CHAPTER 4 #2
"I'll kill you for this," I wheeze, seeing stars at the edge of my vision.
I try to bring my knee up in a final, desperate strike to his groin, but he anticipates it instantly.
He slams his hips aggressively into mine, using his thighs to lock my legs uselessly against the lower cabinets.
At the same time, his hands shoot out, grabbing both of my wrists and pinning them flat to the marble counter on either side of my head.
The raw skin of my wrists chafes under the brutal pressure of his large, calloused hands.
Zero mobility. He is a mountain of muscle, and I am completely immobilized.
"Enough!"
"Let me go, you prick!"
Leon presses his entire body weight into me.
His broad chest crushes my breasts flat against my ribs.
The heavy gold watch on his left wrist grinds painfully into the side of my face.
He is asserting absolute, suffocating physical ownership of my space, leaving me absolutely no room to even squirm.
My breath comes in frantic, ragged gasps.
"Look at you. All that training, and here you are."
"I'm going to ruin you for this."
"You're already ruined, Alessia. You just haven't realized it yet."
The deep rumble of his voice vibrates in his chest and transfers directly into my own sternum.
He leans down, his face entirely too close, his lips grazing the delicate shell of my ear.
The rough, masculine friction of his stubble scratches hard against my cheek.
His breath is warm, smelling heavily of whiskey and leather.
"They taught you how to fight, little agent," he whispers, the low, gravelly rasp sending an involuntary, traitorous shiver straight down my spine.
"Go to hell."
"But I'm going to teach you how to lose."
I turn my head as far as his grip allows and spit right in his face.
A venomous "fuck you" lands with a drop of my saliva on his cheek. It glints under the penthouse lights for half a second before he coldly wipes it away with a shrug of his shoulder. Leon’s eyes transform.
The calculated, arrogant businessman vanishes entirely, replaced by something ancient, feral, and starving.
He doesn't pull away. He tightens his grip on my wrists until I bite my tongue to keep from crying out.
"You have such a filthy mouth," he says softly.
"Then stop listening to it."
"I think I’ll find a better use for it."
Leon releases my left wrist just long enough to capture my jaw in his hand.
His long fingers dig into the soft skin of my jawline, bruising me instantly as he forces my face forward.
He crashes his mouth onto mine. It isn't a kiss. It’s a total, violent invasion.
I gasp from the shock of the impact, and he uses the opening to thrust his tongue deep into my mouth, claiming me with brutal, terrifying efficiency.
The sharp taste of peaty Scotch floods my senses.
The hard scrape of his teeth against my lips sends a jolt of pure adrenaline through my nervous system.
"Mmmph—" I struggle, thrashing my hips, but he just presses harder.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth, swallowing my breath. "Every bit of you is mine now."
I refuse to be a goddamn victim in this.
If he wants a fight, I’ll give him one. I bite down on his lower lip.
I bite down hard, grinding my teeth until the skin breaks and the sharp, hot copper taste of his blood floods my mouth.
I expect him to recoil, to hit me, to pull away in pain.
Instead, a deep, primal groan rips out of his throat.
He uses the pain. He feeds on it, twisting his head to force a deeper, even more punishing kiss.
"You like that, don't you?" he breathes, tasting his own blood on my tongue.
"Fuck... yes," he answers his own question when I refuse to.
He releases my other wrist and grabs a fistful of the dark auburn hair at the back of my head.
He pulls, a sharp, violent tug on my scalp that makes my eyes water instantly.
He tilts my head back at an agonizingly perfect angle, exposing the long column of my throat.
His large hand wraps almost entirely around my neck, mapping the frantic pulse jumping under my skin while he devours my mouth.
I am drowning in him. I can't find the air.
"Don't you dare close your eyes," he commands, pulling my hair harder.
"I hate you," I manage to gasp against his lips.
He ignores me, grinding his hips down into mine.
The sheer force of it makes me painfully aware of his rock-hard arousal pressing directly into my center.
The friction of his heavy wool trousers against the thin fabric of my slacks sends a treacherous, electric jolt of lightning straight through my core.
My toes curl inside my shoes as a heavy wave of heat settles deep in my belly.
My biology is throwing a massive fucking error code.
I am terrified, I am furious, and my traitorous body is responding to his absolute dominance.
"Your heart is hammering, Alessia," he murmurs, his lips dragging down to my jaw. "Is it fear or something else?"
"Shut up. Just shut up."
He breaks the kiss, stepping back just enough to give me air but leaving his massive frame inches from my face.
My chest is heaving. He looks down at my swollen, reddened lips with a dark, sick sense of pride.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the black access card.
Maintaining eye contact, he reaches forward and slowly slides the cold plastic right down the front of my shirt.
The chilling edge of the card drags over my feverish skin, catching briefly on the delicate lace edge of my bra before dropping fully into my cleavage.
"Keep it warm for me," he says, his voice dangerously smooth.
"You're a monster."
"And you're my favorite toy."
He takes a full step back. The sudden absence of his suffocating body heat leaves the room feeling freezing.
The silence he leaves behind is heavier than his physical weight.
My knees are literally shaking. I have to lean my hips back against the marble bar just to keep from collapsing onto the rug.
He watches me critically, his ice-blue eyes raking over my disheveled hair, my bruised jaw, and the frantic rise and fall of my chest. He adjusts his cuffs, perfectly composed, like he didn't just rip my world apart in under three minutes.
"Clean yourself up," he orders, turning toward the hallway. "We're going downstairs."
"Where?" I demand, my voice completely shot.
"To see what happens to people who betray me."
I stare at his broad back as he walks away.
The gun is lost under the cabinets. The card is trapped against my chest. The fight is over.
We aren't playing house anymore; we're going to the basement.
Simple logic dictates I need to figure out how to navigate an active torture scenario without throwing up on my own shoes.
I wipe the blood off my mouth with the back of my hand and follow him.