CHAPTER 24
Santino
I‘d caught up to Roxanne in seconds, following her down the corridor to her room.
She had barely slid the key into the lock before I shoved the door open and crowded in behind her, kicking it shut.
She spun around so fast her breath caught, like she might lose her balance.
“Were you following me?” she snapped.
“Yes.”
I didn’t even pretend otherwise. My chest was heaving.
“You ran.”
“I’m not like you,” she shot back. “I just didn’t feel like watching your dick get sucked by that blonde.”
My mouth curved, slow and dangerous.
“You looked like you wanted to claw her skin off.”
She stepped closer, eyes blazing.
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. What difference does it make to you?”
Everything. But I didn’t say it.
“Why didn’t you come back?” I asked instead, voice low, edged. “Why didn’t you call?”
She threw her hands up in frustration.
“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a fucking storm. No transport. And it was too late to travel alone.”
“You could’ve called.”
It came out wrong—more desperate than angry.
“My battery died. And I was working,” she snapped. “I don’t owe you minute-by-minute updates.”
“You could’ve let me know where you were,” I said through clenched teeth, the words tight, shaking with frustration and dread.
Because I could still taste her on my tongue. Still feel her in my hands. Still hear the way she breathed my name.
And now—it turned the hunger in me restless. Possessive.
Watching another man smile at her made the beast rise in my chest. Made me want to burn the damn bar down. Probably with the bar tender in it. An animal I barely kept on a leash.
“Why?” she threw back. “You’re not my keeper.”
I stepped closer until our breaths mixed. The air felt thick and heavy.
Anger and frustration bubbled at the seam of my patience. And this gorgeously infuriating woman was testing every inch of it with every word she spat. Her breath hitched as my toe touched hers.
“You don’t get to disappear on me,” I said, jaw tight.
Her eyes softened for the briefest second—then hardened again. If I hadn’t been staring at her, I would’ve missed it.
“Too bad, Santino,” she breathed. “I’m not yours.”
My hands curled into fists by my sides.
“Then why did jealousy hit you like a truck the second she touched me?” I asked, voice low. “Why did you look like you wanted to rip her arm off?”
Her mouth opened and shut. Her throat bobbed. She didn’t answer. So I leaned down, close enough for my voice to whisper on her skin.
“Because you felt it.”
She shuddered.
“So did I.”
I stepped forward. She stepped back. Another step forward, another step back. Then another.
Our dance played to the thrumming of lust and anger coursing through my veins, till her back hit the wall. The sound of it was soft, final, cutting through the room.
She sucked in a breath, realising she had nowhere left to go now.
“Don’t,” she warned, voice shaky even though she tried to make it sound sharp.
I braced one hand beside her head. Then the other. Caging her without touching her. Her chest rose and fell, breaths coming out shallow now. Her thighs pressed together like she didn’t trust herself not to move.
My hand came up slowly, settling at her throat. Not tight.Just enough to feel her pulse beneath my fingers. Fast. Matching mine.
I lowered my head until our foreheads almost touched.
“Say it,” I whispered. “Say you didn’t care.”
“I don’t,” she rasped.
Liar.
My nose brushed hers—barely there. But she inhaled like it was more. Like I’d kissed her.
A low sound escaped me—deep, guttural, impossible to choke back. Her lips parted, dragging her tongue over them, nervous, automatic.
I wanted to do that.
Again.
And again.
Fuck—I wanted to lose whatever control I had.
“Stop—” she gasped, as if she’d read my thoughts.
But she didn’t move. Not an inch.
I dipped my head, letting my lips trace the line of her jaw, down the curve of her neck—slow enough to feel the way she reacted to every inch.
A small, broken sound escaped her. But it detonated through me and went straight to my groin. Her pulse jumped so hard I could feel it.
And then—she turned her head, baring more of her neck.Whether it was surrender, instinct, or an invitation, I didn’t know. Didn’t care either.
I wanted to bite on it, suck the skin. Bruise it. Mark it.
Every instinct in me said take, but I didn’t.
I pressed my face into that warm skin, breathing her in, groaning into her throat like a starving man. My arousal pressed at the bottom of her stomach, craving the heat from her core.
Her entire body involuntarily jerked. Her hands pressed flat against my chest—meant to push, but they didn’t. They just stayed there, trembling.
“Santino…” she breathed.
My name. Spoken like that. Just like she did the other night.My cock strained painfully against my jeans, every filthy thought in my head suddenly involving her—her hands, that defiant mouth—
I shook the thought off.
Fuck.
I was going insane. She was driving me insane.
I pressed closer—pushing my hips into her, so she could feel exactly what she did to me. She sucked in a breath, hips rolling into mine, eyes fluttering shut.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
I wanted to rip her clothes off and bury myself so deep in her that she’d forget to survive without me.
For one long, stretched second, we were suspended there—her body yielded against mine.
My breath shook against the hollow of her throat.
Both of us drowning in a ruin we weren’t supposed to touch.
Then—she gathered whatever strength she had left and shoved me back. Just enough for both of us to breathe again.
“Sleep on the armchair,” she snapped, voice unsteady. “Or the floor. I’m not sharing the bed.”
I wiped a hand over my mouth, trying to anchor myself, failing miserably.
“So hostile,” I mocked. “Maybe Blondie will let me share her bed.”
Her head snapped up. I swear I heard her neck crack. Her whole body went rigid.
“What?”
I raised a brow. “She seemed interested. And she wasn’t running away from me.”
She stepped forward—jaw set, shoulders squared. Her breast brushed against my chest, eyes flashing with that sharp, wicked defiance that made my blood heat like a furnace.
“Fine,” she bit out. “Go. Go back to Blondie. She’d love to finish what she started.”
She gestured toward the door like she was dismissing me. Like I was some stray she could shoo away.
My chest rumbled with a low growl.
Oh, she wanted to play that game.
Fine.
“You sure?” I asked.
“Yes.” She replied, arms folded, chin up. “Go.”
So I went. Not for her. For me. Because I wanted to see what she would do next. I walked out the door, shutting it behind me. I lit a cigarette and I leaned against the wall next to the door, one leg propped up.
One second.
Two.
I heard her exhale.
Three. Four.
She muttered a curse. I smiled, smoke curling into the dim hallway.
Five. Six.
I heard her let out a grunt.
Seven-eight-nine—I stubbed my half-finished cigarette out.
And then the door flew open. She stared at me. And because I had no intention of being decent, I stared back. Because I was standing right there. Exactly where she left me. Waiting.
Her eyes widened. “You— You didn’t leave?”
I tilted my head, smirking slowly.
“Why would I? I knew you’d come running.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re predictable.”
She tried to slam the door in my face, but I pushed it open with one hand, stepping inside, clicking it shut behind me. Again.
The room felt smaller now. Tighter. Heat and irritation flooded the space between us until it became impossible to ignore either. She grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at me.
“Sleep on the damn floor.”
I caught it, tossing it aside. Because all I could focus on was her. Her flushed cheeks. Her wild breathing. Her pissed-off glare masking how her hands trembled. She could curse me all night, but her body betrayed her.
And mine was already burning.
She climbed into bed fully clothed, still muttering under her breath, and killed the light, drowning us in darkness. Except for the thin sliver of moonlight crawling across the floor toward my feet. The storm had eased, but the rain hadn’t stopped.
I sat on the armchair, breathing hard, every muscle tight.
Her scent was everywhere.
Vanilla. Rain. Her.
Mine.I’m not fighting that anymore.
The blanket rustled. And I heard it: The sound of a zipper and soft whisper of denim sliding down skin.
She’d taken off her jeans. Bare legs tangled in sheets. Bare thighs pressing together. Did she take off the cardigan too? And is she bare under her blouse?
Fuck.
My cock jerked so hard I thought it would tear through my jeans. She was barely a foot away, half naked, and I couldn’t even touch myself. Or her.
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my molars would shatter. She was killing me. Every small movement from the bed felt like another test of whatever restraint I had left. Then she let out a shaky breath.
“Roxanne,” I ground out.
She settled deeper into the pillow and pulled the blanket up to her chin like she was innocent. I spread my legs further apart on the armchair to make more room for my aching cock.
She was so close. Close enough to breathe her in yet far enough that I didn’t do something we both know she’ll feel tomorrow in her bones.
“Sleep,” she ordered.
A lie.
Neither of us was sleeping tonight. Not with this between us. Not with the way everything had changed. Not when she was half naked in the dark, and I was an arm away with my fists clenched. Not when every breath between us feels like a match pressed to gasoline.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breath.
Failed.
Because the only thing I could think about was the way her jeans slid off her legs… and the way she bit back a gasp when the cool air hit her skin.
I swallowed hard. This was torture.
This was hell.
This was her.
And I somehow knew this was only the beginning.