Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Anton
T he alley behind Krystina’s Place was dark, lit only by the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp near the end of the building. The faint hum of the city surrounded us, muffled by the high brick walls of the restaurant. I held the back door open for Serena, and she stepped through, her heels clicking softly against the pavement.
“Is there a reason we couldn’t go out the front door?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“We could have. We also could have been met with flashing cameras and tomorrow’s headline. Prying eyes, remember?”
“Ah, that’s right. I guess I’m not used to being in the company of someone so popular,” she teased. Her lips curved in a cautious yet playful smile, while her eyes maintained the spark of desire.
I was pleased that she didn’t appear ruffled by the absurd lengths we had to go to just to avoid the ever-growing presence of the press. More than likely, nobody lurked in the bushes ready to take my picture, but Zeke’s constant talk about security was starting to make me paranoid.
“I’ve barely gotten used to it myself,” I admitted, adjusting the lapels of my suit coat. “But you should heed the warning, princess. You’re about to spend thirty days with me. I’ll try to protect you, but my sudden popularity could come with a price.”
“Such arrogance. I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she said with a tsk .
“Predicting the inevitable isn’t arrogance. I’m just confident.”
I led her to the Aston Martin parked discreetly at the edge of the alley. The sleek silver body gleamed under the streetlamp, its presence understated yet impossible to ignore. It was a car that matched me in every way—powerful, precise, and designed to reveal only what I wanted others to see. I opened the passenger door for Serena, and she slid inside with fluid grace.
As I settled into the driver’s seat, the light scent of her jasmine perfume filled the interior. It was intoxicating and entirely too distracting. I started the car, the engine roaring to life with a deep growl, and pulled out onto the street.
The city lights blurred as we drove toward the penthouse, the rhythmic hum of the tires on asphalt the only sound. I flipped on the radio, keeping the volume low yet loud enough for Halsey’s husky voice to cut through the silence.
Serena shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on the door. Her gaze lingered on me, and I could almost feel the press of her thoughts, sharp and probing.
“If I’m going to do this, I need to know you better, too,” she announced, her voice soft but firm. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.
I smiled, appreciating the no nonsense approach. A part of me was attracted to her assertiveness—but another part wanted to take her over me knee for pursuing a topic I had no interest in discussing.
“Details complicate relationships,” I said.
“Well, I need them all the same.”
“Why?”
“Call me old-fashioned. Or maybe it’s my mother’s religious influence. I can’t just jump into bed with a stranger.”
I grinned. “We’re hardly strangers anymore, princess.”
“You know what I mean!” she said, not bothering to mask her exasperation.
“You said it was your mother’s religious influence. Was it not your father’s, as well?” I asked, hoping to divert the conversation to her.
“My father didn’t believe in organized religion, but he respected my mother’s beliefs. As a result, I got a little of both. My mother raised me in her religion, but I’m practical like my father, and I ask questions.”
“Such as?”
“The Bible is a man-made book, and like man, there are flaws. The stories in it seem to have been chosen to fit a narrative.”
I raised a brow and peered over at her, suddenly more curious about her than ever before. Religion was a complex mix of personal, cultural, and family influences. I’d never practiced any religion, but I was intrigued by what her beliefs might be.
“And what do you think that narrative is?” I asked.
“One of the most obvious flaws is the number of gospels. The Bible tells us that Jesus had twelve disciples. Have you ever wondered why there are only four gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? Some believe that the other eight gospels weren’t included because they portray the faults of Jesus Christ.”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about it. I didn’t have a religious upbringing.”
She sighed. “Some might say you’re fortunate in that regard. The Catholic faith has a long, bloody history. Regardless of what I believe or don’t believe, Catholic guilt is a very real thing.”
I smiled, amused by the concept. I’d long fallen short of any divine expectation. My immorality ran deep, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Tell me more about this guilt,” I prodded.
Angling her body, she turned toward me. “I think you’re changing the subject. I’m supposed to be getting to know you better, remember?”
I glanced over and met her pointed gaze.
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she replied without hesitation. “Like, where did you go to college?”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh, it was wrong of me to assume. I just…” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“I’m not ashamed about not receiving higher education, nor should you feel awkward about asking. I had an interest in going, but simply didn’t need it. I’m good at spotting trends and used that to my advantage. I taught myself everything I needed to know to get to where I am today without the need of a classroom.”
“And clearly, you excelled at it. How about your family? You haven’t talked about them.”
I exhaled through my nose, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “That’s because there’s not much to talk about.”
She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was determined to solve.
“Tell me about your parents.”
“I don’t know who my father is, and I already told you my mother died. She passed when I was young. That’s all there is to it.” I kept my tone measured, even as a knot formed in my chest. It was the kind of ache that came from buried memories clawing their way to the surface. Images of my mother’s lifeless body, a needle protruding from her arm, filled my mind.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
Don’t think about it.
“That’s not all there is to it,” Serena persisted. “Everyone comes from somewhere, Anton. You have a past—a story. You didn’t just appear out of thin air as a billionaire with a penthouse and a penchant for secrecy.”
I clenched my jaw. She didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. My past wasn’t something I shared. Not with anyone. Zeke was the only person alive who knew everything, and that was how it would stay. It was better to not answer her questions—especially now that I knew about this so-called Catholic guilt.
What the hell is that all about anyway?
And here I’d worried about what she’d think if she ever learned I owned a sex club. How could I tell her that I was raised by a prostitute? Hearing the truth about my upbringing would lead to too many questions that I couldn’t answer. Serena was as worldly as she was innocent, and I’d be damned before I corrupted her with my sordid past.
She was quiet, so I glanced her way again. Her brows knitted together, her lips pressing into a tight line.
“My mother died of a drug overdose,” I said finally, the words bitter on my tongue. It was the only truth I could offer, the piece that was already public record. Anything more would be stepping into dangerous territory.
She blinked, clearly surprised by my admission.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That must’ve been...difficult.”
I shrugged, feigning indifference. “It was a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“I was fourteen.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy and charged .
That’s right, princess. Too old to be called a child, yet not a man. And I’ve been fending for myself ever since.
I could feel her wanting to ask more, to dig deeper. And for a moment, I wondered what it would be like to tell her everything—to lay it all bare. But the thought was fleeting, chased away by the familiar sting of shame.
“Did you have anyone else?” she tentatively asked. “After she passed?”
“No,” I said, my tone sharp enough to end the conversation. The less she knew, the better—for both of us.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, seeing the hurt flicker across her face before she masked it. She seemed to be contemplating what I’d said. I hated the way her expression twisted something in my chest, but I pushed the feeling aside. I didn’t need or want her sympathy.
The rest of the drive passed without conversation, the air between us filled with unspoken words. I turned up the volume on the radio, allowing a song by Sakoya to fill the awkward silence. I smirked at the irony that this particular song just happened to be streaming. It was a combination of moody beats, exploring themes of surrender and desire, and the tension between control and letting go. It was exactly how I envisioned tonight playing out.
However, the closer we got to the penthouse, the more I felt Serena retreating into herself. Things were not going as planned. Her natural warmth had been replaced by a chilling uneasiness. It was a stark contrast to her usual self, and it unnerved me more than I cared to admit.
When we arrived at the penthouse, I pulled into the secure underground garage and parked in my reserved spot. I stepped out of the car and rounded to her side, opening the door for her. She slid out without meeting my eyes, her movements brisk and deliberate.
The doorman greeted us with a polite nod as we entered, his practiced smile as fake is it always was. His name was Patrick something or another, and he’d come with the building. Zeke had run a check on him, and his background came back clean. But there was something about him that I didn’t like. I just wasn’t sure what it was.
I barely acknowledged him as we passed, and typed in the code for the private elevator that would take us to the top floor. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and we stepped inside.
The silence was almost unbearable now, the hum of the elevator doing little to drown out the weight of everything left unsaid. I glanced at Serena, standing with her arms crossed, and her gaze fixed on the polished metal doors. She was stunning, even in her quiet contemplation, but the distance between us was insurmountable. I found myself wishing I could bridge the gap, to offer her something more than the cold detachment I’d given her. But I knew better. Trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford—not when it came to my past.
The doors slid open, revealing the foyer of my penthouse. I gestured for her to step out first, but she hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of frustration and something softer.
That softness stirred something foreign inside me. I didn’t just want this woman. I needed her like the air I breathed, and all the talk in the car had taken up precious oxygen.
“Fuck the conversation from earlier, Serena. None of it matters. Only this does.”
Without another word, I slipped my arm around her waist and yanked her to me. I didn’t hesitate or ask permission before I crushed my mouth to hers. Fueled by absolute lust, I devoured her with the intent of kissing her senseless. I didn’t know what possessed me to do it.
Maybe it was her cheeks that had flushed scarlet when she’d spoken about not going to bed with a stranger.
Perhaps it was her tell—that slight bite of her lower lip .
Or perhaps it was her mystery and the answers that evaded me.
Or maybe I just needed to crush that goddamn Catholic guilt.
I only knew that I had to have this woman.
I shoved my tongue through her parted lips, my need to taste her completely unleashed. I refused her any sort of finesse and took her mouth fully—like a storm. Unbreakable. Powerful. Unrelenting.
I nipped at her lower lip before moving down her jawline to baptize her neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. I breathed her intoxicating scent, an irresistible mix of ripe plums and jasmine. It was utterly captivating.
I gently tugged on her earlobe, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. I groaned from her sudden inhale, her response like a lightning bolt to my cock. Gathering her hair in my hand, I gave it a slight tug, urging her back until she was pressed against the elevator door frame. I pinned her there, attacking her mouth again.
She returned my kiss fervently as I held her in place. I pressed the full force of my weight against her, her body boneless in my arms.She knew what I wanted the moment I placed my cards on the table. And from the way she pushed her hips against me, I could tell she was ready to play the hand that had been delt.
She released a soft moan, and it was all I could do not to hike up her little skirt and bury my cock into her velvet heat. To be lost in her—in everything that made up this fiery Italian princess.
“Fuck, how I want you. Here. Now,” I growled. But I knew I needed to slow things down, even if only for a short time. I didn’t want to take her like this—like a feral animal against a wall. Serena deserved so much more if I wanted her to give this a chance—to give us a chance.
Summoning all the willpower that I could manage, I tore my mouth away from hers. Swallowing hard, I studied her face. She was flushed, her hair in disarray from my hands, and she was panting. As delicious as she looked in this state, I tamped down my desire so I could focus on finesse.
“After you,” I said, my voice steady.
Her long lashes dropped before lifting to boldly meet my stare. Then she nodded and stepped out. I followed, the sound of the elevator doors closing behind us, the final punctuation mark on a kiss unlike any other I’d ever had before. When I laced my fingers through hers, she glanced up at me. I watched as her demeanor shifted, her eyes glimmering with a barrage of conflicting emotions—desire, longing, apprehension.
When I tugged her hand, bringing her further into the penthouse, she didn’t resist. She wanted this, but there was so much I needed her to give.
I wanted her to beg.
I wanted her hands tied behind her back as I plunged my cock into her mouth. I pictured her ass high in the air, and I imagined what she’d feel like when I took her from behind. I wanted to feel her nails raking across my back, and I wanted her screams.
But most importantly, I wanted her surrender.
I just wasn’t sure if that was something Serena was capable of.