Page 25

C ontessa

I’ve clearly forgotten about the pool party when I turn up to the studio the next morning, but Paige puts that right in less than ten seconds.

“What happened to you?” she squeals before the door has even closed behind me. “I’ve been so worried! You didn’t answer any of my calls or texts… I thought you’d been kidnapped or something.”

I resist the temptation to roll my eyes, then remember how close I actually came to being abducted and possibly raped by my stalker. “I’m sorry, Paige. I?—.”

A few other girls are stretching their limbs, readying themselves for rehearsal, and clearly eavesdropping on our conversation, so Paige pulls me to one corner. “What happened?” she hisses in a stage whisper.

“My car broke down.” I almost kick myself at the lame excuse but I figure it’s less interrogate-able than ‘my new brother-in-law’s consigliere chased me down, threatened to murder anyone who looked at me, then gave me multiple orgasms on the hood of my car.’

Her eyes widen. “And your phone? Did that break down too?”

“I had to call home to get someone to pick me up and then my phone died. I’m so sorry, Paige. I really am.”

She straightens and folds her arms. “You never come out and I was so stoked you finally wanted to join us.”

God, now I feel like a real ass .

“I know. I promise if anything like that happens again, I’ll call.” I bite the inside of my lip. “That’s if you invite me again. I won’t blame you if you don’t.”

She blinks a few times then shrugs her arms back to her sides. “Oh, Tess, of course I’ll invite you again. You’re like my bestie in this place. Be nice if we could be besties outside of it too.”

She wraps her arms around my neck and I hug her back. Having a bestie is a slightly unsavory notion to me now. The only bestie I’ve ever had was Federico. I understood that he had to leave. I never expected him to completely abandon me, but he did. And for a long time, especially after I’d trusted him with my virginity, that hurt. So, naturally, I’ve grown a little averse to the idea of having a best friend.

My response is cut short by the arrival of Antonio. He barks at us all to get into position and we obey. As the music starts my eyes drift closed and a darkness wraps itself around me. A gap in a doorway, a spinning ballerina, the graze of unshaved skin along the inside of my thigh.

Then I dance.

“That was spectacular.” Antonio’s words halt me as I’m halfway through the door. Most other girls have already left and those remaining are pulling on shoes and jackets, chatting amongst themselves.

I turn timidly. “I’m sorry?”

“Your dancing this afternoon. It was spectacular.”

I swallow and hold the door open, not sure if I should stay or leave.

“You’ve always been a good dancer—I don’t always tell you. But, I’ve never seen you dance like that before.”

I let the door close and hug my arms around myself. I’m kind of stunned. Antonio never gives me compliments; he only ever makes me feel as though I’m not good enough.

He looks around as if trying to find the words. “It’s like you’re dancing from here.” He presses his palms to his chest. “From your soul. Instinctive. Innate. Like… you’re not even trying.”

He stares at me, waiting for a response, but I’m at a loss because I can’t explain it myself. But I’ve noticed a change in my dancing too—in my ability to feel the music, to become one with it, to lose myself in a certain darkness. It began the day I heard gunshots across the street.

He sighs. “Well, whatever is making you dance this way, don’t lose it. Keep dancing like that and you will go wherever your heart desires.”

I nod once and open the door, only breathing again when I’m on the other side of it. I stare at the opposite wall and try to believe what just happened. Then I hear a faint noise coming from the top of the stairs.

Before I know it, I’m standing at Bernadi’s door, tapping my knuckles against it. When it opens, my stomach almost bottoms out. Is it possible for someone to get even more beautiful not twenty-four hours since I last saw them?

He’s wearing dark jeans and a black T-shirt that accentuates the bronze flecks in his eyes. The cotton wraps around his torso like a glove, rippling over his abs and revealing the barbed wire ink curling round his bicep.

He wordlessly takes a step backward and I walk into his apartment. Once I’m inside he closes the door.

He looks down at me through heavy lashes. Both of us are waiting for the other to speak, but neither of us does.

My pulse is thundering through my ears as adrenaline skitters across my nerve endings. Looking up into his thoughtful gaze, I know exactly what is making me dance better than I’ve ever danced before .

It’s him .

It’s Bernadi. He’s unlocked something in me that makes it a little easier to live with myself. His darkness somehow makes mine okay.

I step forward until my chest is brushing against his. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything. My pounding heart makes me feel lightheaded and I’m conscious of the hate I’ve professed to feeling for him for so long slipping away, out of my grasp. It makes me feel untethered and at sea.

Instead of feeling angry at him, I feel a strange pull that I can’t explain. My stomach warms like liquid and my skin prickles with anticipation, remembering how good he made me feel. How can someone I hate make me feel so treasured ?

I tilt my chin and without thinking pull my bottom lip between my teeth. His jaw grinds but his expression doesn’t move. His body seems to have solidified, watching me with narrowed, beautiful eyes.

I reach up onto my tiptoes and let my lips part. My lids fall and something presses against my mouth. It isn’t his.

My eyelids pop open only to see his finger pressed against my lips. His voice is gravelly. “What did I say about putting your mouth on me, Contessa?”

I lower my heels to the floor, feeling some of the wind knocked out of me.

His voice lowers to a deep, haunting whisper. “I won’t be able to stop.” He lets those words sink in, then finishes with, “And that’s a promise. ”

I freeze, my inexperience hurtling toward me at a million miles per hour. I got lucky on the hood of my car. He could’ve walked away and completely shattered my self-esteem. In reality, I have no idea how to play this game.

I feel a guttural need to thank him in some way for releasing some of my inhibitions. It’s too big of a coincidence that my dancing took on an even greater life of its own almost to the minute he showed up on the sidewalk.

His body heat is burning me up and he’s just said, in a roundabout way, he wants me. I mean, I’m reading between the lines here, but I think that’s what he meant.

Relief and something akin to want makes me curl my trembling fingers over the waistband of his jeans. I almost die at the sound of his sharp intake of breath.

The buttons pop out effortlessly and when I look down I see why. His cock is straining against the fabric. Even through the cotton of his designer boxers, I can see it’s as big as my forearm.

“Take it out.” The bite in his tone makes me startle and my heart shoots up to the base of my throat.

My whole hands are shaking but I force them to work apart the opening in his boxers. I hold my breath and feed my hand through, then I feel the taut, soft, hot skin of his cock and my brain melts. It takes no effort to pull him out, but I’m stunned when confronted with exactly how well-endowed he is, and what he’s waiting for.

“Look at me. ”

I’m grateful for the command. I feel slightly drunk trying to lift lids that have grown heavy with lust. He takes my chin between a finger and thumb and gently lifts it until my gaze meets his. His voice is a whisper. “ Look at me.”

I swallow, painfully aware my hand is holding his throbbing cock.

“You’ve never done this before.”

I’m about to shake my head in agreement, but he applies pressure to my chin, holding it in place. “It’s not a question.”

He lifts his gaze to the ceiling for a second, then drops it back to mine. “You sure you want to do this?”

Oh God . No? Yes? I want—I need —to do something.

I nod. “Tell me what to do.”

His other hand is still in his pocket, his cock jutting into my stomach, regardless of my grip around it.

His jaw unlocks. “Hold it firmly,” he orders. “Then stroke me from the base to the tip. Slowly.”

I do as he asks, and each time I try to look down to check I’m doing it right, he pinches my chin.

After a few strokes, a hoarse groan feeds its way out of his throat. The place he stroked with his tongue the day before starts to throb but I drag my focus back to his cock. It’s growing longer, thicker and so much firmer in my hand.

“Come closer,” he says.

I have to aim his cock upwards so I can step into him. My hand grazes his T-shirt and mine as I rub him up and down.

My head tips back even further as I maintain eye contact, like he told me to. Both our lips are parted and our breaths mingle, growing heavier and deeper.

His eyes close and he hums an untethered moan, then his lips form a word. “Contessa.”

My thighs part instinctively, and my panties feel soaked. Oh God, am I going to come from just doing this to him?

My mind flashes back to the point at which I was desperate for him to finish me and the little devil in me takes over. I pause the movement of my hand and watch his lids pop open. “Do you hate me, Benito?” I ask innocently.

His lips part and a tight breath escapes them. “Yes, my little brat. I hate you.”

Oh God .

I tighten my grip and stroke him harder. I love how these simple movements are unraveling him. And I love how he can’t seem to control his response to me. I have him literally in the palm of my hand and I’ve never felt so powerful.

His eyes close again and he clamps his hands to each side of my face, then he pulls me toward him and presses his left cheek to mine. His breaths pump into my ear, long and tortured.

Then he starts to whisper.

“That’s it, honey… Just a little harder… Un … Perfect... ”

My legs shake. He called me ‘honey’ and now I think it might be my favorite word.

“That’s my little brat… Oh Jesus… Contessa …”

Hearing my name on a note of desperation makes everything below my waist swell. I press my cheek into his, and his fingers caress a trail from my nape to my shoulder blades.

“Lift up your shirt,” he whispers softly.

I do as he asks. I guide his cock beneath the fabric and press it against my breasts.

“I’m going to come all over you, little brat,” he says, his voice cracking like ice falling into warm whiskey.

I tug at him once, twice… On the third stroke he groans and grips my face so hard it hurts. I feel his hot semen flood into the canal between my breasts. His body shakes as it expels every last bit and he seems heavier against me, panting from the exertion.

Quietly, I dip my fingers into the pool of come and pull a trail of it over my breasts. His breaths slow and his cheek releases from mine with a gentle pull on my skin.

He raises his head and releases his grip on my face, then he lifts my T-shirt and sees what I’ve done. My breasts are coated in his come. For a second, he stares at me, like he can’t believe I would do something like that.

Then his gaze darkens like a deathly shadow just fell over him and he quickly shoves himself back inside his pants and buttons up the fly.

“I guess we’re even now.”

I step back at his sharp tone .

“What?” I whisper.

“You won this one, but I won the last.”

“Do you think this is a game?” I ask, my voice pitching higher.

His teeth grind together. “Not so much of a game, more of a stand-off.”

Something inside my chest hardens. He just let me do all that to him so he could get even ? For a moment there, I thought we were playing at this game of hate, but, as he’s just clarified, this is no game. He really does hate me.

And how do I feel?

Mortified. Embarrassed. Exploited.

Hate is too small a word.

And words are too generous a form of communication.

We’re still standing by the door so I feel for the handle without taking my eyes off his, then I pull the door open and step outside, leaving him with nothing but a sneer for company.