Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Anton
D inner was an experience, and not just because it had been a while since I’d enjoyed a home-cooked meal. The delicate folds of pasta in cream sauce with sweet pear was incredible, and the women seated across from me were truly fascinating to watch.
Sylvia was a force of nature, commanding the tiny dining room with an energy that filled every corner. She laughed easily, her hands gesturing animatedly as she recounted stories about the locals and the antics of her neighbor’s mischievous dog. It was all so…domestic, and it was a far cry from anything I’d ever experienced.
But I was more taken with Serena. She was different, relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before. Her careful guard had seemed to soften—her laughter more genuine and her smile unreserved. She leaned forward, listening to her mother with rapt attention, occasionally throwing in her own quips .
I enjoyed observing people. It helped me to understand them better so I could anticipate their actions. The stock market and crypto exchange were reactionary, and I wouldn’t have amassed my fortune if I couldn’t predict human behavior. But studying Serena was different somehow. Watching her was a lesson in grace.
I leaned back in my chair, rolling the last sip of wine over my tongue as I watched them. Sylvia’s dark hair, streaked with silver, gleamed under the dim light, the curve of her face an echo of Serena’s. She and her mother shared a closeness that was foreign to me. Their conversations seemed to move like a dance of words and silent looks of understanding. It was a kind of affection I’d never witnessed before up close—a bond that should have felt natural but instead twisted something deep in my gut.
It made me feel like an intruder.
I wasn’t the jealous type. Not in the petty, insecure way most men were. This felt like jealousy, yet different somehow. Perhaps it was my curiosity about their relationship that caused the strange, hollow ache inside me. Or maybe it was something darker. My own mother was buried in a past I rarely allowed myself to think about. Sitting at a table like this—exchanging laughter, sharing a meal—was so alien that it may as well have been fiction. I couldn’t help wonder that, if given the right opportunity and set of circumstances, my own mother and I might have had this.
I dragged my gaze from Sylvia to Serena, tracking every subtle movement and nuance of expression, needing to understand. Serena must have felt my scrutiny, and she turned. When our eyes met, everything else seemed to fade. The look she gave me was inquisitive, as if she were wondering what I was thinking. After a moment, her shoulders stiffened and something in her eyes shifted. I noticed the increasing rise and fall of her chest, and quickly realized Serena was no longer thinking about the words her mother was saying.
I glanced down, watching her fingers curl ever so slightly around her napkin. Her lips parted, just barely, and my pulse kicked up. I wanted to know what was going on behind those ocean blue eyes. The space between us grew charged with tension. It called to something central in me—to something possessive.
“Dessert?” Sylvia’s voice broke the moment. She was blissfully unaware of the silent fire igniting between her daughter and me as she reached for a small tray of pastries on the counter.
Serena blinked, bringing herself back to the present as she straightened in her chair. “None for me, thank you,” she said quickly, her voice light but firm, her eyes still tethered to mine. “Anton has had a long day of travel. I’m sure he must be exhausted.”
It took every ounce of self-control not to smirk.
“Not particularly,” I countered, keeping my tone deliberately casual.
My gaze remained steady on hers. Serena shot me a sharp look, her irritation barely masked. She feigned a yawn, but I wasn’t fooled. Not for a second.
“It’s getting late,” she persisted.
I arched a brow, amusement flickering through me.
Is this forced tiredness for my benefit, or her mother’s?
It didn’t matter. If she thought she was getting rid of me that easily, she was sorely mistaken. The dinner I’d just shared with mother and daughter was nothing more than an interlude. The real game—the one Serena and I were playing—was just beginning.
Sylvia glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh! I didn’t even realize it was nearing ten. Time gets away from me when I’m enjoying good company. You should take Anton next door before he leaves, Serena. Show him the workshop.”
The sudden shift in topic seemed to catch Serena off guard. “The workshop?”
“Yes, of course!” Sylvia’s voice was bright with enthusiasm before she turned her attention on me. “You can’t come all this way and not see it. Serena is so talented, Anton. You wouldn’t believe the things she can do with glass.”
“I’d love to see it,” I said.
Sylvia began clearing plates. “I’ll take care of cleaning up. I’m actually starting to get a little tired myself. I’ll probably turn in soon. Serena, don’t forget to lock up when you get back.”
Serena hesitated, her lips parting as if to protest, but her mother gave her a look that brooked no argument.
“Okay, Mamma.”
Sylvia turned back to me, smiling warmly. “Thank you for joining us tonight, Anton. It was a pleasure having you here.”
“The pleasure was mine,” I said, standing and offering my hand.
She took it, her grip firm and confident. “You’re always welcome in our home.”
Home.
The foreign word seemed to linger in the air as Serena grabbed a set of keys from the counter. Without another word, she led me outside.
The night was cool, a breeze carrying the faint scent of citrus through the narrow path between the house and the workshop.
“Sorry about that,” Serena said, seeming uncomfortable as we walked.
“For what?”
“For her… enthusiasm. It really is late. I can’t imagine seeing my workshop was high on your priority list.”
I chuckled. “I thought your mother was charming. As for my priorities, I won’t deny that I had other ideas for you tonight. ”
Serena glanced at me, her expression unreadable. “I haven’t been to the workshop in months. Dust will have settled. You aren’t really dressed for this.”
“It’s of no concern. Clothes can be washed and replaced.”
She didn’t respond but slowed her pace as we reached the workshop. The building was small, a mix of wood and aged brick walls that bore the marks of decades of use. Serena unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on a light that illuminated the space with a warm, golden glow.
The workshop was simple. Wooden benches lined the walls, each one cluttered with tools, shards of glass, and half-finished projects. Shelves were filled with jars of colored glass fragments, their hues catching the light like jewels.
“It’s nothing fancy but it works,” Serena said, walking ahead of me. She moved to one of the workbenches, her fingers trailing over the tools with a kind of reverence.
My eyes landed on a finished piece resting on a shelf—a glass sculpture of a bird in flight, the wings delicate and translucent. The attention to detail was exquisite.
“Did you make that?” I asked, nodding toward it.
She looked over and nodded. “That was one of my first solo pieces. I was just a teenager when I made it.”
“It’s stunning,” I said, meaning it.
A faint blush crept up her cheeks, and she busied herself with straightening tools on the workbench. “Glass is…unpredictable. It can shatter if you’re not careful, but if you handle it right, it transforms into something beautiful. I like that about it.”
I mulled over her words for a moment and found myself watching her more closely. There was something about the way she moved in this space—comfortable, confident, and completely in her element.
“Show me how you do it.”
“Blow glass?”
“Yes. ”
She laughed. “It takes hours for the furnace to reach temp. Another day, maybe.”
I stepped toward her. “Tomorrow then.”
“I suppose that could work. I have a commission I need to start on, and tomorrow is as good of a time as any.”
She paused, and her brow furrowed. Her lips pursed contemplatively, seemingly lost in thought as she looked around the workspace. Just the idea of seeing her work—seeing her create something as sensual as the flames on display in front of my club—was enough to make me want to take her right here and now. Knowing she was the creator of such a provocative work of art reminded me that she was the only one who had ever triggered such deep, carnal desires in me.
I thought about when I’d first seen the glass flames at a silent auction in New York. They had been the talk of the event, stunning in their beauty and mystery. The auctioneer had mentioned that they’d been recently acquired from a gallery in Florence. The moment I saw them, I knew I had to have them. Now knowing that Serena had created them felt like too much of a coincidence. I didn’t believe in one almighty God or any of the Catholic teachings Serena had mentioned. But I did believe in fate.
“It will be an early morning,” she continued. “I’ll have to get up before six to light the furnace and?—”
I silenced her words by roughly pulling her to me. I’d been patient enough all through dinner. I needed to taste her—to feel her.
“Come back to my hotel, princess. Spend the night with me,” I murmured, my voice low and coaxing. I caught the soft scent of her perfume, a stark contrast to the fire in her gaze.
Serena tensed and let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head as she glanced away. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I reached for her hand, placing it between us and running my thumb over her knuckles. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t relax either.
“Not tonight. It would be too…obvious. It’s my mother,” she said finally, her voice tinged with something between exasperation and amusement. But I also detected a hint of longing.
I arched a brow. “Need I remind you again? You’re a grown woman, Serena. You don’t need your mother’s permission.”
She sighed, biting her lip, that internal battle playing out across her face.
“You don’t understand. I’m happy you’re here, and I want to be with you again—more than you know. This isn’t about permission,” she said, and paused to let out a sardonic laugh. Then she exhaled slowly, meeting my gaze. “If it were about getting permission, I’d still be a virgin. My mother just has this way of seeing things. She’s spent her whole life in the church—praying, confessing, believing every word of it. She takes her faith very seriously.”
I watched her, reading the hesitation in her eyes, seeing the struggle between desire and guilt. She wasn’t making excuses—this was real for her. It didn’t matter if Serena didn’t share her mother’s beliefs. This was about a lifetime of faith, of timeless prayers and careful obedience, all pressing down on her shoulders.
She sighed again, then turned away from me, crossing the room to the window. Separating the wood blinds with two fingers, she peered out into the night. The house where I’d just enjoyed dinner was dark. No lights were on in the windows. No shadows moved behind the curtains.
I waited, watching the tension in Serena’s shoulders melt away. Then, slowly, she let the blinds fall back into place. Turning, she reached behind her, and I heard the snap of the door lock .
“But my mother has gone to bed. While that doesn’t mean I’ll go back to your hotel, it does mean we’re alone.”
She moved toward me with deliberate slowness, each step measured, her body drawn to mine as if by some invisible force. Her eyes, dark and smoldering with something dangerous, never left me. The air between us thickened, pulsing with anticipation. With need.
When she reached me, she hesitated for just a fraction of a second, her breath warm against my lips. Then, with a tilt of her head, she closed the distance. Her lips pressed against mine, soft yet insistent, testing at first before deepening with quiet desperation.
She tasted like wine and something intrinsically her—a sweet and intoxicating flavor that I knew would ruin me for anyone else. I slid a hand around the curve of her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine. She responded instantly, her fingers tangling in my hair as her nails grazed lightly against my scalp.
A soft sigh escaped her, and that sound sent a surge of possession through me. I tilted my head, taking control, parting her lips as I deepened the kiss. She met me stroke for stroke, her body arching into mine, her surrender making something dark and fundamental flare inside me.
I wanted more.
Needed more.
But I also wanted to savor this—every shaky breath, every subtle tremor, every inch of her pressed against me. I let my fingers trail up her spine, slow and deliberate, reveling in the way she shivered beneath my touch. She was fire and silk. Resistance and surrender.
Then, to my surprise, she dropped to her knees and began unbuckling my pants. Deft fingers made quick work, and it wasn’t long before I was free from the constraint of clothing .
When she took the full weight of me in her hand, I hissed. “Fuck, Serena. You look exquisite on your knees.”
She wrapped her perfect lips around my cock. Any thoughts I had about taking her back to my hotel disappeared. She was now in control, and surprisingly, I was happy to let her take over.
Grabbing the back of her head, I fisted her hair and pushed deeper into her throat. I glanced down and found myself completely taken by the vision of her working over my length. She had one hand resting on the outside of my thigh, while the other hand wrapped around the base of my cock.
And her mouth…
Those perfect lips performed miracles of epic proportion.
She met my gaze, her eyes smoldering with a secret only she understood. Then she pulled back, running her tongue slowly and deliberately down the entire length of my erection. She did it again, flicking her tongue over the sensitive tip, her eyes never breaking contact with mine.
I moaned and I could feel her smile around my cock before she tightened her suction once more. This was a measured tease, and it made me want her that much more. I was coming apart, and I wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. It was pure torture, and she knew it—and I wanted nothing more than to punish her for it.
Stepping back, I pulled her to her feet. After stripping her shirt over her head, I pushed her until she was against the worktable in the center of the room. I gripped her shoulders, pressing her back until her spine was horizontal, and covered her body with mine. Burying my face in her neck, I breathed deeply, inhaling her scent. I peppered kisses along her jaw, moving to nip at her ear. She threw her head back, welcoming me to take more.
I was suddenly desperate. It had been too long since I’d been inside her. I needed to feel that hot, wet heat again .
Reaching under her to unhook her bra, I shoved it up roughly over her breasts. Then I bit down, capturing a nipple. Her back arched as the taut peaks hardened in response.
I moved a hand down her belly unfastening the button and zipper, I pushed the restrictive material down enough to make room for my fingers. When I made contact with her wet slit, she moaned—and it just might have been the sexiest sound I’d ever heard.
“Jesus Christ, Serena,” I grunted. “You’re so wet. I want to fuck you. Right here. Right now.”
I circled her nub with my forefinger, wanting her to come before I plunged my cock into her. I was desperate to have her and knew I wouldn’t be gentle when the time came.
“Yes. Just like that!” she cried out.
Her eyes locked on mine, and all I saw was a blazing inferno of desire as I continued to push her higher and higher. I wished we were somewhere else—my hotel, my club, anywhere. Fucking her like a savage on a slab of wood in a dusty garage didn’t seem fitting for a woman who deserved to be worshipped, but I was at the point of no return. The promise of her sweet pussy was too much.
“I want your orgasm, princess. I need to feel you tighten around my finger.”
“Please, Anton. Make me come,” she begged.
My eyes closed at the sound of my name falling from her lips. If I could live in this moment for the rest of my life, with the feel of her body trembling for me, I would die a happy man.
“I will, princess. And then I’m going to take you right here on this table.”
She moaned again, and within moments, her body stiffened and shuddered, surrendering to her climax.
I didn’t give her a moment to come down before pulling my fingers free and sliding her pants all the way down her legs. I made quick work of the condom, then cupped her ass and pulled her closer to me. I paused only for a moment so that I could lean down and press my lips to her soft, warm mouth. The ragged edge of her kiss was a sharp contrast to how sweet she tasted, making me moan into her mouth.
She ground her hips against me, seeking my cock. Grabbing her waist, I held her, controlling the motion. Then, positioning myself at her entrance, I shifted my feet to get the leverage I needed and pushed in deep, driving all the way home.
She let out a gasp as her body worked to accommodate my girth. I waited, letting her intense heat soak me.
“That’s it. Take all of me like a good girl. Feel it.”
Her rippling heat drove me wild as I began to pump into her. When she wrapped those glorious legs of hers around my hips and rose up to meet me, I hissed through clenched teeth and pushed harder. Over and over again, I impaled her.
It was as if I couldn’t get close enough.
I needed more than her body.
I needed to possess her.
To own her.
“Anton,” she moaned, her eyes a violent inferno of blue flames. The moaning of my name eventually turned into a plea. She was beautiful—absolutely stunning, and her sounds only made me harder.
“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name again, princess. I want to hear you scream it.”
Invigorated by the feel of her slick, tight walls, I increased the speed of my thrusts. By the time I felt her orgasm start to clench around my cock, I was ready to explode. When she came, her cry of release was all I needed to lose myself in her. I came with such a violent force, I was left shuddering and trembling in her arms.
Time seemed to stand still, and I wasn’t sure how long we lay there before Serena finally said, “I should get dressed. ”
“I like you naked,” I murmured, shifting my weight so she could sit up.
She turned her head slightly, meeting my gaze with a look that was both exasperated and amused. “I’m sure you do.”
She stretched, the action making it impossible not to run my hand over her smooth, olive skin. I traced my fingers along the curve of her hip, feeling the warmth of her body and watching the way her breath hitched.
When she moved to stand, I stood with her, pulling my pants back on as I watched her collect articles of clothing that were strewn about. Reaching down, I hooked a finger through a belt loop of her jeans and held them open for her to step into.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “But I’ve got it.”
I didn’t let go of the pants. Instead, I pulled them up her legs. Once they were in place, I slowly raised the zipper and fastened the button. Leaning in, I brought my lips to the shell of her ear. “I like taking care of you, princess. You’ll need to get used to it if we’re going to spend the next month together.”
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “About that. Does this count as day one?”
“I suppose it can.”
She looked at me for a moment, seeming to consider the situation. “I can’t spend all day, everyday, with you. I have a glasswork commission, and I should take advantage of this time away from the dig site to complete it.”
I shrugged. “I have work of my own to do. And when I don’t, I’ll watch your craft. I believe you mentioned starting early tomorrow.”
A flicker of something passed through her expression—hesitation, maybe. Then intrigue. “You really want to sit and watch me make glass?”
“I like watching you.”
Her face flushed, and her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to protest .
“It will take the morning for the furnace to reach temp,” she said finally. “Be here at noon.”
I met her gaze, letting a slow, deliberate smile play on my lips as I thought about fucking her again right here on this table. “Noon it is, princess.”