Page 24 of Enemy of Ours #1

IRIS

W hat the actual fuck? Seriously, what the fuck! An endless chant of "what the fuck" echoes in my head.

Mrs. Messina?

I must have heard wrong? That has to be it. A simple mistake.

Ever since I woke up from my drug-induced sleep, everything has felt like a dream or nightmare, depending on how you're looking at it. Deep down, I know there's this hidden desire to be completely Romeo's, to have him take control and worship the hell out of me, but the business he runs… it terrifies me. I could be taken again, just because I’m Romeo Messina’s woman. That makes me want to run and never be near the danger he could bring into my life. But when I first laid my eyes on him, he was gazing at me with rich, deep obsidian eyes, making me feel small next to his towering frame; he made me feel like nothing could touch me except for his large, beautiful hands. I could have painted those hands. The feelings I have for him have never gone away, even though I deny them. I want him. I know I do, but is he worth the risk? Will I only experience pain in his presence, or will I feel intense pleasure that makes me weep for more? Those confusing thoughts drift through my head until I’m startled as the car comes to a slow stop.

Now, all of a sudden, my side of the car door is being opened by a very silent driver who doesn’t Mrs. Messina me.

I'm glad I covered my eyes with my ribbon before exiting the plane. I’m not stupid; I know Romeo conducts his business here in Italy also, so there’s a very high chance I’ll be bumping into the same people over and over while held hostage here against my will.

I don’t want to be stared at like I’m some science project people can look at and point out the imperfections.

The very thought makes my lower back break out in sweat and my head swim.

“Take a deep breath for me, Iris.” Romeo approaches me, leaning in to whisper in my ear with his remarkably sexy and alluring voice, which I find utterly captivating.

It’s the only thing keeping me grounded at this moment.

“That’s my good girl, one more time. You can do this.” He keeps praising me in a low murmur, my body going lax in his hold as he wraps his arm around my waist. It feels secure and safe.

Damn him.

“Goddamn you, Romeo.” I rest my head on his biceps for a moment while I take another deep inhale of his intoxicating scent.

“Let’s get you inside, and I promise to explain everything. Welcome home, Kitten.” His lips briefly press against my temple before he seizes my hand, yanking me away from the car with quick strides to the large front oak doors.

I hear the sound of Sofia’s nails clicking on the pavement in front of us and the car pulling away as Romeo strides up a small incline, the sound of rushing water coming from my left, which I’m guessing is a water fountain.

He stops and opens a door, never letting go of my hand as we step inside his home.

“Take off the ribbon. No one else is around. I arranged for them to set up the estate and provided instructions for them to take the day off when we arrived.” His voice echoes around the room even though he is standing right next to me, so close that our arms brush against each other.

I hesitantly reach up and untie the ribbon, letting out a soft gasp as the bright light pierces my eyes.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust before the shadowed outline takes shape, and I’m flabbergasted.

I spin in a circle, not believing how many windows are from floor to ceiling in every direction.

There's even a glass dome above our heads when I gaze up, and we are only in the foyer.

“I bought this estate two years ago. I wanted you to never have to hide in the dark again,” he mutters off to the side, watching me glance around in wonder.

I’m speechless. I don’t even know what to say. My eyes water; never has someone been so thoughtful when it comes to my needs.

“The whole estate is like this?” I croak out, wrapping my arms around my waist as I try to hold it together.

“Yes. Can I show you my favorite room, and then we can talk?” he asks, holding his palm out for me to willingly take. I don’t hesitate this time; instead, I grip his hand firmly with a squeeze.

“Show me,” I say breathlessly, my tone filled with excitement I haven’t felt in a long time.

He doesn’t waste any time, chuckling as I start to lead him at a rushed pace.

It’s the first time since the accident that I’m seeing things more clearly.

Everything is white: the walls, the floor, and the windows around every available space to let in natural light.

I can see artwork on the walls even though I can’t make out what it is, but I don’t care.

I can see more vivid shapes; it almost seems impossible.

We walk down a long corridor featuring eight French doors that open into a courtyard, which he points out to me.

His voice is soothing and happy as he watches me with his head turned toward me the whole time we explore the rooms. I can feel his gaze burning into my skin practically.

“There are eight bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, a billiards room, an indoor and outdoor pool, a library, a gentlemen's room for meetings, and two offices. But I think this room might be your favorite. It took a while to get everything purchased and set up.” He sounds excited, his hand letting go of mine so he can push open the double doors with a flourish.

I walk slowly inside the spacious, round room, completely in awe, and tears fall down my cheeks as I stand under another glass dome. Paintings line the walls between each window, going all the way up to the ceiling. The frames alone are bigger than my body, each painting enormous.

“It’s a gallery. You—you did this?” I can’t take a proper breath, my heart beating rapidly as I turn around to see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his muscular chest.

“Yes. I wanted you to have your space to just be and relax.” His voice deepens as I continue to stare in his direction, gasping sharply as he flips a switch next to him along the wall, and the room becomes brighter.

I can see the brushstrokes of the pictures as I step closer, my hand reaching out and hovering over one painting of Salvator Mundi from the 1500s before dropping my arm so I don’t destroy the paint with the oils of my fingertips.

This painting alone costs millions. I can’t see the colors, but each shape and outline of the picture is so clear that I could cry from the sheer beauty.

“Why would you do this for a person you kidnapped? Why me?” I ask desperately, clenching the light coat tighter around my body as he approaches me with long strides, his legs quickly closing the distance between us.

The closer he gets, the clearer his features become.

Almost as clear as the paintings. I admit to myself that I’ve missed seeing him, actually seeing him.

Not just by sensing him nearby through smell, noise, or touch.

His high cheekbones could cut glass, and his strong nose, along with a square jawline, is always covered in five o'clock shadow.

The urge to feel his beard under my fingertips is strong, wondering what it would feel like between my legs…

I gasp as the burn on my hip and inner thigh makes sense now, recalling the incident from the other day.

“Romeo Messina! What did you do to me while I was sleeping?”

His hand is in my hair, gripping tightly as he pulls my head back until my neck is straining.

I have no choice but to stay completely still like an animal trapped in a snare.

I feel like prey when it comes to him; he’s the predator that is always watching and waiting for the right moment to strike and make me his.

“What do you think I did?” I can hear the smirk in his deepening tone. Desire swirls low in my belly, making my underwear embarrassingly wet with just his voice alone.

"Did you, ah, were you touching me down there with your, uh, mouth?" I stammer as he tugs me closer to his body from head to toe, causing my cheeks to heat.

“Are you asking if I had my mouth on your sweet cunt?” He chuckles darkly when I gasp, feeling his muscles flex beneath my hands on his chest. I slide them down without realizing what I’m doing and feel the firm, ridged muscles of his eight-pack under my fingertips.

“Yes,” I say in a daze, continuing to drift my hands over him as the heat in my belly tightens and makes my legs shift against him in need.

“Not yet, I only rubbed my beard on you. I love seeing my mark on you, Iris,” he whispers in my ear, lips skimming over my earlobe before he nips it with his teeth.

I moan loudly, digging my nails into his broad shoulders as my legs go weak.

“You want me to eat this pussy? Be my good girl?” His voice is like pure sin, dark and delicious.

“God. Fuck you, Romeo, but yes. I want that. I want to be your good girl.” I’m way past caring about anything at this moment; my anger is taking a back seat because he built me a fucking gallery.

The desire spreading through my whole body catches him by surprise as I literally climb him like a tree with my legs wrapping around his waist.

He emits a low grunt as I grasp the back of his neck, rising to lock my lips against his.

There’s no hesitation. He presses me closer, pulling my hair with his fist until my eyes sting with tears, but I don’t mind the mild pain.

It just fuels my need for him. His lips are smooth and hungry against mine, like he can’t get enough.

As he changes the angle of our kiss, deepening it, his nose skims mine, causing my eyes to flutter shut and a moan to escape my mouth, which he takes advantage of.

He bites my lower lip and licks the sting away before his tongue moves against mine in slow motion, instantly making me think about what it would feel like on my pussy.