Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NICO
I’d miscalculated this entire thing. Defined parameters.
A fixed timeline. A controlled outcome. It should have worked.
But somewhere between losing myself in her and bringing her to bed, I’d discovered the gaping hole in my strategy.
Once or thirty fucking times wasn’t enough when I wanted a hundred thousand nights.
I’d followed the model exactly. Except I’d forgotten one equation in it.
Every time I had her, I had to reward her.
Each fucking reward would bring her closer to the truth.
I may not have pulled the trigger, but I was the sole reason her father ended up dead.
Not a miscalculation. Not a shipment gone wrong. Me.
The day she learned that, her hatred for me would consume her. She’d never forgive me for his death, but when she knew I was the cause of it… she’d never forgive me for the lost years and memories.
So I’d done the only thing I could do. I’d left her behind and put an entire ocean between us.
I couldn’t be near her without wanting her.
To have her hands on me. To have mine on her.
Fuck. Three thousand six hundred miles in between, and I could still smell her.
Taste her. Feel her. Hear her fucking moans when she’d come with the touch of my hands on her breasts.
I’d held on for four fucking days. What was she doing…
was she sleeping in my bed where I’d left her…
did she sleep naked? Did she think of me?
Did she… Christ… I couldn’t handle the pressure in my chest. Like a fucking drug addict, I succumbed to my weakness.
One hundred and twelve hours later, I was back.
Jesus. I was a fucking mess.
And as if she knew it, as if the scent of my failing had carried to her…
she came prowling for the kill. The thought entered my mind that it might be easier to yield to a cardiac arrest than acknowledge her presence hovering in the doorway of my office.
My gaze lingered for far too long on the two-euro coin I spun mindlessly on my desk.
I knew with certainty that if I looked up, I wouldn’t survive her.
It was bad enough that my memory was seized with the vision of her.
Her breaths, her moans. The way she had fucking tasted.
I had to fight the urge to run my tongue over my lips to relive that particular flavor.
The coin rattled and fell onto the desk.
The sound of metal rang in the room like an alarm bell. It was suffocating.
But she remained, refusing to take the hint. I forced my gaze up, nasty words hovering on my lips. They left me with a hiss of my breath.
Jesus.
She was wearing one of my shirts.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Naked legs. Messy curls. A challenge in her eyes.
I wanted to tie her up, put her in a garbage bag, and throw her to the North Pole.
She took a step forward.
I stopped her instantly with the sharpness of my tone, meant to butcher her confidence. “What the fuck are you doing?”
She stilled. Frowned. “You haven’t been around.”
I gripped my thigh. Forced my gaze to run over her body with an indifference that should freeze Death Valley. Then I sealed it with my horrible, spiteful words. “I’ve got other things to do than fuck you.”
A shocked gasp escaped her. Hurt burst on her face. I wanted to put a knife to my chest. She muttered something in Spanish. Probably something about what an asshole I was. I still wanted to taste it from her mouth.
I glared at her because at that moment, I hated her. Hated the control she possessed over me.
“I’ve got work to do.” I moved my mouse, and with it, the screen started up with a ping.
Fuck. Look busy. She’d know I’d done nothing other than think of the one hundred and four ways I could fuck her.
I typed all kinds of shit on my keyboard.
It beeped errors because I was typing on a fucking Python chart.
I turned and gave her a pointed glare. “Get out.”
She moved after a beat. In the opposite direction.
“I got your gift.”
“Gifts,” I corrected.
“Why?”
“For services rendered.”
She went red. If I put my mouth on her, would she feel warm? “Must have been worth the double reward.”
“You’d think.” I let the insult fall in a cold, dead tone.
“The second one was so you’d leave me the fuck alone.
” She blinked. Took a step back. I ground my jaw and made myself stare at her coldly.
She half-turned. Hesitated. I should have been relieved.
Then she shook her head and took a deep breath.
When she turned back, a flame of determination sparked in her eyes. I knew I was fucked.
ANNA
His gaze was ice. But his tone was full of bite. He didn’t want me near him. That alone was interesting when it shouldn’t have bothered him either way.
Five days ago, he’d married me. Fucked me. Carried me to his bed. Then left me there. Alone. In my wedding dress with cum dripping down my thighs. He’d walked out without a backward glance at me. To say he confused the living shit out of me was putting it mildly.
The next morning I’d woken up to an absent husband, undisturbed sheets next to me, and two gifts on his nightstand. Papá’s pipe with my initials carved into it and a note in his rough handwriting, which left me baffled.
Your father could see patterns no one else did.
What did that even mean? I’d waited to ask him that for five days.
All I had was the pipe. Running my hand over it felt like I’d reached beyond my ribcage and touched my heart.
The gleam of the wood. The feel of it in my hands.
When I held it up to my nose, the scent was filled with nostalgic memories.
Vanilla and sweet caramel. His office, which smelled like comfort and him.
Memories crept into my soul like distant background music.
Papá sinking to his knees and finding me under the stairs. He wasn’t angry when he took in his pipe and the nail I’d used to carve my initials into it. “You think this is yours too, Anna?” His voice. I’d forgotten that. Amusement in his tone as he’d caught me in the act.
“Everything of yours is mine, Papá.”
His smile. Oh, his smile. I’d forgotten what that looked like.
I wanted to know everything. How did Niccolò get the pipe? What did he mean he could see patterns? How, when, what, where? He’d given me a taste of what to expect. I wanted more. I wanted to know it all. And I’d do anything to find out. Including putting up with his insults.
“I want answers.”
His gaze was fixed on the screen. “You got two, already.”
“Why do you have his pipe? How did you get it in the first place?”
He didn’t give me his attention.
“Did you take it from his office that day? Is it a keepsake? Every man you kill, you take something from him?” I scoffed.
“As if taking a life wasn’t enough. Is that it?
” My voice climbed. “Is everything in this house from people you’ve killed?
Is that why it’s so familiar? Who else did you kill that I know of? ”
My breath heaved. He threw me an unimpressed stare. “That’s a lot of questions, and I thought your English was good enough to understand me.”
“Answer me, damn it. I deserve to know. I need to know.”
He just stared at me. The muscle in his jaw jumped.
A ball of frustration gathered in my stomach. “Puto gilipollas.”
Instead of reacting, he ignored me entirely and went back to his screen. I wanted to throw myself at him and claw at his eyes. He’d said he wanted the fire back. He should see it in fucking action then.
I moved, crossing the room and rounding his desk. He went rigid. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Earning my reward.”
He sucked in a breath. I dropped to my knees.
Twisting his chair around, I reached for his belt.
His hand flew off the desk and gripped mine.
Veins bulging as he clenched it tight in his fist. He stared at it.
As if he couldn’t quite believe how we’d got to this position.
I couldn’t either. But one thing I had was determination, and I wanted fucking answers.
I squeezed my hand. Trying to escape his. It didn’t budge an inch.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Well, how else am I to earn my rewards?”
He looked at me with such hunger that I expected him to pick me off the floor and push me onto the solid thickness within my reach. Instead, he spoke utter nonsense. “Your pussy isn’t all that addictive.”
“?En serio? Thought you married me for it.”
He gave me an apathetic look before shoving my hand off.
I went with it and fell onto my back. He reached for me instantly.
I took advantage of it and got into his pants.
Literally. Both our gazes dropped. I’d unzipped them.
His fist gripped his thigh. For long minutes, the air itself seemed to still.
I watched his reaction. He watched my hands.
Slowly, as if he were a beast about to pounce, I took him out with silly, trembling hands.
The feel of him made his reaction negligible.
He was heat in my hand. A weight that reminded me of the last time.
Unwittingly, a whimper escaped me. When he pulled his gaze up to mine, his was delirious with lust. Then he let out words defying it.
“Just because you’ve got my cock in your hands doesn’t mean you can make me come. ”
?En serio? Did he just give me a fucking challenge?
He recognized his mistake by the look in my eyes.
He groaned.
I smiled.
Then, leaning forward, I took him deep into my mouth. As deeply as I could, at least. A sound of pleasure rippled from his throat. I thrived in it. Knowing he didn’t want me to hear it made it even sweeter. I sucked him in and let him out. Then rolled my tongue around his width.