27. Livia #2
Niccolò goes completely still. He slowly raises his head, his dark eyes devoid of the warmth and fierce devotion I used to find there. He looks at me like a judge delivering a final, unalterable sentence.
"You do not owe me an apology for possessing a functioning survival instinct," he replies.
"You were right to run. You looked at the reality of my syndicate and recognized that a slaughterhouse is no place to raise a child. You made a mother’s choice, and I cannot fault you for seeing the monster clearly when the camouflage finally slipped. "
"You are not a monster!" I shout, slapping my palm against the table.
"Alessio told me everything. He told me how Roberto ruled this family, how you took the beatings to protect your brother, and how you dismantled the hierarchy to stop the cycle of abuse.
You use violence as a shield, Niccolò. You spill blood to keep the wolves away from our door.
I was too traumatized to see the difference between cruelty and protection, but I see it now. "
"Alessio talks too much. It does not matter what you see," he growls, shoving the tactical maps aside and stalking around the edge of the table.
He stops a safe distance away from me, crossing his arms over his chest to maintain the physical barrier between us.
"The blood is still on my hands, Livia. The violence is carved into my bones.
You will have the Severato wealth, you will have my name to protect you, and this child will never want for anything in this world.
You can live in this mansion like a queen, but I will not force my monstrous presence into your life ever again.
I will not be the poison that ruins my own bloodline. "
The sheer, arrogant stubbornness of his martyr act sends a hot, blinding spike of fury straight through my veins. He is trying to orchestrate our lives from a distance, playing the tragic villain while I sit in a gilded tower, and I refuse to accept this twisted version of reality.
"You arrogant bastard," I hiss, stepping away from the table to close the gap he so carefully established. "You do not get to dictate what I need, and you do not get to hide behind your own guilt because you are too scared to face the mess we made."
I walk right into his space, refusing to stop until the tips of my breasts brush against the crisp white cotton of his shirt.
Niccolò inhales a sharp, jagged breath, his hands falling to his sides as he instinctively tries to step backward, but the edge of a leather armchair blocks his retreat.
I crowd him, pressing my body flush against his towering frame, ensuring the thin crimson silk is the only barrier separating my bare skin from his heat.
"Livia, stop," he warns, his voice dropping an octave as a shudder wrecks through his shoulders. "Step back."
"Make me," I challenge, tilting my head back to look him dead in the eye.
I slide my hands up his chest, my fingers gripping the collar of his shirt as I press my hips explicitly against his groin.
The thick, rigid length of his erection strains against his trousers, betraying the physical hunger he is trying so desperately to suppress.
I roll my hips forward, and it draws a harsh, guttural sound from the back of his throat.
"Tell me you don't want this," I taunt him. "Look me in the eye, Niccolò, and tell me that my body disgusts you. Tell me you don't want to rip this silk off my shoulders and bend me over that table. If you are truly done with me, then push me away."
His chest heaves against mine, his obsidian eyes dilating until they swallow the irises completely.
The veins in his neck bulge as he wages a violent, impossible war against his own biology.
He is starving, physically vibrating with the effort it takes to keep his hands off me, and I refuse to give him a single inch of mercy.
I slide my hand up to the nape of his neck, tangling my fingers in his dark hair, and pull his face down until our lips are a fraction of an inch apart.
"Liar," I breathe against his mouth.
His control snaps and groans, a feral, animalistic noise that vibrates through my bones.
His hands crash down on my waist. He grips my hips with bruising strength, lifting me completely off the floor before slamming my back against the edge of the conference table.
My legs automatically wrap around his waist, pulling him into the cradle of my thighs as his mouth crashes violently onto mine.
He devours me, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a relentless, hungry rhythm that tastes like coffee, scotch, and unfiltered desperation.
I kiss him back with equal ferocity, my nails biting into his shoulders as I chase the intoxicating heat of his skin.
The cold, impenetrable ice wall he built is obliterated in seconds, melted by a lust so consuming it overrides every logical thought in my brain.
God I have missed him.
He sweeps his hands down the curve of my spine, gripping the hem of the crimson slip and shoving the silk up to my waist. His rough palms find the bare, sensitive skin of my thighs, his fingers digging into my flesh as he grinds his hips aggressively against my center.
The friction sends a blinding shockwave of pleasure straight to my core, and I cry out into his mouth, my back arching off the polished wood.
"Fuck," he rasps against my jaw, his breath coming in jagged, broken bursts as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down my neck. "You drive me insane. You tear my fucking mind apart, Livia."
"Then take me," I whimper, my hands fumbling frantically with the buckle of his belt. "Right now, Niccolò. Claim me."
I slide the leather strap loose, my fingers grazing the bulge behind his zipper, and the contact sends a violent tremor through his entire frame.
He freezes.
The feral, consuming hunger contorts into a mask of panic. Niccolò tears his mouth away from my neck, gasping for oxygen as if he is drowning. He grabs my wrists, pulling my hands away from his trousers with a sudden, jarring force that stops the blood in my veins.
"No," he chokes out, stumbling backward and tearing himself out of my grip.
He puts three feet of distance between us, his chest heaving, his hands shaking so violently he has to clench them into fists at his sides. The lust is still burning in his eyes, but it is overshadowed by a self-loathing so massive it completely breaks my heart.
"Niccolò," I plead, reaching a hand out toward him.
"I can't," he rasps, shaking his head as he takes another step back toward the doors. "I am not going to let you use sex to manipulate me into forgetting the truth. You ran from me because I am a danger to you. Fucking you on a desk isn't going to wash the blood off my hands."
He doesn't give me a chance to argue. He turns on his heel and strides out of the war room, the heavy mahogany doors slamming shut behind him with a definitive, ringing finality.
I do not even notice the tears falling from my eyes.