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“You’re lucky I didn’t use the sharp end of the knife to fuck that pretty pussy with.” His teeth scrape my earlobe, sending a sharp jolt through me. “Especially after kicking me in the balls.”

My breath catches as heat curls low in my stomach, twisting into something dark and unrecognizable.

“But maybe,” he continues, his lips hovering closer, every syllable dripping with arrogance, “if you get on your knees and kiss it better, I’ll consider letting you finish.”

I almost choke on my own breath while my brain struggles to process his words.

Did he really just say that?

I hold onto the edge of the kitchen island, grounding myself before I do something stupid, like drop to my knees and find out what’s under those gray sweats.

“Feel lucky I let you live after that little stunt,” he murmurs, his fingers grazing between my legs, giving my pussy a teasing tap that has no right to affect me the way it does.

The smirk tugging at his lips tells me everything. He felt the damp fabric, the way my thighs clenched on instinct.

I want to die, but sarcasm is my defense. “Yeah, I feel really lucky, Warden.”

Alessio lets out a low chuckle, smug as ever. “Yeah,” he mutters, and the way he says it makes my stomach twist.

Before I can process what’s happening, his knuckles brush over my nipple, fast and not gentle or playful. Just enough pressure to make my breath hitch again, to send a sharp pulse through my body that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling.

I draw in a breath, like it’ll help me, but he’s already stepping back, acting like he didn’t just scramble my brain.

16

Alessio

It takes every ounce of self-control not to rip that pathetic sweater off Olivia and bend her over the kitchen island. Even with Paola ten feet away, I don’t give a damn. She can watch for all I care. Watch me claim the littleSirenawho keeps tempting me like she wants to see how far she can push me before I snap.

I don’t let her see it, though. Instead, I stalk off to the shower, slamming the door behind me hard enough to rattle the frame.

The water is scalding, burning down my shoulders, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to relax the tension boiling inside me. My jaw locks, my fists clench, and I brace a hand against the tile, exhaling through my nose. Olivia is still in my head, her scent, her mouth, those fucking hips teasing me like she knows exactly what she’s doing, making me wantto pin her down and ruin her.

I grab the bar of soap and scrub harder than necessary, but the more I try to push her out of my head, the more vivid the images get. Her back arching, her lips parting as she moans my name, her body writhing underneath me.

Just one taste, I tell myself. That’s all it would take to get her out of my system. Bury myself in her tight little cunt until she’s screaming my name, then leave her just like all the others. She’s not different from the rest.

My hand grips my cock, slow at first, but that doesn’t last long. I lose the battle almost immediately. The image of Olivia is burned into my brain, in bed, legs spread, back arching like she’s begging me to ruin her. That sweet little mouth of hers moaning my name while I fuck her tight cunt. Fucking hell.

My breath hitches, and I slam my free hand against the tile as the tension that’s been building up for days finally snaps. I come hard, spilling against the shower wall hot and sticky, only to be washed away by the water almost instantly.

I’m still wound tight, still pissed, and all I can think about is how much better it would’ve been to feel her pussy wrapped around me, squeezing me, pulling me deeper until I own her sweet cunt. Instead, I’m here, jerking off like a pathetic asshole who can’t get a handleon his own goddamn thoughts. She’s in my fucking head, and it’s driving me insane.

I lean against the wall, chest heaving, clenching and releasing my fists until I get my shit together and turn off the water.

I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel low around my hips. The mirror’s fogged to hell, but I catch enough of my reflection to see the mess—tousled wet hair and droplets of water sliding down my jaw. I look like I’ve been through it, and maybe I have. Steam still clings to my skin as I push the bathroom door open, and a gust of cold air hits me as I walk into my bedroom, sending a chill through me, making the hairs on my arms stand up.

By the time I’m in my closet, I’ve mostly shoved her out of my head. The polished wood shelves gleam, and the rows of designer suits are just as I like them, perfectly tailored, perfectly arranged, and color-coded like I’ve got my shit together. It’s a small piece of control in my day.

I grab a pair of boxer briefs and pull them on before reaching for a crisp white shirt. I throw on a navy Armani suit, tailored to perfection. I leave the top buttons undone, letting the ink on my chest and neck peek through. Just enough to remind anyone who sees me that I’m not just polished suits and business deals. I look sharp, but I’m still a fucking killer.

By the time I head downstairs, it’s already pushing noon. The sound of chatter gets louder with each step I take.

What the fuck?

I stop in the hallway, just out of sight from the living room, listening to Olivia and Paola. It’s the first time I’ve heard anything come out of her mouth that isn’t sarcasm or a biting remark… just laughter.

I crack my knuckles. She’s not supposed to be laughing like that.