Текст книги "My sweetest oblivion"

Автор книги: Danielle Lori

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“Black as the devil, hot as hell, pure as an angel, sweet as love.”

–Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

WE STOPPED AT HIS OFFICE, and when I saw there was pizza waiting for me on the coffee table, I groaned.

Nico let out a breath of amusement and headed past me to his desk, where he spent the next hour on the phone. It could have been longer, though I wouldn’t know, because with my stomach full and the toll the sun had taken, I fell asleep on the couch. It was a light sleep, where I could still hear his deep and newly comforting timbre in the background.

Three hours later, I awoke to an empty office.

Slightly disoriented, I blinked and then pulled my hair out of its ratty ponytail. I finger-combed it and slipped my heels back on before heading to the door and into the hallway. The card tables were still, the basement silent except for a few soft male voices.

I stepped into the main room and noticed Lorenzo, Lucky, and Luca at one of the far booths, each holding a hand of cards. I wondered how one went about playing poker with a cheater in each seat.

I didn’t see Nicolas anywhere, and suddenly grew an itch to check out the club upstairs. I was going to have a rule-breaker for a husband, so maybe I needed to go out of my comfort zone and learn how to get on his level. On the balls of my feet so my heels didn’t click, I walked to the staircase and slipped out the door.

The place was elegant yet comfortably decorated. A wide dance floor made of panels blinked from purple, blue to yellow. A long line of red plush chairs sat around lacquered, round wooden tables, with a mirror taking up the far wall. A staircase led upstairs to where I imagined the VIP rooms were. I hoped Nico didn’t allow shady things to go on in there, though that was wishful thinking.

After another moment, I decided to head back downstairs before they noticed I was gone. As I took a step to leave, I realized I wasn’t alone.

“So, you’re the lovely Elena.”

I froze.

The voice was unfamiliar, though I’d learned I was a top choice on any gossip list lately, so it wasn’t surprising he would know me.

I turned around and met an uncultured yet refined gaze, as though the two battled amongst themselves. Ruthlessness spilled out of his Armani suit, yet his easy looks, urbane wardrobe, and relaxed carriage belied it. I imagined he was a chameleon, effortlessly taking form of whatever façade he wished.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

His quiet laugh sounded like low musical notes left to die on the wind. “No, you wouldn’t. I’m only a second son.”

While the significance of his statement should have become extinct in the twentieth century, I understood what he meant. I was living proof of the Cosa Nostra’s old-fashioned ways—my wedding right around the corner.

As a second son, he wouldn’t inherit much, not the title nor the business, and he would always be expected to work for his papà and then older brother. He would be forever second best and overlooked.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He scratched his jaw, amused, and then I thought he muttered, “No wonder he liked you.”

I didn’t know the man to question him, though the past tense of that statement—liked—piqued my interest. I shouldn’t be conversing alone with a man I didn’t know, but it wasn’t like Nico would let someone he didn’t trust into his club, would he?

With hesitant steps, I closed the distance between us. This stranger grasped my hand and pressed a light kiss to it. As he did, I said to him, “You seem to already know who I am, though I know nothing about you. You must have a name?”

“You can call me Sebastian.” A subtle glint passed through his eyes before he added, “Perez.”

Something cold shot through me, and my knee-jerk response was to yank my hand out of his grasp. It was then I noticed the thin accent to his words as Colombian.

He blew out a breath like my reaction was equal parts amusing and annoying. “Third time that’s happened. Starting to wonder how I’m going to get laid in this city.”

I wavered at the light tone of his voice and statement. However, as I watched him slip his hands in his pocket and turn to look at the place, I realized this man might be more manipulative than his brother. Though, what I wanted to know was how deviant.

I wondered if what he insinuated was true—if Oscar had a bad reputation with women. He seemed to have enough female attention that I’d seen, but it was only in our circle, and if he had certain . . . proclivities, I was certain he wouldn’t show them to anyone in the Cosa Nostra. Not until he locked one of their women down with marriage and stole them away to Colombia, anyway. A fate it felt like I’d missed by a hair.

“You know, he liked you,” he said. “He liked you a lot.”

An unpleasant taste filled my mouth. To be desired by Oscar Perez felt like contracting an STD.

“This is a nice place,” he observed, taking a few steps deeper into the club. “Interesting to find you here, though. Thought Ace was marrying your sister?”

I swallowed. “Change of plans.”

The simple huh that escaped him was coated with amusement.

“You know,” he said, “one time when my brother was drunk, he told me your voice was like a woman’s soft caress.”

“How very . . .” I held in the grimace. “Nice.”

He chuckled as though he loved the awkwardness his statement had brought into the room. “He spoke sonnets of you. Would you like to hear the others?”

“I . . . don’t think so.”

“Good choice. Some of them were . . .” He turned around with a slight frown. “Uncultured.”

“You’re no longer a second son,” I noted.

A flicker of pitch black passed through his eyes. “No.”

My stomach tightened. “Is that why you’re here?”

As soon as the last word left my lips, a wave of pure tension brushed my back. My body went still, but Sebastian stood where he was, his hands remaining in his pockets as he flicked a gaze to the man behind us.

“Elena. Downstairs.” The words were cold and distant. Words of a boss that carried an unmistakable timbre of control. A shiver worked its way beneath my skin. “Now.”

I turned around to comply.

I knew this breaking the rules thing wasn’t for me . . .

Nico didn’t give me a glance. He remained focused on the Colombian who stood in the middle of his club and who I was beginning to think hadn’t received an invitation.

This version of Nico was all hard lines and an intimidating presence that burned if one stepped too close. I couldn’t help but notice that the man I knew caressed me with the same hands the don used to maim.

I passed him and headed down the hall, but something made my feet halt around the corner, the tension thick enough to suffocate. An itch to see how Nico did business. Plain curiosity.

“You have five seconds to explain how the fuck you got into my club.”

Sebastian’s laugh was quiet. “Straight to business, then?” His tone turned as sophisticated as his suit. “Very well. I put the front cameras on loop and used the good ol’ credit card maneuver.”

“There are two chain key locks on that door.”

I could feel the smile spill around the corner. “What can I say? Maybe you should have gone with three.”

Silence met my ears and I could tell Nico wasn’t amused. “If you want to leave here with all your body parts intact, I would start talking.”

“My brother must not have been a friend of yours.”

Impatience crept on the air and I inhaled slowly.

“Perez,” Sebastian said. “Oscar.” A pause. “You see, my brother was suspicious—straight up paranoid, really—about someone trying to kill him. Can’t say I didn’t consider doing it myself. I mean, I think I had thoughts about it since I was seven—”

“Point,” Nico snapped.

Sebastian sighed. “Well, he was so paranoid he hired a private investigator. Someone who followed him around and made sure no one else followed him.” He laughed. “Ironic, no?”

There was an intermission as though he waited for Nico to respond. Nico never did say anything, and I imagined he was only giving the man that intimidating glare.

“Right,” Sebastian repeated. “Well, the reason I imagine my brother wasn’t a friend of yours is because that PI has some photos of you shooting him in the head.”

My pulse skid to an awkward stop. And when all Nico said was, “Don’t think you’ve come to tell me who this PI is,” a cool rush of awareness flooded me.

Sebastian laughed. “If I did that, I’m sure he’d be floating in whatever river is closest to here. Besides, he gave the photos to me. Wouldn’t have even taken them if he’d recognized it was you. ‘Bout had a heart attack when I pointed it out.”

“Smart man,” Nico drawled. “You, not so much. Tell me what you want before I decide I don’t give a shit.”

“Let’s just say my brother ran the business into the ground. Killed a lot of our contacts with his . . . well, to be frank, he loved women. Fucking them, beating them, cutting them up. It made for bad business. You partner with me and those photos go poof.”

Nico let out a sardonic breath. “You realize, starting a new relationship with blackmail isn’t the smartest move you could make?”

“Like you would have considered a new supplier another way.”

Nico was the one who killed Oscar . . . Why?

“You have good shit?” Nico eventually said.

“The best.”

“Fine. We’ll talk about this later this week, after you make a fucking appointment like anyone else. Where are you staying?”

“Why?” Sebastian’s tone was amused. “You want to show me the city?”

“So if I decide to kill you, I won’t have to waste my time finding you,” was Nico’s deadpanned response before I decided I’d heard enough.

Before I left, I paused at Sebastian’s next words, needing to hear Nico’s reply.

“Tell me,” Sebastian said, “why did you do it?”

A heavy silence took over, and my chest tightened at Nico’s cavalier tone.

“He had something I wanted.”

OceanofPDF.com

“There is no great genius without some touch of madness.”

–Aristotle

I WASN’T SURE HOW I knew, but I did.

An intuition played in the back of my mind, sending a wave of uncertainty through me. The inkling itched, demanding to be made fact, and before I could stop myself I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and sent Tony a text.

Me: Did you know Oscar Perez loved to cut women up?

He responded a minute later.

Tony: WTF, Elena. No.

Since he knew it was me, I assumed Nico must have passed my new number on to him. I didn’t know what to think about them being all buddy-buddy now. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I liked it.

Me: You sure? I guess it’s common knowledge.

Tony: Why would I lie about something like that?

Time to bait the hook . . .

Me: Maybe because you knew Papà promised me to him.

My phone rang in my hand, and I answered it with a simple “Hello.”

“What the fuck’s the matter with you?” Tony’s voice seeped with annoyance and concern. “Do you really think Papà would’ve agreed to the engagement if he knew Oscar was into that kind of shit?”

Engagement.

The word settled over my head with an unsurprising awareness, and I said, “Thank you, Tony. That’s all I needed to know,” before hanging up.

My phone chimed a second later.

Tony: Don’t be weird.

My response was juvenile, but impossible for any sibling to suppress.

Me: You’re the weird one.

My stomach dipped as a familiar magnetism walked into the office behind my back. Hypnotic and volatile, his presence brushed my skin, sinking into my pores like it owned me. However, it evoked something deep and uncertain as well, like being fascinated by the green sky of a coming storm but knowing that as soon as it hit you, there would be nothing left.

He had something I wanted.

Oscar had me . . . and then he was dead.

I wanted to dismiss the idea that Nico had done what I was beginning to think he did, or rather, why he’d done it, because just the thought started a kindling in my chest that felt suspiciously like hope.

Without hope, there’s nothing to lose.

With it, we’re nothing but dominos waiting to fall.

Still, as his presence filled this office, that kindling fed on the warm bravado of it, and grew and grew.

“You get a good look at the club?”

My grip tightened on my phone as though it could ground me to earth. “Quite.” I turned around to see him leaning against the corner of his desk, a piercing gaze glued to me.

“I don’t think I’m a fan of finding you talking to some Escobar alone.”

By his tone that was a gross understatement.

“But I can talk to you?” I raised a brow, hinting at how he wasn’t a much different man in the regard to ethics.

“Not can.” His eyes darkened. “Will.”

I wanted to ask him: If I don’t, will you make me? But the words caught in my throat. There was nothing playful in this office—there was gunpowder and flame. One wrong move and it would detonate.

I couldn’t breathe while the threat snuffed out any remaining oxygen. We only stared at each other, both recognizing the distinct longing hanging in the air like the Monet on the wall, but neither addressing it.

Nerves rattled in my veins with a cold whisper.

I wanted to be the best thing he’d ever had. To make him burn as much as he made me. I wanted him to want only me with a raw ache. However, I didn’t believe I could ever compare to the more experienced women he’d been with. And I always was a bit of a perfectionist—if I couldn’t do it faultlessly, I hesitated to do it at all.

“Were you friends with Oscar?” The words fought to be heard in the tense atmosphere.

A grimace flared behind his eyes as he pushed off the desk. “No.”

“Did you work with him?”

He grabbed the car keys off his desk and rolled his shoulders, like even talking about Oscar agitated him. “No.”

“Not even—?”

“I didn’t fucking know the guy, Elena,” he snapped.

My brows knitted in a poor attempt to pretend I was taken aback. But really, warm honey filled my heart, creeping through my vessels and veins.

He had something I wanted.

And now I knew it was me.

Dirty Diana by Shaman’s Harvest filtered through the car speakers, fusing with the bottled-up tension rolling off me. If it were possible to put fucking the girl next to me out of my mind for one goddamn minute, this song about a slut named Diana would ruin it.

My self-restraint was pulled taut. I could hear the fibers snapping one by one until it hung by a thread, and my grip tightened on the steering wheel.

I deserved a fucking award for this.

Because nothing physical stopped me from letting go. From slipping my hand between her thighs and pushing two fingers inside her. From fucking her with them and letting her roll her hips against my palm until she came. I wanted it badly enough I could smell her, taste her. My mouth watered, a deep wave tightening in my stomach and burning a downward spiral.

With a flood of lust and anger, I shut the radio off.

Fuck Diana.

And fuck every asshole getting laid right now.

A heavy tension and the quiet rustle of fabric as Elena crossed her legs filled the car. The nervous gesture bared more of her tan, smooth thighs, and my heartbeat pulsed in my dick.

A grimace pulled on my lips and I wiped it away with a palm. I knew what was beneath that dress now. The mental image was burned into my fucking brain. Not only did she have the hottest little body I’d ever seen, it was those dark eyes, soft and innocent, that pierced a hole through my chest. She’d only sat on the island, as though she would let me do anything I wanted to her. Submissively. Dutifully. Fuck me.

She wiped her hands on her dress, pulling it back down, and a dark part of me got off on the idea that I was unsettling her. Tit for tat and all that.

I could make her do whatever I wanted.

I could take it all.

I even knew she would like it.

But something arcane and deeply rooted held me back. Something that gave me the urge to smoke every time I thought about it.

I had to know I wasn’t a substitute for some lost love. Had to know she wasn’t pretending I was someone else. Had to know it was what she wanted and not due to some kind of obedient trait or sense of duty.

When I found her talking to Sebastian Perez, for a split second I thought she’d let him in, that he was responsible for the ring on her finger. Acrimony had burned in my throat and tasted acidic in my mouth. She was mine. And I’d kill anyone who told me otherwise.

She was staying with me until the wedding because I couldn’t stand the thought that Salvatore might try to keep her from me. The idea made my chest ache with something foreign and hollow, and fuck if I was going to sit around for two weeks feeling it.

Nevertheless, I was glad I didn’t shoot Sebastian.

I liked the way he did business.

As soon as we pulled into the drive, I turned off the ignition and got out of the car. If I had to sit in there with her for another millisecond I’d crack.

She followed me to the back door, and I couldn’t help but to be aware of her every move. Her heel must have gotten stuck in a divot in the walkway, because she started tipping. I took a step back to reach out and steady her but was unprepared for her to fall into me.

I gritted my teeth at the impact. Her entire body pressed against my side, from her tits to her hips, and fuck, did it burn.

Jesus, this girl.

If I lasted the night, it would be a goddamn miracle.

The click of my heels echoed off the wooden floorboards, and my heartbeat replayed each reverberation against my breastbone.

It had only been days since I arrived here and stood in front of this door. The uncertainty I felt was the same, but something had shifted. The ache in my lower stomach had bloomed to fill every available space in my body. I could feel it—him—everywhere, and he wasn’t even touching me.

Nico typed something into the security system as I slipped off my heels. Stopping before the stairs, he glanced at me. His gaze was dark, shimmering, with an unfathomable depth.

“You good?”

“Good,” I breathed, though I felt close to bursting at the seams if he didn’t touch me.

He nodded once before he took the stairs one at a time and left me there, engaged and alone. Infatuated and burning. I stood there for a moment, with nothing but the sounds of a settling house for company.

Padding into the kitchen, I filled a glass of water and set it on the island, not taking a sip. I grasped the edge of the counter, closed my eyes, and let the pressure of what I needed from this man build until it felt like it was all I could breathe.

The stairs creaked beneath my bare feet, and I stopped at the top when I heard the shower running from his bathroom. Indecision ate at me, bit by bit, until I felt raw and naked. It would be so easy to let my dress hit the floor and slip into the shower with him. He wouldn’t turn me away, though that was never the reason for this waver inside of me.

So instead, I went into the hall bathroom. I turned the shower on hot and washed my hair with some other woman’s shampoo. And then I dried it with her hair dryer. In nothing but a towel, I paused in the hallway, the indecision strong enough it vibrated under my skin.

My bedroom door shut behind me and I leaned against it, stared at the ceiling and breathed. My heartbeat played a melody of fear, uncertainty, need. I slipped into a t-shirt and shorts and stood in the middle of the room.

He had something I wanted echoed in a deep timbre in my head. It was the last thought I had before I found myself in the hall, right outside his closed door.

Once I opened it, I could never go back. I knew it would change everything, but what I didn’t realize at the time was . . . everything already had.

OceanofPDF.com

“You can’t blame gravity for falling in love.”

–Albert Einstein

HE DIDN’T LOOK UP AS I opened the door.

But he knew I was here.

He sat on the side of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his gaze on the floor. A dangerous haze permeated the air like tendrils of smoke. It felt as possessive as chains, looked like moonlight, and tasted like obsession.

Silver rays filtered through glass, illuminating his body but not his expression. Now that I was so close to him, breathing his air, feeling his presence that could effortlessly consume mine until I would cease to exist, the bravery that had brought me here disintegrated to dust.

My heartbeat tried to escape my throat, and an icy shiver ran through my blood, leaving my skin hot to the touch. I hadn’t known it was possible to want something so much and to fear it in equal measure. Hesitation stopped my feet and tugged at my heart. Nonetheless, I suddenly knew that even if I chose to change my mind and turn around . . . I wasn’t getting out.

Every inch of my body burned as I walked toward him. Sensitive as freshly waxed skin, his pants felt abrasive against my inner thigh as I forced my leg between his slightly parted ones. He didn’t look at me, nor did he widen his stance so I could step fully between his legs. My breaths and the drumming of my heart fluttered in the air before silence liquefied them.

I brushed a hand across his neck and into the thick hair at his nape. He let out a quiet, tense breath. A heady warmth poured off his shirtless chest, and I absorbed it like an addict. My fingers laced through the soft strands, gripping a handful like I’d done days ago.

Feather-light, his hands skimmed up the backs of my thighs, and my pulse sparked like crackles in a fire. My breasts were bare beneath my shirt, heavy and tight so close to his face. He only had to lift his head to put his mouth on them, to relieve them of this pressure.

His fingers grew firmer on my thighs, gripping the flesh, caressing it. Something tugged on my stomach from the inside as the fiery heat of his palms burned through my skin. Every squeeze sent a thrum between my legs, settling into an empty ache. My breaths came out ragged and shallow while he remained silent, as though what he was doing deserved his full concentration.

The haze in the air began to thicken, to flare, to burn with every inhale.

My stomach tightened as his hands inched beneath my cotton shorts, teasing the curve of my cheeks with a touch I was beginning to believe was singular. His palms slid under the hem and gripped two handfuls of my ass. A throaty sigh escaped as he kneaded the flesh. Tingles, hot and slick, pooled between my legs, and my fingers curled in his hair.

He found my thong and traced the cotton downward. My body hummed in anticipation, but right before he reached where I needed him, he tugged the fabric to the side and let it snap back in place. The movement brushed my clit and sent a sizzling sensation up my spine that knocked me off balance. When my other hand found his nape to catch myself, my short nails trailed down the back of his neck.

He shook his head to throw my touch off like he hated it, and a low growl sounded from deep in his chest. My hand dropped away. I didn’t have time to weigh his reaction because his fingers slipped beneath my thong, sliding so low they brushed my back entrance before pausing. The touch was foreign to me, but I was so hot I found myself rolling my hips for friction.

A groan poured out of me when his hand slid further downward and one finger pushed inside of me without warning. His rough “Fuck” ran down my spine. He fucked me slowly, in and out, and the pressure built between my legs like too much steam collected in a glass jar.

My head fell back and my palm came up to his neck, my nails running the length of it. When he tensed, I suddenly realized what I did and dropped my hand. However, it was already done. I received a smack on the underside of my ass that sent a toe-curling rattle throughout my entire sex. I didn’t think it was a good punishment at all, but then he pulled his finger out of me and a desperate ache remained.

A haze had infiltrated my skin, my mind, my inhibitions, and the corners of my vision. I needed one thing, could think about only it, and it wasn’t physically possible to leave without getting it.

His legs parted, and I didn’t hesitate to step all the way between them. His gaze lifted and his eyes met mine; the blaze inside them was liquid lead and darker than shadow. Our lips were inches apart. Close enough we shared breaths. Close enough to kiss.

I realized how weak I truly was at that moment, because if this man told me to kiss him, I would. I would do anything he wanted. But he never did. He only watched me with a narrowed gaze while breathing my air like it was his to take.

“Take it off,” he gritted.

He didn’t speak of my clothes. He looked at my face, but he might as well have stared at my left hand. Now I understood it wasn’t the nails on his neck that had bothered him—it was the ring.

I swallowed and tried to think through the mist he’d created in my mind. I’d told myself I wouldn’t take the ring off until I did what I could to make amends. I hated to admit it, but I wanted this moment more than a guilt-ridden reminder. Though, the truth was, it wasn’t simply about what I wanted anymore.

I needed him. More than morality or honesty.

I knew I shouldn’t sleep with Nico, not with my deceit so close on the air I could taste it.

But, as I took the ring off and let it fall from my fingers to the floor, this was the moment I knew I wouldn’t be so bad a Russo after all.

Heat and satisfaction rolled off his body. Without another thought, I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt with both hands and pulled it off in one swoop.

He groaned, and before I could even lower my arms, his mouth latched onto my breast, giving it one slow suck while dragging his teeth across the nipple. White heat shot like lightning between my thighs before pulsing in an empty ache. I swayed into him, running one hand around his neck and into his hair.

His hand shoved down the front of my shorts, brushing over sensitive skin and cupping me with a roughness that brought me to my toes. His entire palm rubbed back and forth, a firm pressure against my clit. My head fell back with a moan.

“So fucking wet,” he growled. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and then slid two fingers deep inside me. Hot, sweet pressure filled me, threatening to overfill as he fingered me. Fast and then lazy. Over and over.

Maybe I should have been embarrassed that I was so wet the room filled with the sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of me. But my skin was hot enough it felt like I’d been doused with kerosene and then lit by a match. The fire burned into my lower stomach, creating a blaze that needed to be fed. And if not . . . I would go up in smoke.

“Oh, God . . .” I moaned, digging my nails into his shoulders. I was so close, so so close. “God, please.”

He trailed over every inch of my breasts, kissing them like he would my mouth: with lips and tongue and teeth. His fingers slipped out of me, pulling wetness to my clit, and when he pushed them back in, that was it.

Pressure burst into tingles and flame. My veins burned up like a line of gunpowder, shooting flames of light behind my eyes. A shudder fluttered through my body as though three shots of liquor poured straight into my bloodstream, before a languid heat spread.

As I came down, I realized my legs had given out and I sat on his thigh. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet when his lips and a deep rasp touched my ear. “Jesus, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Satisfaction still shimmering with an orange glow dripped into my chest like a leaky tap. “Thank you,” I breathed, my cheeks flushed enough to singe if touched. His hand slid from my shorts and I shivered at the loss of contact.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, the color black intoxicated. His thumb grazed my lips and his words were coarse like he hadn’t spoken in a while. “You’re welcome.”

He left a streak of wetness across my mouth, and I knew it was of me. I drew my tongue across my bottom lip and licked it off.

His gaze flashed. “Get on the bed.” It was a demand, his lazy mood hardening into a harsh one that made my heart thump against my ribcage.

I pulled away from him and crawled onto the bed. It felt like I lay on a cloud of Nico as I got settled on my back. It was too soft to be him, but it smelled like him: warm whiskey, sandalwood, and an unnamable scent I associated with sweet temptation and danger.

While holding my stare, he slipped his sweatpants off, and my cheeks grew warmer even though he still wore boxer briefs as black as his full sleeve. I swallowed as I glanced at his erection that strained through the fabric. Anticipation thrummed to life between my legs. He was so hard, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

My body was languid, pliable, and still high on an orgasm, but as this man watched me while he walked around the bed with a volatile darkness in his gaze, my pulse began to tremble in my throat.

Goose bumps spread across my skin as the air-conditioner kicked on with a blast. He opened the nightstand drawer, pulled out a condom, and tossed it on top of the table. My stomach tightened, and a noise of surprise escaped me when he grabbed my ankle and jerked me to the side of the bed.

“These fucking shorts,” he gritted, grabbing the waistband and yanking them down my legs along with my thong.

A somewhat manipulative part of me knew exactly what he meant. The shorts resembled underwear, and I might have worn them in front of him while he was still my soon-to-be brother-in-law.

He tossed my clothes on the floor behind him. “Were you trying to fuck with me, Elena?”

The orgasm might as well have been truth serum, because I breathed, “Yes.”

He grasped my thighs, parted them, and then let out a low curse. His gaze flicked to my face, hardening. “Who else do you fuck with?”

The words hit me in the stomach and turned every drop of lust sour. He still thought I was a slut, and here I lay with my legs spread for him? With a glare, I yanked my thighs out of his grasp and stood. “Screw yourself, Nicolas.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d rather screw you.”

“Too bad,” I snapped, pushing past him.

I didn’t make it another step before his arm wrapped around my waist, my feet left the floor, and he tossed me onto the bed. The air whooshed out of me and a breathless annoyance flared. “I’m not a doll you can throw around, and I’m not sleeping with you.”

He crawled onto the bed and kneeled between my legs. “No one said anything about sleeping,” he drawled.