cock inside you.”
I gasp as his fingers brush the lace edge of my underwear. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“No?” His smile is devastatingly confident. “Then why did you barely touch your food? Why did you keep crossing and uncrossing your legs?” He applies the slightest pressure, and I have to bite my lip. “Why are you already so wet for me?”
I want to hate him for being right. Instead, I grind down against his hand.
“You’re mine,” he says, his fingers pushing aside the fabric barrier and sliding into me. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, the words coming too easily. His thumb circles my clit as his fingers curl inside me, finding that perfect spot that makes my vision swim. “Oh god, Nico...”
“That’s it,” he encourages, his free hand now cupping my breast through my dress. “I want to watch you come apart for me before we even reach the club.”
This is the plan—to have him so consumed with lust that his guard is down when we arrive at Purgatorio. But the plan didn’t account for how genuine my body’s surrender would be. As his fingers build the pressure inside me, I wonder which of us is truly being seduced.
“Please,” I manage, not entirely sure what I’m begging for.
“Please what?” he demands, his voice a command against my ear. “Tell me what you need, Lea.”
“Your mouth,” I manage, barely recognizing my voice. “I need your mouth on me.”
The words have barely left my lips before he’s shifting me, laying me across the seat and kneeling on the floor of the car. He pushes my dress up and hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, dragging it down my legs to my ankles.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my inner thigh.
And then his tongue is on me, and I’m lost. There is only sensation. The wet heat of his tongue. The slight stubble on his jaw scraping against my sensitive skin. The gentle suction as he draws my swollen bud between his lips.
I tangle my fingers in his hair. He groans against me, the vibration a new current of pleasure through my body. He slides two fingers inside me again, a perfect counterpoint to the movements of his tongue. The pressure builds, coiling in my lower abdomen. My thighs tremble.
“Nico,” I gasp, “I’m going to?—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, lifting his head just enough to speak, his eyes burning into mine. “Come for me, Lea. Let me taste all of you.”
His mouth returns to my center with renewed intensity, and that’s all it takes. The orgasm crashes through me, my back arching off the seat as pleasure radiates from my core. I cry out, not caring if the driver hears, not caring about anything beyond this perfect, shattering release.
He works me through it, gentling his movements as the aftershocks roll through me. When the sensitivity becomes too much, I tug at his hair, and he immediately pulls away, pressing a last kiss to my inner thigh. His mouth finds mine, and I taste myself on his lips. The kiss is deep and possessive.
The car glides to a stop just as we break apart, both of us panting. Nico’s eyes are almost feral, his pupils blown wide with a need that is still painfully unmet.
Good, a cold, strategic part of my mind observes. He’s on the edge. My release was real, but his frustration is my weapon. He’s so focused on getting his, he won’t see anything else coming.
“We’re here,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of control.
I sit up, my legs still unsteady, pulling my dress back into place. My body feels boneless and sated, but my mind is sharp. Nico pulls the lace scrap of my underwear from his pocket with a dark, promising smile.
“I’ll keep these as a reminder of the debt you owe me. We’ll settle it in my office.”
The casual arrogance of the gesture should infuriate me. Instead, it sends another pulse through my still-sensitive body. I’m playing a dangerous game, and the lines between performance and reality are becoming harder to see.
The driver opens the door. Nico steps out, then offers his hand to me. As I emerge, the cool night air is a shock against my flushed skin. His arm immediately wraps around my waist, a band of possession.
“Like I said, my office. Now,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need.
He leads me toward the private elevator at the back of the garage, his stride purposeful. We’re almost there when a figure steps into our path. Blake, his expression more than urgent; it was grim, the look of a man who knew any interruption would have dire consequences.
“Sir, my apologies, but this needs your immediate attention,” Blake says, his eyes flicking briefly to me before returning to Nico.
A flash of genuine frustration crosses Nico’s features. He turns to me, cupping my face in his hands, and kisses me deeply, as if being torn away against his will.
“Get a drink at the bar, mia cara,” he says when we break apart. “I will be with you in five minutes. Don’t move from there.”
The command sends a ripple of something through me. I nod, playing my part. “Don’t be long,” I reply. “I’ll be waiting.”
He watches me as I walk toward the club entrance, his eyes burning into my back. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. The thought of my father steadies me. The memory of the folder hardens the desire in my body to a cold purpose.
I enter Purgatorio through the VIP entrance. The club is in full swing, the bass a physical presence. I make my way to the main bar, feeling strangely powerful. Tonight, everything changes.
Behind the bar, I spot him immediately—Julian, the handsome bartender Isabel identified as their inside man. As I approach, his expression remains perfectly neutral. He knows how to play his part.
I slide onto a vacant barstool. When he looks my way, I order the specific cocktail Isabel instructed. “A Black Widow, please,” I say.
He nods once, the movement almost imperceptible, and begins mixing the drink. Julian places the finished cocktail on a napkin in front of me. As my fingers brush the paper, I see the neatly printed words: WHEN READY, DROP THE GLASS. LOUD. THE SIGNAL.
My pulse accelerates. This is it. Julian’s eyes flick past my shoulder, and in one smooth motion, he palms the napkin, crumples it, and drops it into a bin. I look up to see Nico weaving through the crowd toward me.
“Forgive me,” he says when he reaches me, his hand immediately finding the small of my back. “A minor fire that had to be put out.”
Before I can respond, he pulls me onto the crowded dance floor, my drink left behind. The music has a heavy, sensual beat. We dance for a few minutes. He pulls me flush against him, one hand splayed across my lower back, the other tangling in my hair.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into my ear. “I can’t wait to get you alone. To finish what we started in the car.”
I arch against him. “I can’t wait any longer,” I say, my voice husky with a desire that isn’t entirely feigned. “Take me to your office. Now.”
He grins and takes my hand, leading me toward the private elevator.
I stop. “Dancing made me thirsty. Let me get a sip of my drink.”
A different bartender has taken Julian’s place. I reach for the glass. This is the moment.
I take the drink and turn, deliberately bumping into a passing guest. The crystal slips from my fingers, shattering on the granite floor with a loud crash that cuts through the music. In the brief commotion, I grab Nico’s arm, my voice a raw command: “Forget the drink. I need you to fuck me. Now.”
A dark, triumphant grin spreads across his face. He pulls me into the private elevator, his mouth capturing mine in a hungry, bruising kiss as the doors slide shut. His hands are everywhere. The ascent feels eternal.
When the elevator stops, he fumbles with the keycard, his usual grace gone. The door beeps, and he swings it wide, his eyes never leaving mine. “After you,” he murmurs.
I step inside, my heart pounding so hard I’m certain he can hear it. This is it. In minutes, Moretti will arrive. My job is to have Nico distracted, on his desk, vulnerable.
But something is wrong. The room is brightly lit; the air is icy, almost clinical. And Blake—who should be downstairs—stands grimly by the window.
My eyes scan the room, and then I see him. Tied to Nico’s black leather desk chair, with his face bruised and his eyes wide with terror, is Julian, the bartender. Isabel’s inside man.
Oh god.
I turn back to Nico. The hungry desire is gone, replaced by a cold, methodical fury that stops my breath.
“Did you really think,” he says, his voice soft and terrifying for it, “that I wouldn’t see the trap?”
The door clicks shut behind me, the sound final. I am completely trapped.