Vittorio didn’t answer. He remained motionless. A statue of controlled tension.
Elena raised her hand.
Slow. Deliberate.
Her fingers landed on his neck. Over the carotid.
She didn’t press. She grazed the warm skin.
Like a doctor looking for a symptom. Or a lover choosing where to sink her teeth.
"Unalterable rhythm..." she murmured, keeping her gaze fixed on his. "Or at least, that’s what you want to project."
She felt the pulse under her fingertips. It was strong. Hammering.
She smiled faintly.
"And yet, I feel an acceleration. Your body is more honest than your philosophy, Counselor."
She moved closer. Invaded his personal space until the air between them became unbreathable. A suffocating magnetic field.
"Sometimes the deal falls through while you wait for the perfect moment," she whispered against his jaw, lips brushing the faint stubble. "Just to avoid yielding to someone who thinks they are entitled to it by contract."
She pressed lightly on the carotid, feeling the blood flow slow for an instant under the pressure.
"Are you willing to risk it all falling apart... while you gloat over your patience?"
Vittorio didn’t close his eyes. Kept them fixed on hers. Dark. Unreadable.
"Calculation isn’t risk, Elena."
His fingers, which had remained still on her waist, tightened. A possessive grip that cut off her breath for a second.
"It’s the difference between betting and investing. I don’t bet."
He moved his free hand. Covered hers on his neck. A ring of warm flesh trapping her.
"And I don’t invest in lost causes."
She didn’t back away. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
She slipped out of the hold with a fluid movement. Liquid.
Her hand trailed up from his jaw to his mouth. Her thumb settled on his lower lip.
She pressed.
A seal.
"You’re so used to managing the prosecution," she hissed, voice reduced to a razor’s edge, "that you don’t see when you’ve become the defendant."
Shattered crystal.
She had said it. She was accusing him. And he was taking it without batting an eye.
Vittorio moved his lips against her thumb.
"Does the defendant have the right to a defense?" he asked. Voice low. Vibrating.
"No."
Elena removed her finger. Denying him the contact.
"Immediate sentencing."
She pressed her body against his. The full length of her torso, legs, pelvis. Suffocating. She wanted to make him lose that damn calm.
"Look at you. You’re here, with bated breath, waiting for my move."
Her hand dropped to his chest. Over his heart. She felt the furious beat through the vest and shirt.
She scratched the fabric with her nails.
"Who owns whom?"
She smiled. A cruel smile. Sharp.
"You think you have me in the palm of your hand. But you are chained to my whim. You’re just a man dying of thirst in front of a closed door."
She rose on her tiptoes. Brought her mouth to his ear.
"And what if I decided you will never get in?"
She felt Vittorio’s muscles contract under her hands.
She had touched a raw nerve.
"The door isn’t closed," he murmured. His voice was black velvet. Enveloping.
He pulled her to him with a sudden jerk. Closed the distance.
His body heat hit her. An unequivocal physical response. Hard. Present.
"You opened it," he continued, shifting his face to find her mouth, "the moment you walked in here."
His hands locked onto her hips. Pinning her there.
His burgundy eyes burned.
"And I’m not dying of thirst, Elena. I’m just deciding where to start drinking."
His lips landed on hers.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t a request.
It was slow. Deep. A brutal answer.
His hand on the nape of her neck tightened, preventing her from moving, while the other slid down her bare back. Skin against skin. Igniting every nerve.
Elena’s brain shut down.
White noise.
Click. Darkness.
Click. Fire.
She didn’t melt in that embrace. She tensed like a violin string plucked with violence.
She met his mouth with ferocity. Parted her lips not to submit to the invasion, but to trap it.
Her fingers tightened in Vittorio’s hair. Pulling. Hurting.
She savored the taste. Wine. Spices. Danger.
She memorized every nuance. A live autopsy of desire.
It was she who broke the contact.
She pulled back by millimeters. Lips wet. Shared breath mixing in the tiny space between them.
Her thumb resumed lazily tracing the outline of his mouth. Red and swollen.
"Mmm..." she murmured, eyes shining with dark triumph. "Complex flavor. Notes of dominance... and a sweet aftertaste of desperation."
She slid her hand from his hair down to the knot of his tie.
Tightened it. A silk leash.
"You broke the silence, Vittorio," she whispered, nibbling just barely on his lower lip. "Now that you’ve tasted... are you sure you can stop?"
She looked him in the eyes. Daring him to lie again.
"Or should I fear that your famous discipline has just crumbled?"
Vittorio looked at her. His eyes were dark. Dilated. But his voice came out steady. A counterweight to the chaos they had just unleashed.
"My discipline doesn’t crumble, Elena. It’s the only thing keeping us standing."
YOU ARE READING
Predator's Nature
Mystery / ThrillerElena has a mind at war with itself. Vittorio hides secrets no one should discover. When he chooses her as prey, she decides not to run. Some love stories are born in blood. Elena lives at war with herself. Her mind is a parliament in permanent revo...
