Chapter 17 #2
I lowered my hands and let out a shaky breath as the tension in my chest eased. “This bond thing is going to make me crazy.”
He leaned back against the headboard. “It’s already making me crazy.”
His words shouldn’t have made me laugh, but a small, incredulous sound that surprised even me escaped me. For the first time since waking up—hell, since I’d been brought here—it didn’t feel so crushing.
Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Raffaele than the cold, calculating monster he showed to the world.
The knock on my door startled me. I’d spent most of the day curled up in bed, nursing the lingering nausea and dizziness from the binding ritual. I wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all him.
I had no clue what time it was, but the room was eerily dark.
“Come in,” I said, sitting up and pulling the blanket tighter around me. My stomach gave a low growl of protest, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since before the wedding ceremony the day before.
The door creaked open, and Raffaele stepped inside, his expression unreadable as always.
Behind him, two staff members carried in trays laden with food—a small buffet of options that smelled so good I nearly drooled.
The aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and something sweet made my stomach twist in both hunger and unease.
“I figured you might be hungry, considering it’s almost eleven at night,” he said as he switched the bedside lamp on. He nodded to the staff to set the trays on the small table by the window. Once they finished, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
“Starving.” I got out of bed and padded over to the table. My head still felt light, and I moved slowly, but the sight of real food gave me a much-needed boost of energy.
Raffaele leaned against the wall, watching me load a plate up with food. I didn’t bother trying to make conversation as I shoveled food into my mouth. The first bite of roasted chicken practically melted on my tongue, and I moaned in delight.
“Don’t I get a thank you?” he drawled, his tone amused.
I didn’t dignify that with a response, just reached for a piece of bread and tore into it. He chuckled, and I felt a flash of amusement ripple through the bond. His emotions were like faint echoes in the back of my mind, brushing against my own without my permission.
The bond was already proving to be a pain in my ass.
I didn’t look up until I was halfway through my plate, and when I did, I found him staring at me, his arms crossed and his head tilted slightly. There was something unsettling about the way he studied me—like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
“What?”
He pushed off the wall, a neutral mask slipping onto his face. “You’ll be moving into my bedroom tonight.”
I nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he said, his tone annoyingly calm. “The bond makes it… difficult to be apart for long periods. It thrives on proximity. When we’re together, it’s stable—happy, even. When we’re apart, it will cause discomfort. Anxiety. You’ve felt it already, haven’t you?”
I opened my mouth to argue but stopped short. Damn it, he was right. The uneasiness that had settled in my chest when he left the room hadn’t been lingering fear, it had been the bond. Gods, I wanted to scream.
“I’m not moving into your room. And I’m sure as shit not sleeping with you.”
A flash of amusement and annoyance passed through the bond. “You can sleep on the floor for all I care.”
“Then why move me in at all?”
“Like I said, the bond. It’s better that way,” he said simply. “For both of us.”
I huffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it either.”
His honesty took me by surprise, deflating some of my anger.
Still, the thought of sharing a space with him—sleeping in the same room—felt like a nightmare waiting to happen.
I clenched my jaw, trying to find a loophole, a way out of this mess, but his resolve was clear. There would be no arguing with him.
He led me to his room. My head throbbed from the effort of walking, but I refused to show any weakness in front of him. When we reached the door, he opened it with a flourish and stepped aside, motioning for me to enter.
The space was exactly what I’d expected: dark, minimalist, and annoyingly immaculate.
A massive bed draped in black and gray linens that looked sinfully soft dominated the center of the room.
There was a sitting area near the fireplace, a few shelves lined with books, and a desk that looked more for decoration than use.
“Make yourself at home.” Raffaele made his way to a massive walk-in closet in the corner and emerged with fresh clothes. “I’m going to shower.”
I took in the room and tried to make sense of the enigma that was Raffaele Gallanti. Without thinking, I took a seat at the desk that looked like it had never been used. I wiped a finger over the surface. It came back clean. Of course. Eldora ran a tight ship around here.
What the hell did he do for entertainment? There was no TV, no speakers, or signs that he listened to music anywhere. Completely bored out of my mind, I found a blank notepad and pen in the drawer of the desk and began doodling flowers.
I was never much of an artist, but the repetitive motion numbed my mind, which was exactly what I needed.
I was so focused on my drawings that I hadn’t heard the water shut off. Raffaele emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and tousled, wearing only a pair of black cotton pajama pants.
Son of a fucking bitch.
This wasn’t the first time I’d caught a glimpse of his bare chest, but nevertheless, I was shocked at how chiseled his muscles were. Couldn’t he have the decency to cover that shit up?
He walked over to the bed, grabbed a pillow and a blanket, and tossed them at my feet. “There. Problem solved.”
I glared at him. “You expect me to sleep on the floor?”
“You said you weren’t sleeping with me,” he said with a shrug, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “This is your alternative.”
Grinding my teeth, I snatched up the pillow and blanket and marched to the far side of the room. The floor was cold and hard, and as I arranged the bedding, I could already tell I’d be miserable. Still, I wasn’t about to admit defeat.
The lights dimmed, and I heard him settle onto the bed with a contented sigh. “Goodnight, Vivian.”
“Go to hell,” I muttered, wrapping the blanket around me and trying to find a position that didn’t make my back scream in protest.
I lay there for what felt like hours, the silence only broken by the occasional rustle of the sheets as he shifted. I could feel his emotions through the bond—his calm amusement, tinged with the faintest hint of annoyance. He wasn’t going to sleep until I gave in.
The floor was unbearable. My hips ached, my neck felt like it was twisting into a pretzel, and the blanket offered no cushioning whatsoever. With a groan of frustration, I sat up and glared at the bed.
“Fine,” I snapped, grabbing the pillow and blanket and stomping over to the other side. “But don’t get any ideas.”
He didn’t even bother to hide his satisfaction. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I climbed onto the bed, putting as much distance between us as possible. The mattress was like heaven compared to the floor, and I couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped me as I sank into it.
“I want a TV in here,” I said.
Raffaele turned his head to look at me, one brow arching. “A TV?”
“Yes. I want to watch trash TV. It brings me joy.”
I felt his disdain ripple through the bond, followed by a flash of reluctant amusement. “Trash TV?”
“You heard me.” I turned my back to him, pulling the blanket up to my chin. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”
He laughed, and for a moment, the tension between us felt lighter. “You never cease to surprise me, Vivian.”
“And you’re an ass,” I muttered, though there was no real bite in my tone. “Which never surprises me in the least.”
Through the bond, I felt his lingering amusement as I drifted into sleep.
I woke up to warmth pressed against my back that wasn’t just the blankets.
My body stiffened as I realized I wasn’t alone in the bed, and the steady rise and fall of breath behind me confirmed it.
I blinked, the events of the previous night rushing back: the bond, the argument, the compromise that had me reluctantly sharing his bed.
And now, Raffaele was spooning me.
His arm was draped over my waist, his breath tickling the back of my neck. But the worst—the most mortifying—part was the unmistakable pressure against my ass. My cheeks flushed as I registered what it was. The solid heat of his erection pressing into me was impossible to ignore.
Oh, hell no.
I carefully wriggled out from under his arm to avoid waking him. His arm twitched slightly as I slipped free, but he didn’t stir. Finally, I was free, and I bolted from the bed as quietly as I could, my feet padding against the cold floor as I made my way to his bathroom.
Once inside, I shut the door softly and leaned against it. The bathroom was massive, sleek, and modern, with dark marble and gleaming chrome fixtures. It screamed Raffaele—minimalist, intimidating, and a little too perfect.
I stripped out of my pajamas and stepped into the shower, turning the water on as hot as I could stand it.
The spray hit my skin, and I sighed in relief.
The tension in my body melted away as the heat soaked into my muscles.
I lathered up shampoo and worked it into my hair, scrubbing harder than necessary, as if the water could wash away the confusion of the last twenty-four hours.
As I rinsed my hair, I heard the door open, and my stomach dropped.
I peeked over my shoulder just as Raffaele stepped into the bathroom.
He was gloriously shirtless, his hair tousled from sleep, and he had the audacity to look completely unbothered by the fact that I was naked in his shower.
His eyes flicked over me, smoldering with something I didn’t have the energy to process right now.
“What the fuck, Raffaele? Ever heard of privacy?” I snapped, instinctively crossing my arms over my chest.
His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he stepped into the shower, obviously trying to get a rise out of me. The glass door swung shut behind him, and he moved past me, his body brushing mine just enough to make me flinch. “I hate when you fucking call me that.”
I clenched my jaw and decided to ignore him. The last thing I wanted was to give him the satisfaction of a fight. Instead, I grabbed the loofah and squirted soap onto it, focusing on washing myself as quickly as possible so I could pretend this wasn’t happening.
But I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I worked the loofah over my skin.
When I turned slightly, his gaze dropped to my body, lingering in a way that made my stomach flip.
His arousal buzzed through the bond like static electricity, and I knew without looking that he was hard.
The thought sent a rush of heat through me.
I tried not to look directly at it—at him.
He was overwhelming in every sense of the word, and the sight of him, naked and wet, was enough to make my pulse race and have heat pooling low in my belly.
I could feel the heat of his lust through his bond, and it only made the tension between us more unbearable.
Fine, I thought, an idea sparking in my mind. If he wanted to stare, I’d give him something to look at.
I turned to face him fully, tilting my head as I stepped closer, the loofah still in my hand. “Would you care to finish cleaning me?” I asked, my voice light and almost teasing.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he didn’t move. Then, wordlessly, he took the loofah from me. When his fingers brushed mine, a jolt of awareness rushed up my arm, and I swallowed hard as he stepped closer.
The first touch of the loofah against my skin was slow, deliberate.
He started at my shoulders, the rough texture gliding over my wet skin as he worked the soap into a lather.
His movements were maddeningly thorough, lingering longer than necessary in certain areas.
When he reached my breasts, he paused, the loofah brushing over my nipples just enough to make me gasp.
He said nothing, but I felt his arousal spike through the bond.
I bit my lip, trying to suppress the heat pooling low in my stomach. My body betrayed me, responding to his touch in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The bond wasn’t just amplifying his emotions—it was feeding mine, too.
When he finally moved lower, I sucked in a breath. The loofah slid over my stomach, then down my thighs, each stroke leaving a trail of fire in its wake. By the time he stepped back, I was trembling, though whether it was from anger or desire, I couldn’t tell.
I turned the tables, stepping closer to him until our bodies were nearly touching. My hands moved to his chest, sliding down over the hard planes of muscle. His skin was hot beneath my palms, and I relished the hitch of his breath as my fingers drifted lower.
When I brushed against his erection, he let out a sharp breath, his hips jerking slightly. “Fuck, Vivian,” he muttered, his voice thick with need.
His pleasure rushed through the bond and made my knees weak. But I wasn’t done yet. I moved closer, pressing against him as I tilted my head up to meet his gaze. He leaned down, his lips pressing against mine in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It was like the kiss at the wedding ceremony, but this time, there were no barriers, no pretenses.
I could feel everything he was feeling. His hands were everywhere—my back, my waist, my hips—pulling me closer as his mouth claimed mine.
The bond buzzed between us, amplifying every sensation, every emotion, until it was almost too much to bear.
His lips left mine, trailing down my neck to my collarbone, then lower. When his mouth hovered over my breast, his breath hot against my skin, my mind screamed at me to stop.
I stepped back abruptly, the hot spray of water shocking against my skin. “I think I’m clean now,” I said a little breathlessly.
He stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, leaving him there hot and bothered, the water still cascading down his perfect, infuriating body.
Whatever was happening between us, I wasn’t ready for it.
Not yet.