Chapter 22 Valentina #2
“You forget people because it’s easier than remembering who you’ve become,” he said. “Doesn’t matter how much you drink.”
“Oh, fuck you.” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You are so far up your own ass it’s a miracle you can breathe.”
“That’s rich, coming from the queen of self-sabotage. You’ve been suffocating on your own bad decisions since the day I met you.”
I gave him a glare. A mean one. “I never asked for your help.”
“No,” he agreed. “You just make sure I’m always around to offer it.”
“You offer it on your own, and you know it.”
His eyes fell to my mouth and back up again. “Bad habit.”
“I’ll break it for you.”
“Try,” he said in a husky, strained voice.
My chin tipped up. “What happens if I do break it, Marco? What’s left when you’ve got no excuses to chase after me?”
He didn’t give me an answer.
I dragged a finger down the center of his chest, slow enough to watch his jaw flex. “You like having me this way, don’t you? Backed into corners, biting at your hand every time you try to help. You like playing my hero even when you swear you’re not.”
He caught my wrist before I could drag that finger any lower. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to make my pulse trip over itself. “I don’t play hero, Valentina,” he lied. “I clean up messes. And you’re just another mess.”
“If I’m such a mess, walk away and leave me in it. Go and tell Max this was a mistake.”
His thumb traced the inside of my wrist, skating over my pulse like he could feel it hammering. “You think I haven’t tried?”
My breath stuttered, just once, but he caught it. Of course he caught it. “Tried what? Walking away from me, or telling Max this was a mistake?”
“What do you think?” he murmured.
I thought I was the habit he couldn’t break, the problem he couldn’t solve, the ache under his skin that no amount of distance could fix. And if that were true, I wanted him to feel it. All of it. So, naturally, I did the absolute worst thing I could think of.
I stepped closer. Way closer, because apparently, I had no sense of self-preservation or shame left in my entire body. I tilted my chin up so I could look him right in the eye, even though doing that always made me forget how to breathe.
I reached up slowly and curled my fingers around his tie again, tugging him down gently, just like last time.
It felt familiar—and maybe that was exactly why I did it.
Marco was my worst decision in a long history of terrible decisions, but I couldn’t stop myself from making this decision again and again.
And yeah, I knew I was pushing. Knew this would blow up spectacularly in my face. Knew I’d probably wake up alone tomorrow, cursing myself for being so careless with my stupid feelings and his stupid tie and everything about him that drove me insane.
But none of that stopped me, because the truth was, I wanted him. Badly. Against my better judgment, despite the giant neon warning signs flashing inside my brain.
Then he tipped his head down to my ear. “You think you can just tease me like this and expect me to stay polite?”
I shivered, and every nerve in my body practically shouted, Finally!
God, if he knew how desperately I’d been luring him in, how deliberately I’d been pushing him past politeness, he’d probably back away. That was what Marco did—he took one step forward and two cautious, annoying steps back.
“Polite doesn’t work on girls like me,” I said softly, meaning every single word. I didn’t do polite. Couldn’t stand polite. Polite was cautious. Safe. Marco. Polite was never enough.
“Would you rather I bend you over the counter or let you climb into my lap and do it yourself?”
My breath stuttered embarrassingly in my throat, and I gripped his tie harder, just to keep myself steady. I didn’t know what scared me more: that I wanted him to follow through, or that he actually might.
“Lap. Counter. Doesn’t matter,” I finally breathed, the words tumbling out. “You’ll still hate yourself for wanting it afterward.”
Marco lifted his head slowly, meeting my eye straight-on. “It’s impressive how wrong you are.”
Because I knew if Marco Grey didn’t hate himself afterward, I would. And yet somehow, I still wasn’t letting go of his tie.
Marco’s hand came up and slid against my jaw, his fingers curling around my chin as if he’d finally lost whatever internal battle he’d been fighting. He tilted my face up toward his, pulling me close.
Then he kissed me.
And fuck.
I knew it would be good—I knew it—but I wasn’t prepared for how good. I wasn’t prepared for the way he responded instantly, like he hadn’t just been standing there unaffected, waiting, acting like he didn’t need this just as badly as I did.
There was nothing careful or hesitant about the kiss either. It was possessive, consuming, like he’d been starving himself for weeks just to avoid tasting me.
I felt my back hit the kitchen counter as Marco lifted me easily onto the cold marble surface, not breaking the kiss.
I should have been nervous. This man with hands that had held much more dangerous things than me—he wasn’t a boy fumbling at my waist in the dark; he was a man who knew exactly how this would go.
He guided me like he already knew what my body would do before I did. Like he could predict my hesitation, my second-guessing, my messy panic.
His hands were still on my waist, still pressing me against him, still gripping me like he wasn’t done. Whatever control he usually operated under had finally cracked, and now that he had me here, he wasn’t ready to let go.
I felt the way his breath fanned against my skin; the way his fingers flexed against my hips; the way he kissed me like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Tell me to stop,” he said between kisses, his voice wrecked.
“Why would I do that?” I smirked against his mouth.
“Because I’m not Greg or Sebastian or whoever the fuck else you let crawl between your legs to feel wanted.”
“No, but you’re just as desperate.”
He bit my lip.
Ouch.
“If desperation had a face, it’d look exactly like yours—makeup smudged, mouth open, always waiting for someone to tell you what you’re worth.”
“You wanna know my worth, lawyer? Start at my knees and work your way up.”
“I don’t reward self-sabotage with orgasms.”
I hummed. “That’s a shame. I thought you might finally prove you’re good for something other than telling me what to do.”
“You’ve spent years confusing attention from assholes with affection, and you think I need to prove myself? You didn’t make Greg work for it. You didn’t make Sebastian either. But I’m the one who needs to prove something? Be serious, Valentina.”
With a smile, I admitted, “I never sucked Greg’s dick. Do you really think I have to go that far to get what I want?”
“No. You wouldn’t have to, would you? Sebastian already taught you how to make a fool of yourself for free.”
“Jealous?” I asked gently. “You should be. At least Sebastian knew what to do with me.”
“Of course he knew what to do with you. You begged for it.”
“And you’ve been dying to find out if I’ll beg for you too.”
His thumb pressed against my pulse as if he wanted to feel the effect he had on me.
I wanted to smile for getting my way. Of course this was how it would go. I’d been waiting for him to lose control since the second I met him.
He dragged me forward, his mouth crashing against mine hard enough to make me gasp—hard enough to steal the breath right out of my body. I could taste his frustration, his self-loathing, his hunger, all of it mixed into the way he kissed me, like he wanted to punish me for existing.
I kissed him back just as hard, my fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer as if I were daring him to make good on every threat he’d ever thrown my way. His other hand fisted the back of my dress, jerking me against him so I could feel exactly what all that anger was hiding.
I felt the shift beneath me as we moved past the kitchen into the bedroom. Then the bed was under me, the cool sheets pressed against my back as Marco hovered above, his arms caging me against the bed.
His mouth was hot against mine. Desperate. He was making up for every minute he’d pretended not to want this. Now he had permission, he wasn’t wasting another second.
His lips were everywhere.
I felt him against me. Hard.
A sudden breath of air left me when his mouth trailed along my jaw, down the column of my throat, his breath warm against my skin.
“Oh,” I moaned, tipping my head back.
Marco stilled.
Just for a second.
Like he was collecting himself. Like he was remembering who he was—who I was—what this was supposed to be. And I hated that. I hated that he was thinking right now, because the second he started thinking, he’d stop.
I didn’t want him to stop.
I dragged my nails lightly down his chest, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles. “Don’t start overthinking, lawyer,” I murmured, my voice still breathless, still wrecked from the way he’d just kissed me. “Not now.”
“Thinking’s the only thing that’s kept me from having you like this before.”
“Do you not want me like this?” I asked.
“I’ve wanted you like this since the first time you opened your mouth and pissed me off.”
“And when was that?”
“Christmas party. The second you found out I worked for Max and stopped pretending to be sweet.”
“Did that disappoint you?” I wondered. “You like your women helpless?”
“Helpless isn’t my type. Mouthy little liars though? Apparently, I’ve got a weakness.”
His fingers tightened slightly on my waist as if he knew exactly what his words did to me. As if he’d chosen them carefully, measured them out just right to test me.
His thumb pulled down my bottom lip slowly before he placed his own lips back on mine.
He wasn’t rushing. No—Marco didn’t rush anything. He savored.