A business arrangement forced us together.
His power keeps us tangled.
And every time I try to pull away... I want him even more.
" * " indicate more mature/ explicit scenes, the more the spicier
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AMIRA
The air smelled like pre rain, but the clouds hadn't made up their mind. The balcony doors were cracked open, letting in the breeze as soft salsa floated through the penthouse in the background.
King of envy, my current book sat comfortably on my lap, half-forgotten as Alessandro's fingers traced lazy, absentminded circles along my calf. He sat stretched out, his other hand holding a glass of dark amber whiskey, eyes flickering between his tablet and me. But mostly me. We've been exploring whatever this is for 3 weeks now.
"You've been reading the same page for ten minutes," he said, voice low, teasing.
I smiled without lifting my gaze. "I'm thinking."
He chuckled under his breath, setting the tablet aside. "Thinking or staring at me again?"
I glanced up now, eyes playful. "Why? Is it making you nervous?"
His smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, that arrogant, self-assured little smirk that always made my chest tighten and my stomach flip.
"Nervous? Bellissima, you forget who you're dealing with."
I closed the book and carefully set it on the coffee table. His hand was still on my leg, fingers curling slightly, possessive even when we weren't doing anything.
I let my eyes drift over him slowly making sure to take in his open collar, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his forearms, that watch he always wore. Expensive. Dangerous. Completely at ease, but only because he wanted to be.
"You're being soft today," I whispered, leaning forward slightly.
"You're letting me."
The room thickened with heat, even though neither of us moved much. It was always like this with Alessandro like every small movement was amplified by the tension that lived between us.
I reached out, my fingertips skimming along the sharp edge of his jaw. His eyes darkened immediately, watching me with a flicker of hunger. I let my thumb lightly graze his bottom lip, teasing.
"You make it very hard to stay professional," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
He exhaled through his nose, gripping my waist suddenly and pulling me into his lap, our bodies flush against each other.
"Non mi interessa più della professionalità, Amira."
The roughness in his Italian made the heat between us even thicker. I didn't need to fully understand his words to know exactly what he meant.
I don't care about professionalism anymore, Amira.
Our faces were so close now, breaths mingling, hearts pounding. His hand cupped the back of my head, holding me there, waiting. His restraint was breaking...but he was giving me the choice.
