Chapter 23
SAbrINA
My fork slipped from my fingers, striking the plate with a sharp clang that made me wince.
“It’s not blackmail. It’s a negotiation.”
He leaned back, his eyes never leaving mine as he ran a finger along his lower lip, the gesture lazy but laced with calculation. “A negotiation?”
I lifted my chin, emboldened by the challenge in his tone. “Yes. A negotiation.”
His lips curved, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t you ever heard, ‘never go against the family’?”
Despite the tension, a laugh escaped me, sharp and humorless. “Seriously? You’re quoting The Godfather to me?”
He tilted his head, a hint of a smirk playing at his mouth. “Don’t you Italian Americans love that movie?”
“Yes, but I don’t.”
“And you call yourself an Italian American?”
The question hit harder than he'd likely intended. My laughter died, replaced by a familiar ache in my chest. I pressed my lips into a thin line as the memories crept in; my mother’s pain, the fractured pieces of a heritage I wasn’t sure I wanted.
“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I said, each word deliberate. “I’m just an American.”
His gaze flicked to my mouth, tracing the tight line of my lips before returning to my eyes. “Fair enough. You’re American. So, tell me, how do Americans negotiate?”
I leaned forward, letting a small, defiant smile curve my lips. “They talk salary first.”
He answered without hesitation. “Fifty thousand euros.”
I crossed my arms as I narrowed my eyes. “Fashion stylists at haute couture ateliers are usually paid seventy-five to a hundred thousand euros.”
“That is true. But they are not babies fresh out of school.”
He was also overbearing, impossibly arrogant, domineering, pushy, and manipulative.
Never stand in the way of something a Diamanti wants.
That was a threat.
He sipped his wine and then gestured with his glass. “You were the one who said you wanted to be judged solely on your skills as a stylist and not your skills in sucking my—”
“Enough!” I waved my hands.
He ruthlessly continued. “If we are negotiating a salary for your other…unique…skills, then I could be convinced to offer—”
“Not another word!” I placed my hands over my ears.
He winked in response.
Dammit. Why did he have to be so handsome and charming even while he was being obnoxious?
This would never work. No matter how tempting a job at the House of Diamanti might be, I could never work for the enigmatic Sebastian Diamanti. The man was just…too much.
I pushed away from the table and returned to the lounge in search of my purse. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.”
Whether it was the super scary, domineering version of Sebastian Diamanti or the charming and seductive one, the result was still the same.
Danger.
My fingers barely brushed the strap of my purse before it was snatched from my grasp.
I turned sharply, only to find Sebastian standing impossibly close.
With an effortless flick, he tossed the purse out of reach, his other arm wrapping firmly around my waist. “Leaving so soon—without hearing my counteroffer?”
I stared at his mouth as my heart raced. “I’m not interested in the job, so there is nothing to hear.”
His full lips lifted into a smile, showing off his perfect white teeth with his slightly long canines.
Run.
A panicked screech rang in my head.
I jerked in his embrace, but he only tightened his arm.
Then he lifted me off the floor and twisted his hand in my hair. “Good. I’d rather show you my counteroffer.”
His mouth descended on mine.
He tasted of wine and ruin.
My scalp stung where he pulled my hair as his tongue swept inside my mouth to take possession.
I dug my fingers into his sweater while I desperately tried to cling to my sanity.
It was an indescribable feeling to be swept up in a sea of emotion. Blood pounded in my ears as I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping in vain to shut out the reality of what was happening. I was letting this man overwhelm me…again. It was as if I had no free will around him.
When he broke the kiss, I opened my eyes and cried out, “What the fuck?”
He had carried me into an elegant bedroom. Like the rest of the plane, muted chocolate browns, cream, and bronze tones decorated the room, with fresh white orchids on the bureau and a stunning watercolor of the Italian coast over the bed.
I pushed away from him and backed up a few steps.
Without taking his eyes off me, he kicked the door behind him shut.
In one fluid motion, he pulled his sweater over his head, revealing a muscular chest etched with a tattoo that seemed both ominous and hypnotic.
Reaching for his belt buckle, he raised his chin and commanded, “Get on the bed.”
My eyes widened as I clutched the sides of my blazer, wrapping them more securely around my waist.
I shook my head. “We’re not doing this again.”
He whipped his belt off. “If by this, you mean fuck, then yes, we are.”
The backs of my legs bumped into the bed. I jumped away as if it had burned me. “It takes two people to fuck, and I say it’s not happening.”
He kicked off his shoes and padded toward me in only a pair of pants hung so low on his hips I could see the faint dusting of hair over his flat lower abdomen and a significant bulge straining against the fabric.
Catching my look, he smirked as he cupped his right fist with his left hand. “It only takes one person to fuck. The other one gets fucked.”
“Sebastian, let me pass.”
He leaned forward. “Sabrina, not a chance in hell.”
I swiveled my head to search the room. From the sloped walls, it appeared as though we were at the very back of the plane. There wasn’t another exit.
He stalked forward.
I held up my palm. “Wait!”
His hands cupped my face as he pushed his fingers into my hair, holding me tightly.
His lips brushed mine while he rasped, “Dolcezza, don’t fight me on this.”
He spoke so softly, I could almost convince myself it wasn’t a threat.
His lips pressed against mine, swallowing my whimper.
As he traced the tip of his tongue along the edge of my teeth, he pushed my blazer off my shoulders.
He increased the intensity of the kiss then his hands tore at the collar of my T-shirt, wrenching it in half.
My cry was lost when he angled his head, deepening the kiss.
The backs of his fingers brushed my stomach as he reached for the fastening to my jeans.
I covered his hands with mine, trying to stop him.
In response, he stepped forward, pushing me back.
I fell across the bed.
He rubbed his hand over his chest, then lower. “How do you want this, babygirl? Gentle…or rough.”
My pussy still was sore from his rough handling earlier that morning. It was a disturbing, pleasant soreness, a pulsing, bruising reminder.
“I want you to let me leave.”
He forced his knee between my legs as he leaned over me. Keeping his heated gaze locked on mine, he opened his mouth and swept his tongue over my bare stomach. His mouth then hovered over my breast as his warm breath teased my nipple through the bra’s lace.
“Talk to me. What are you so afraid of?”
You.
His tongue traced a heated path along my neck before he captured my earlobe with his teeth.
My hips bucked as I fisted the bedcover.
His other hand cupped my breast while he whispered in my ear, “Tell me.”
My back arched as I licked my dry lips. “I’m not this woman. I don’t have casual, random sex like this.”
He slipped his hand inside my jeans.
His two middle fingers pressed against my clit as he growled, “Make no mistake, sweetheart. There is nothing casual or random about this.”
The button on my jeans snapped off as he tore at the fastening.
This was all happening way too fast.
He stood and tore my jeans off with such violence, my panties slipped down between my knees. He swept my loafers off with them as well. I was left in only my bra.
Before I could pull my panties back over my hips, his powerful hand shredded the flimsy fabric. I raised my leg to kick out at him, but he hooked my knee over his arm and wrenched my thighs open.
His warm, wet tongue pushed between my slit. He then placed open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh before swirling his tongue's tip around my clit.
I writhed beneath his restraining hands. My body wanted this, but I didn’t.
“Please, don’t. Please, we can’t.”
“That’s not the begging I want to hear from my babygirl.”
I rolled my head from side to side as I tried to close my legs. “I’m not your babygirl. I’m not your anything.”
His growl vibrated deep within his chest as he reared upward. With his brow lowered, he bared his teeth as he stared down at me with a fierce glare.
In that moment, he was more beast than man.
Terrified, I flipped onto my stomach and tried to crawl to the other side of the bed.
He grabbed me by my bra strap, snapping it off as he yanked me back toward him. Then his palm connected with my ass.
“Ow!” The sting sent a shockwave up my spine.
He fisted his hand in my hair and pulled. “Go ahead. Tell me you’re not mine again.”
His other hand ran along my back before grabbing my hip. My world spun when he flipped me. The cool silk of the bedcover soothed my burning ass cheek while I sank into its plush softness.
“You’re scaring me.”
“Good. You should be scared.”
My eyes widened. “Why would you say something like that?”
He stood at the end of the bed and slowly unzipped his pants. They slipped down his legs to pool at his feet. His cock bobbed between his legs. Straight, hard, and mesmerizing.
He fisted his shaft. “This is why.”
I shimmied back on the bed and stared at his intimidatingly large cock.
His hands wrapped around my ankles and pulled me toward him, as he placed a knee on the bed.
Then the heat and weight of his body pinned me down.
I pushed against his naked chest. “Please don’t hurt me.”
There was an unholy light in his eyes when his jaw stiffened.
I shoved harder at his chest, in a panic now.
Whatever was happening here, it was deeper and more sinister—I could feel it.
His cock pushed against my entrance as his lips skimmed mine. “I’m sorry, babygirl. That’s not an option.”
He thrust inside me.