Temporary Fix | 18+

18

My body jerked away at his voice, and I spun to face him, breaking his hold on my hair.

Niccolò stood, in all his glory, wearing dark slacks without a wrinkle in sight, a white button-down that stretched across his chest tightly, due to his hands no longer in my hair, stuffed in his pockets.

He looked the same; his hair was mainly slicked back, but the short, unruly strands at the front fell randomly over his forehead. The horizontal cut on his cheek caught my eye, and I wondered where the mark was from. He might have been fighting, but only the tiny bruise flawed his skin.

The familiar pendants hung from his neck, and when I couldn't think of anywhere else to stare, my eyes found familiar Mediterranean ones.

I could see the anger in his narrowed gaze, his curiosity in the way his tongue ran over his teeth behind plush pink lips— lips I knew were soft and domineering, and he stared with something else I refused to acknowledge.

"What are you doing here?" The question was the first thing to pop in my head.

His brows dipped, "I'm here on business." His gaze shifted down my frame, and I found myself folding my arms against my chest. "What are you doing here, Rosalyn?"

I tried to think of what business the man could have at a BDSM club. But I guess everybody needed paper. It sounded off even when I said the words in my head. My answers were blank. My thoughts drifted as I contemplated my response to him.

You wouldn't be able to handle it.

Was this what he meant? Or was I just being delusional to make myself feel good?

"I'm here with someone." His gaze shifted around us at the now empty hallway, with anyone who was still around inside the room.

"Who the fuck is someone?" My stomach tightened at the tone of his voice. He took another step, and my hand flew up to stop him from coming closer. I regretted it because it only brought on physical contact I didn't want. His voice fell, "And why the fuck did they leave you by yourself about to combust in a hallway?"

My lips fell open, but my reply was lost. My chest heaved when I tried to steady my breathing because of his words—because he was right— and his jaw clenched from the action.

I couldn't understand why he was getting so upset.

"You're leaving. Now." His hand grabbed mine, removing it from his body to march us to the exit.

I stumbled behind him before freeing myself from his grasp, "I'm not leaving. What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem, is I can't begin to fathom why the hell you're in this club with some mystery—" he ran a palm roughly across his jaw before taking a deadly step towards me. "Did some asshole bring you here, Rosalyn? Because I know that knock-off Ken doll can't fuck you in any flavor other than vanilla."

His insult to Antony and the insinuation that we were fuc- I wanted to gag from sheer disgust. The abuse of my best friend was another topic. I tried heavily to focus on that instead of the fact that there would never be anything sexual between me and Ant for as long as I was alive. Never.

Something in my expression caused him to pause and cock his head, but I wouldn't indulge him, "this conversation is over. Go back to wherever the hell you've been for the last two weeks."

I stormed off, angry clicks of my heels filling the hall as I moved in the opposite direction, even though I was unsure where it led.

He scoffed before marching behind me, and I felt his hand come around my waist to hoist me against him. He pushed us forward, stopping me from turning the corner, and I tried to ignore the feel of the outline of his body against my bare back.