Chapter 25 Mara #2
“Shut the fuck up.” The words are flung like knives, cutting and final.
My jaw snaps shut, heat rushing up my neck. My pulse hammers in my ears, equal parts anger and something far more dangerous.
The drive back is a blur of shadows and neon streaking past the windows. He doesn’t look at me once. Doesn’t speak. Just drives like the road itself has wronged him.
When we screech into the Castello’s courtyard, he kills the engine and is out of the car in seconds. My door yanks open before I can reach for it. His hand clamps my arm again and I’m dragged out, stumbling to keep up.
Duchess’s carrier is shoved into a guard’s hands before I can blink. Nicolo doesn’t slow, doesn’t look back. His grip is iron, pulling me through the dark halls and up the staircase toward my room.
My pulse ricochets against my ribs. I could fight him. I could pull away. But I don’t. I can’t.
He pushes into my bedroom, the door slamming shut behind us so hard the frame rattles. For a beat, all I hear is my breathing. His breathing. The thick pressing of silence between us.
Then his voice, low and rough, closer than I realize. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
I open my mouth, but he doesn’t let me get the words out. His palm slams flat against the door, right beside my head. The crack of it vibrates through me, and suddenly he’s towering too close, his chest rising and falling hard.
“You don’t walk into a meeting like that. Not with men like them. Do you have a death wish?” His voice is sharper now, the emotion in it raw and unguarded.
I force my chin up; my voice shakes, but not from fear. “I thought you were going on a date.”
The words hang between us, sharp and humiliating.
His jaw tightens, his face twisted with a look of fury and something darker.
“So what if I was?” His voice is venom, rough and cutting. “That isn’t any of your fucking business.”
Heat scorches through me. My hands ball into fists at my sides.
“Not my business? You keep me locked up in here like I’m yours to control, but the second you want to sneak out—”
“Enough.” His palm hits the door again, harder this time, the sound like a gunshot in the small space.
His eyes burn into mine—wild, visceral—and for the first time since I’ve known him, he’s not the calm, controlled robot. He’s fire. He’s unchained.
And I can’t stop myself. I push back.
“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to treat me like I’m nothing and then act like…like…” The words tangle in my throat.
Then he moves.
His mouth crashes against mine like he’s been holding back. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s fucking desperate.
His kiss is all teeth and heat, kissing like he wants to break something—me, probably. And I let him. My back hits the door hard enough to rattle the hinges. I don’t care. My fingers dig into his shoulder, then into his dress shirt, dragging him closer like I’m scared he’ll stop.
He tastes like anger. Like control snapping in half. Like something I’m not supposed to want.
And I want more.
His thigh shoves between mine, and my hips roll before I can stop them. I grind against him like a goddamn livewire, every nerve screaming. My body reacts without permission—wet, aching, shameless.
His hand slides up my back to my zipper, palm flat and rough and warm. He’s not even touching my skin yet, and I’m already panting. I moan into his mouth, and he groans into mine, the sound low and guttural, like it surprises him.
I shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this. He’s always cold. Distant. The kind of man who looks at you like you’re a problem and he hasn’t decided whether you’re worth solving or not.
But right now? He’s not cold at all. He’s fire, and I’m letting him burn me alive.
He palms the back of my neck, tilts my head, and bites my bottom lip like he wants to mark it. His other hand grabs my hip, hard enough to bruise. I can feel the thick line of his cock through his pants pressing right into me. No games. No pretending.
Nicolo wants me.
And that shouldn’t feel like a win because you don’t want a man like Nicolo to truly notice you. But I do. I want him to want me, desperately so.
I kiss him harder. Sloppier. Trying to crawl inside him, like maybe I can make this real if I don’t stop. My underwear is soaked, my thighs shaking. I’d let him take me right here, door unlocked, lights on, nothing hidden.
But then he pulls back. Abrupt. Sharp. Like something flipped in his head.
His breath is rough. Chest heaving. He stares at the door over my shoulder, not looking at me, jaw locked like he’s trying to reel himself back in.
I don’t move. Neither does he.
For one second, he just stands there, forehead resting against mine. Like he doesn’t know what the hell he just did. Like he’s trying to forget it already. And before I can say anything, he’s gone.
The door slams shut behind him, and I’m still standing there shaking. My lips are swollen. My heart’s beating too fast. My thighs are still pressed together, trying to hold in the ache he left behind.
He didn’t say anything. Not a fucking word. And somehow, that hurts more than if he had.