15. Pearl
15
PEARL
T hree days since that night at Luca's apartment, and I still couldn't figure out what the hell was happening to me. Or with any of them, really.
Every morning when Nico brought me coffee, my heart would race just from the way he looked at me... like he could read every secret I was trying to hide. And the scariest part? I wanted him to keep looking.
And Vincenzo... I kept finding the stupidest excuses to let him help with my hair, just to feel those fingers against my scalp. It was pathetic, how I practically melted every time he touched me. I'd catch him watching me in mirrors sometimes, that perfect composure of his cracking just enough to make my breath catch.
Luca. Just his name brought a smile to my face like I was some lovesick kid. After that night in his apartment, something had shifted. Now, whenever he showed up with his ridiculous snacks and that grin of his, I found myself wanting to make him laugh, to see that surprised delight in his eyes when I matched his wit. To find that raw honesty we'd shared over midnight cereal.
Yesterday, Giuliano had stopped by my room. When he told me I needed to learn self-defense, with Angelo as my trainer, I couldn't help the little thrill that ran through me. I'd always wanted to learn, but never dared ask Vittorio—we both knew what his answer would have been.
Through my window, I could see Angelo training in the courtyard, all smooth muscle and controlled power. The sight of him moving with such deadly grace made moisture pool between my thighs. I slipped into my bathroom—the only place without cameras—and leaned against the cool tile wall.
Just five minutes to myself. That's all I needed.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly, they were all there, their hands on my skin making me shiver, their bodies pressed against me from every side. My breath hitched as they whispered how perfect I was, how they'd been aching for me, how they needed to make me theirs. God, the things they promised to do to me... My whole body was on fire, desperate for their touch, their kisses, their?—
My fingers had just slipped beneath the waistband of my shorts when a sharp knock made me jump. "Pearl?" Angelo's voice, right outside my room. "Time for training."
I yanked my hand away, face burning. "Just... just a minute!" My voice came out embarrassingly breathy.
God, what was wrong with me? These men were supposed to be my captors. Instead, here I was, hiding in my bathroom, getting turned on while watching one of them train and daydreaming about the others.
I wasn't ready for any of this. Not for Angelo's training, not for these confusing feelings, not for how completely they'd all gotten under my skin.
But damn, I wanted it. All of it.
The gym in the east wing wasn't what I'd expected. No mirrors or polished chrome like Vittorio's pristine workout rooms. Just mats, equipment, and the lingering scent of leather and sweat that made my pulse quicken.
Angelo turned when I entered, and I nearly stumbled. He'd changed into fitted black training pants and a sleeveless shirt that did nothing to hide the coiled strength in his arms. Those eyes raked over me, noting every detail.
"First rule," he said, voice clipped and professional. "Always be aware of your surroundings."
"I am aware," I managed, trying not to focus on how his muscles shifted as he moved closer. "Vittorio made sure of that."
"Noticing which fork to use at dinner isn't the same as survival awareness." Something dark flickered in his eyes. "Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Trust me." His voice had dropped lower, sending shivers down my spine.
I hesitated, then let my eyes fall shut. Immediately, my other senses heightened. The soft whirr of the ceiling fan. The creak of the mats. And Angelo's presence, radiating heat just inches away.
"Tell me what you hear," he murmured.
"The fan. Someone's in the hallway—Rocco, I think. His boots sound different from yours." I tilted my head slightly. "Your breathing... it changed when I mentioned Vittorio."
The silence that followed made me open my eyes. Angelo stood closer than I'd realized, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Something intense burned in those green depths.
"You're observant," he said finally. "That's good. But observation without action is just..." He moved with impossible speed. Before I could blink, he had me pinned against the wall, one hand gentle but firm around my throat. "...waiting to be hurt."
My heart raced, but not from fear. His body caged mine, all controlled power and heat. His thumb rested against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel how fast my heart was beating.
"So teach me," I whispered.
His eyes dropped to my parted lips for just a moment before that professional mask slipped back into place. But his voice was harder when he spoke. "When someone grabs you like this, most people panic. Try to pull away." His fingers flexed slightly against my throat. "But that just wastes energy. Instead..."
He guided my hands, showing me how to break his hold. Each touch sent electricity through my skin. When I successfully executed the move, something like pride flickered across his face.
"Good," he said softly. "Again. Slower this time. I want you to feel every step."
We worked through various holds and escapes, his hands always professional but somehow burning wherever they touched. I tried to focus on the techniques but kept getting distracted by different details—the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, how his accent deepened when he was pleased with my progress, the slight roughness of his palms against my skin.
"You're thinking too much," he growled after I fumbled another escape. "This needs to be instinct." He moved behind me, adjusting my stance. His breath brushed my neck as he spoke. "Feel it in your body, not your head."
Easy for him to say. My body was feeling entirely too much right now.
My breath caught as Angelo moved with liquid grace, demonstrating the next hold. "When someone comes at you from the front," he explained, voice low and controlled, "they'll try to use their weight against you. Like this."
In one smooth move, he had me on the mat, and suddenly I couldn't think straight. The weight of his body over mine sent tingles all through me - he was solid muscle, hot and heavy in all the right ways. His chest pressed against mine with each quick breath he took. One of his hands pinned my wrist above my head, while the other braced next to my shoulder. The touch of his skin on mine made my pulse race.
"The key is to use their momentum against them," he said, but his voice came out deeper, rougher than before. I could feel the strength in him, the way his muscles tensed as he held himself over me. The scent of his skin—clean sweat and something spicy —made my head swim. My whole body felt like it was waking up, coming alive under his touch. Every tiny shift of his weight against me sent sparks of heat through my belly.
The feel of him pressed against me was too much—and not enough. My body moved on its own, arching up to meet his. A small sound escaped his throat as he went completely still above me. His hands tightened on my wrist, and when I looked up, his eyes were dark with want.
"Like that?" I whispered, heart thundering against my ribs.
I watched as something changed in his face—that cool, disciplined look melting away. His eyes got darker, his breathing deeper. When I moved against him again, slower this time, he let out a shaky breath that made my whole body tingle. The way he looked at me now... it was like he'd been starving, and I was everything he'd been craving. His breath hitched, a barely audible sound that sent shivers down my spine. Those green eyes locked onto mine.
The hand at my wrist loosened, then slowly trailed down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. His other hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing softly across my bottom lip.
"Pearl," he breathed, my name a question and a warning all at once.
I answered by letting my lips part slightly under his touch. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and the last threads of his control unraveled. Angelo leaned down with agonizing slowness, giving me every chance to turn away. But I was done running from this.
When his lips finally met mine, it was devastatingly gentle—a stark contrast to the tension thrumming through his body. Then I sighed against his mouth, and something broke loose in him. The kiss deepened, became hungry, consuming. His hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back as he claimed my mouth more thoroughly. I took full advantage of my freed hand, letting my fingers explore the solid muscles of his back, feeling them flex beneath his shirt.
He made this deep sound in his throat when my nails ran down his back. God, his kisses were driving me crazy—hot and needy against my mouth, then moving to my jaw, my neck. When his teeth grazed that sensitive spot below my ear, I couldn't help the little moan that escaped. My body curved upward, wanting more.
His rough palm slid under my tank top, and my skin felt like it was on fire wherever he touched. I was lost in it; the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, how perfect his hands felt on my skin. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. I needed more. Needed him.
"Pearl," he breathed against my neck. His hand slid higher under my shirt, making me gasp. The other one gripped my hips, pulling me tighter against him.
The sound of boots in the hallway hit me like a bucket of cold water. I froze, and Angelo tensed above me. "Shit," he muttered, his hands still branded on my skin before the door handle began to turn.