Chapter Seven LEO
Chiara didn’t look at me when I brought her back to the penthouse.
It meant she was thinking. Replaying the scene outside, the blood on the pavement, the moment she realized exactly what happens when someone forgets themselves around me. That kind of thinking had a way of settling deep, of reshaping expectations faster than anything I could threaten her with.
The front shut behind us with a quiet, final click that echoed just enough in the open space to make the silence feel deliberate.
Chiara stayed near the entrance instead of moving further inside, her posture tight, shoulders held just a fraction too rigid, like she was deciding whether to bolt again or brace for what she already knew was coming.
Even from across the room, I could see the faint tremor in her hands, the way her breathing hadn’t quite evened out yet.
“You’re shaking,” I said, setting my cufflinks down on the table with more care than necessary. “Are you afraid of me, Chiara?”
“I’m not.”
It was an immediate answer, sharp, defensive. A lie.
I let the quiet stretch instead of calling her out on it, unhurried as I adjusted the sleeve of my shirt, giving her just enough time to feel the weight of being watched without understanding what I was going to do next.
She tried not to look at me, but she failed in small ways.
Quick glances, the subtle shift of her attention that kept snapping back.
“Come to me.”
“I’d rather not,” she choked out.
The refusal came fast, predictable.
I didn’t repeat myself. I didn’t need to. I simply held her gaze when she finally met it, letting the expectation settle between us.
It took all of three seconds. Then she moved.
Not willingly, not completely, but scared into obeying. Each step was measured, controlled, like she was forcing herself into it, stopping just out of reach with her chin lifted in that stubborn defiance she clung to like it was the only thing she had left.
“You killed him,” she said, her voice steadier than her body. “For nothing.”
“He touched you,” I spat out. “Tried to force you.”
“That doesn’t make it okay!” she yelped.
“I wasn’t aiming for okay.” I smirked. “I was aiming for dead.”
The silence that followed pressed in from all sides, thick enough that even the faint hum of the city beyond the glass felt distant.
Chiara’s gaze dropped briefly, catching on my hands, on the faint, drying trace of blood along my knuckles, before snapping back up again as if she regretted noticing.
“You’re going to punish me, aren’t you?” she asked, a tinge of fear creeping into her voice.
“I’m thinking about it.”
Her jaw tightened. “For what? Running? Or proving you can’t control everything?”
I closed the distance between us slowly this time, giving her enough warning that she could step back if she chose to. She didn’t.
“Turn around,” I said.
“No,” she said, but the word was weak. More of a question than a statement.
I reached for her anyway, my hand closing around her wrist, firm and unyielding as I turned her myself. Her body tensed beneath my grip, every muscle tightening as I stepped in behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of me through the thin fabric of her dress.
“Let go of me, please,” I managed.
“Not yet,” he smiled. “Although I do like it when you say please. You should beg me more often.”
Chiara’s breath sharpened, uneven now, the rhythm of it giving her away even as she tried to hold still.
“You ran,” I said quietly, my voice close enough to her ear that I felt the slight hitch in her breathing. “You knew what would happen if you got caught.”
“I didn’t get away, did I?” she bit out.
“Of course you didn’t. You never will.”
The words settled between us as I turned her back toward me, faster this time, guiding her until her back met the wall with a soft, controlled impact. Her eyes widened, more from the sudden shift than fear, but the fear was there too, threaded through everything else.
“I refuse to marry you,” she said, though it lacked the same certainty it had before. “Refuse all this.”
I stepped closer, crowding her space until she had no choice but to tilt her head back to keep eye contact, my hand lifting to her jaw, guiding her face exactly where I wanted it.
“You keep saying that,” I said, quieter now. “And your body keeps betraying you.”
As if on cue, her body arched to bring her closer to me. She let out a gasp, then flushed, embarrassed by her own reaction to my proximity.
“You can’t blame me for running,” she managed. “I had a chance.”
“You had an illusion of a chance,” I said. “I was watching you the whole time. Your chance was there because it was a test. And you failed that test.”
Her breath stuttered at that, the words landing exactly where I intended it to. My thumb shifted slightly against her jaw, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold her there, to keep her attention from slipping away.
“You don’t get to decide when you touch me,” she said, softer now, but no less stubborn.
“No?” I smirked. “Seems like you’re deciding that on your own. Your body wants me. Your mind can lie to you, but your body can’t.”
I could feel the tension building in her, the conflict she refused to acknowledge, the way her body reacted even as her mind pushed back against it. For a brief moment, her gaze dropped toward my mouth, like she hadn’t meant to, like it was something she couldn’t fully control.
That was all I needed. I didn’t rush it. I didn’t soften it either.
My hand held her in place as I leaned in, closing the space between us in a way that left no room for misunderstanding. She turned her head instinctively, trying to avoid it, but I followed, my grip tightening just enough to bring her back.
“Look at me,” I said, low and controlled. “Try to lie to me again when we’re looking at each other.”
She resisted for half a second longer before her gaze snapped back up, meeting mine. Her cheeks were flushed, breaths low and ragged. Her body was still arching to get closer.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” I told her.
“I…” She swallowed. “I don’t…”
“Then why are you looking up at me like that?” I asked. “Like you’re begging me to just take what’s mine already?”
“I-I don’t want it,” she lied. “None of it. Your punishments or your attention.”
I traced a finger down her lips to prove my point. Her mouth opened. I slipped my finger inside, and instincts took over as she sucked it into her mouth. The flush spread across her chest.
“How long are you going to keep lying for?” I asked softly. “When will you accept what your body’s telling you?”
I pulled my finger free and tasted her off it. Her sweet, flowery flavor possessed me to keep going. I’d held back long enough.
“Admit it,” I said quietly. “You want me to take more.”
Chiara closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t deal with the truth her own body was giving her. Her shaky hands went up, and landed on my chest. My body went rigid beneath her touch. Not because I didn’t welcome it - because I was worried I’d take more than she wanted to give. I made myself stay still.
“Do you want to kiss me, Chiara?” I asked her softly.
She shook her head weakly, and a smile spread over my lips. I guided one of her arms around my neck. She was looking down now, unable to meet my gaze.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “You don’t want to know if this is something real?”
“N-No,” she managed. But her eyes flew up, staring into mine. “You… you should kiss me.”
It was permission enough to draw closer, one hand resting on her arm, the other wrapping around her waist.
“Aren’t you scared this will change everything?” I asked.
“I-I need to know,” she said softly.
“Then kiss me yourself,” I suggested. “Take the lead and check how it makes you feel.”
Our eyes lingered, lips inches apart. A soft exhale left her mouth, and she was trembling in my arms. She closed her eyes again, then moved closer. I watched the fight leaving her body, lust pushing her forward until our lips met in the softest brush.
“Help me,” she whispered against my mouth.
It dawned on me that this was likely her first kiss. I was sure her Papa had left her locked up, so she was about to experience a man’s touch for the first time. It felt oddly similar to that night in the gardens, when my mouth was on her ankle, and she wanted so much more.
I broke the distance between us and she let out a sigh as I captured her lips with mine. They parted, inviting me. Her tongue darted, tasting me, and another little moan escaped her.
The kiss wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t careless either.
It was deliberate, controlled, my mouth pressing to hers with enough force to make the point clear without tipping into chaos.
I felt the sharp intake of her breath against my lips, the immediate stillness that followed as shock replaced resistance for a fraction of a second.
Then Chiara pushed.
Her hands came up between us, pressing against my chest, trying to create space that didn’t exist, her body straining against mine as she tried to break it.
I didn’t move. I let her feel the difference in strength, the futility of trying to deny our attraction, the way control didn’t shift just because she wanted it to.
Chiara’s lips parted on a sharp, angry breath, and I took that too, deepening the kiss just enough to blur the line between punishment and something more dangerous, something neither of us acknowledged but both felt.
There was heat there now, unexpected and unwelcome, threading through the tension, turning it into something sharper and harder to ignore.
A small, unsteady sound slipped from her, muffled against my mouth. I retreated only enough to hear the words leaving her lips.
“Please…” she rasped. “Don’t stop.”
That was when I pulled back.
Not because she’d won. Because I had.