Mafia's African Rose

Addicted to us

Alexio drove into the mansion's parking lot, and I stepped out hastily, desperate to get away from him. My legs wobbled beneath me, and I cursed under my breath.

"Angel," he called from behind. "You're drunk. Let me take you to your room."

"I can wal—ahh!" I winced as pain shot through my ankle. How much did I drink? Frustration bubbled inside me. Before I could process, Alexio's strong hands encircled my waist, lifting me effortlessly into his arms.

"You dickhead, put me down!" I snapped, thrashing weakly.

He ignored me, his jaw set, as if my protests didn't matter. A few maids passing by paused to bow.

"Alexio, people are watching! Drop me," I slurred, squirming.

"You can't walk, baby," he said matter-of-factly.

"I hate you so much," I hissed, gritting my teeth.

He carried me upstairs, his grip firm but gentle, and placed me on my bed. Without a word, he knelt down and began removing my heels, his touch surprisingly careful.

I rolled my eyes, feeling both irritated and conflicted. He left briefly, returning with a cream. Before I could argue, he was massaging my ankle. Pain and relief mingled, and an involuntary moan escaped my lips.

His eyes darkened, with something I didn't want to name. Embarrassed, I yanked my leg back. "You can leave now. Thanks," I muttered, trying to reclaim some control.

Ignoring him, I limped toward my closet, determined to get ready for bed. He just watched me with that infuriating calmness. "Before I come back, be gone," I said sharply, grabbing a towel.

When I emerged, wrapped in nothing but the towel, the bastard was still sitting there, completely unbothered.

"What part of 'leave' don't you understand?" I snapped, my frustration mounting.

"You don't look fine," he said simply, leaning back as if he had all the time in the world.

"I'm fine! Alexio, get the hell out!"

"Okay," he said quietly, but he didn't move.

I stormed into the bathroom, nausea suddenly hitting me hard. Rushing to the toilet, I emptied my stomach, my dignity circling the drain. The door creaked open, and I felt Alexio's hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles.

"You drank too much, baby," he said softly, crouching beside me.

I glared at him weakly. "Oh, now you care."

After I composed myself, I tried to stand, but my legs betrayed me. He didn't wait for me to ask; he cleaned me up, brushed my teeth, and before I could protest, he placed me in the tub.

Completely naked and drained of energy, I didn't even have the strength to fight him anymore. "Not fighting anymore, are we?" he teased with a smirk.

I scoffed. "Oh, dear, we still are," I said tiredly, rolling my eyes.

He chuckled, amused, and began bathing me. I bit my lip, determined not to let any sound escape, but he noticed anyway, his smirk deepening.

"Stop being so amused," I muttered, my face burning with embarrassment.

Once I was clean, he dried me off and helped me into my nightie. By the time he carried me back to bed, I was battling to keep my eyes open.

"If you think this will make me forgive you, think again," I mumbled. "Unless you're ready to kneel before everyone and apologize properly," I added jokingly.