“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.