16. Nina
16
NINA
Nina
T he next day, I went back to the gym in the lowest level of the mansion. Before I moved in here, self-care and making my health a priority were a farfetched ideal. I worked too much. I didn’t have money for a gym membership or any equipment.
Here, I felt like a spoiled guest to really get into the addiction of cardio. I suspected that I wasn’t using the weight machines properly, but so far, I hadn’t strained anything.
Running on the treadmill had become my favorite, and it was how Dante found me—again.
Yesterday, he’d caught me when I’d already left the gym. Today, he entered the room and watched me finish my cool down.
I laughed, unable to stop myself. “Are you following me?” I joked. I wasn’t sure how he could’ve guessed that I would be here. Maybe he was following me and I was already that predictable.
“I’ve noticed you like coming down to the gym.” He shrugged, taking his time to look me over as I stopped the machine and stepped off the belt. “I had a hunch you’d be at it again.”
“I think I’m getting hooked on it.” I wiped my face with a towel, but I was still soaked through. As I headed toward the counter to get my water bottle, I pulled my zipped-up hoodie off and tossed it into the laundry bin in the corner. It was drenched, as were my tank top and pants. Removing those layers would feel so good, but I wasn’t ready to reveal that much skin to him.
Just like at the pool, I was nervous to expose myself. It felt too risky.
I drank my water, watching him check me out as I rehydrated.
It was no casual glance. Dante took his time looking me over with an appreciative hunger. His lips, usually so firm with a smirk, curled upward, like he was trying to hide a wide smile.
“Mr. Constella,” I chided as I turned toward the door to leave.
He followed me, brows raised. “Hmm?”
Looking back once, I caught him staring at my ass. And it felt good. Having his attention was the reward I’d been hoping for. Ever since that other night when he came to check on me after the dinner, I’d fallen headfirst into this rampant desire. I wanted to impress him. I wished for him to notice me and like what he saw.
Right now, staring unabashedly at my ass and grinning so wickedly, I knew he did.
“No one’s here.”
He rubbed his jaw, looking up at me. “That’s true.”
And… you like that?
“Then save”—I spiraled my finger at his face as we walked—“that starved-man look for later.”
“Starved man?”
I laughed lightly. “Yeah. Save those kinds of looks for when someone’s watching.”
“Life is too short to save up anything for later.”
His words were cryptic, but not alarmingly so.
“So, if I want to look my fill of your tempting body…” He dropped his gaze to my breasts. As if feeling his stare, my nipples seemed to point out from under the wet fabric even more.
“Fuck, Nina.” He stopped me by pushing me against the wall so suddenly that my water bottle fell to the ground. It spilled, splashing out on my shoes, but I was glad he remained dry and fine in his suit.
“Mr.—”
He growled, leaning in closer and slamming his lips to my mouth. Hints of mint and coffee reached my tongue as he took over the kiss. He demanded. He explored. Without any warning, he silenced me fully and triggered me to drown in desire.
Bracing his hands against the wall, he kept me right where he wanted me, in place and dueling with his tongue.
All I could do was try to please him. To keep up with his hunger and kiss back as hard as he did me. To let him in. To enjoy his need to have this forbidden, sensual contact.
I panted hard, breathing harshly through my nose as I moaned under the rough kiss. I was already catching up with my respiration from running and my workout, but Dante had me breathless. Senseless, too. All I felt, all I wanted to experience, was him. The soft firmness of his lips brushing against mine. The wet slide of his tongue along mine.
Arching into him, I showed how badly I wanted this. How desperately I’d been wanting him . But I didn’t dare touch him. I couldn’t.
“Nina…” He said on a rough exhale once he broke for air.
“I thought I was supposed to be Ms. Bardot.” As I licked my lips, breathing hard and fast for my racing heart, I stared into the darkness of his brown stare. It was a smoldering look, full of heat and need.
“Consider this practice, then.” He leaned in again, fusing his mouth to mine and kissing me even harder. Desire pummeled through me, but I tried not to mess him up.
When he parted again, I furrowed my brow. “Practice? Practice for what?”
He slanted toward me, nipping and gently kissing my lower lip. With a lazy, slow, and leisurely manner, he sampled me, like he had all the time in the world despite the fact that he was dressed and ready to leave, likely for another meeting.
“For tomorrow night,” he answered, still kissing me softly. I couldn’t resist. Catching his mouth again, I replied in kind.
“What’s tomorrow night?” I lifted my hand to rub it over his chest but stopped before I touched him.
“Why are you holding back?”
I curled my hand into a fist and lowered it. “I don’t want to get you dirty or sweaty.”
He hummed. “Maybe later.” Again, I was mute under his lips as he kissed me longer.
“All I want to do is think about being dirty with you,” he growled before he licked his lips, no doubt tasting the salt from my lips and skin.
“Mr. Constella,” I whispered, shocked and so turned on that I didn’t know how I had the energy to get excited after the strenuous run. This was the time to cool down, to slow my body and recoup from the exercise. Instead, I was charging forward with so much thrilling need for him that I struggled to breathe steadily.
“No.” He kissed me harder, pushing me into the wall. “Say my name.”
My God. I didn’t know what was happening, if he was giving up on faking anything and I missed the memo.
“Dante.” I moaned under his answering kiss.
“Dante,” I tried again. “Practice for what?” It was those little words that kept me from thinking this was real, that he had broken and lost control of the maddening sexual tension sparking between us.
“For tomorrow night. The gala.” He just couldn’t stop kissing me, taunting me to reach out and hold him close, to push and grind against him before I looped my legs around his waist.
“You’ll be there with me,” he whispered.
“And… you want to practice how to kiss?” I asked, hating how dumb I sounded.
His chuckle didn’t clue me in. It was a low and wicked sound that turned me on more. He oozed such masculinity, such intelligence and confidence, that I could revel in amusing him. Even at the expense of admitting I was asking something stupid. Something obvious.
“Sure. Call this practice for kissing at the gala.” He looked down at me, growling at the sight of my nipples so hard beneath the wet fabric. “We’ll practice as much as you want.”
I felt like we were talking in riddles. Practicing kissing sounded like an excuse to make out with me. But I played along, anyway. “You’ll teach me?” I asked as I traced the tip of my tongue along his upper lip until he kissed me. “You’ll show me what I need to know? How to look like I’m with you and making you happy?”
“I’ll teach you anything you want to know,” he replied, his voice so deep and husky, threaded with desire.
He wasn’t faking a damn thing right now. Ignoring my whimper of protest as he pushed his body against mine, flush and dirtying his suit with the contact, he kissed me until I thought I’d pass out.
“But I’m not…” I licked my lips and stared up at him, amazed at the lust glittering from his deep brown gaze. “I’m not ready.”
“For what, Nina?” He trailed kisses along my jaw, going for my ear and not at all bothered with how sweaty I was. “Ready for me ?’
Oh, fuck. I prayed that he meant that like I thought he did. Sexually. Intimately.
I swallowed hard, struggling to keep up with this naughty talk. “For the gala.”
He smiled roguishly. “Then I’ll take you to get something.”
Again? “Maybe this time,” I said quietly, “ you can help me pick something suitable.”
He kissed me once more. “Absolutely.” Then he stepped back, bringing his hands off the wall. “Tonight.”
I nodded, too stunned and dizzy with desire to say anything coherent yet. “Okay.”
He stared at me, lingering for another heated, torturous moment. With every second that passed, I was tempted to launch into his arms and get right back to kissing the smirk off his lips and earning his sexy, guttural growls of satisfaction and neediness.
“We’ll practice some more,” he said as he began to back up.
“Practice makes perfect,” I quipped, too stupefied from his kisses to say anything wittier.
He shook his head. “You already are.”
I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling too widely. It wouldn’t do to show him how much his flirty attitude got to me. I had to stay strong.
But why?
As he turned and left me there, slumped against the wall, I felt more confident that he was talking about something else. He wasn’t suggesting that we practice kissing and being close for the sake of perfecting our fake relationship that would need to be noticed at this gala tomorrow night. Reading between the lines, I got a strong hunch that he was mocking me, teasing me with the idea of practicing for the real thing.
A real attempt at being together.
I lifted my fingers to my swollen lips, happily abused by his demands for kisses.
And I wondered what would happen the next time he spotted me and insisted that I call him by his name. Because maybe that could be the trick to make him snap and kiss me once more.
Calling him Mr. Constella was a sassy reminder that we were supposed to make our connection believable when others were watching. Referring to him by his name in private like this… That was much more fun, especially when it drove him to want to taste the syllables right off my tongue.