Kingpin's Property

I limped to the bedroom door, knocking against the polished wood in a hesitant beat.

“Stefano?” I said his name timidly, perhaps too softly for him to hear in the other room.

In my head, I silently counted to five before knocking again, a louder rap. I waited another five seconds before repeating his name in the same tremulous cadence, hoping he was now close enough to hear my distress.

The door opened an instant later, and I smothered my victorious smile. I peeked up at him, folding my arms beneath my breasts to ensure that he saw my bra under the guise of hugging myself protectively.

His dark gaze dropped to my chest before snapping back to my face. The furrow in his brow and fine lines around his mouth indicated his discomfort with my mood.

Strength swelled inside me, the knowledge of my successful deception bolstering my will and granting me vindictive hope.

“I’m hungry,” I mumbled, cutting my gaze away briefly, as though resentful that I’d finally been forced to come to him to meet a basic need.

“All right, kitten. I’ll get dinner sent up for us.” He cocked his head, studying me. His bottomless gaze threatened to swallow me whole, but I remained resolute in maintaining eye contact.

“We can sit in the lounge while we wait for dinner, but I don’t want you walking around too much.” His features hardened, grimly determined. “I’m going to carry you. Don’t argue with me on this,” he warned. “You can be as upset with me as you want, but I won’t allow you to damage yourself any more than you already have. This is not negotiable.”

The way my shoulders stiffened wasn’t entirely calculated.

“Fine,” I bit out. It took no effort to visibly bristle at his domineering attitude.

The resistance part of my deception wouldn’t have to be fabricated; my resentment and loathing of his control came completely naturally.

His corded arms closed around me, lifting me up to hold me tightly against his chest. The ease with which he handled my weight sent a flutter through my belly, one I chose to interpret as wariness. No part of me should desire Stefano’s dangerously superior strength.

He carried me into the open lounge space that was at the heart of his penthouse. Dark leather furnishings were arranged with a focus on an enormous fireplace. The feature was redundant in the summer heat, but Stefano had installed a hyper realistic LED fire display. Shocking pops of color in the form of modern art punctuated the ivory walls, with an emphasis on warm shades of red. The overall effect was one of masculine minimalism, but each aspect of the décor had been carefully selected to give the impression of casual wealth.

He maintained his firm hold on me when he sat down on the couch, arranging my body so that I was curled up on his lap. Ignoring my indignant glower, he briefly retrieved his phone from his pocket and tapped out a message, presumably to order our dinner.

Seconds later, he tucked the device away, but his attention didn’t immediately return to me. I squirmed in his lap, attempting to shift off him and put distance between us.

He simply looped one corded arm around my waist, pinning me against his hard body while he continued with his desired task. With his free arm, he reached for the decanter that was set out on the mahogany side table. His deft fingers handled the crystal vessel with practiced ease, his hand more than large enough to manage pouring the amber liquid into a glass while his other kept a firm hold on me.

“I don’t want to sit on your lap,” I informed him, attempting to soften my tone to something more vulnerable. My stiff posture betrayed my anger.

“That’s too bad, kitten,” he countered evenly. “I gave you space to calm down, but nothing has changed between us.” He dipped his face toward my neck, so I felt the heat of his possessive declaration on my sensitive flesh. “You’re still mine, little pet. You’ll come to accept that eventually. I’ve decided I can be more patient with you.”

He nipped at my ear, the little flare of pain drawing a gasp from my chest. All of the small, secret pleasure points that he’d ruthlessly located this morning seemed to activate. One punitive bite harnessed my full focus, my physical awareness of him sapping my reasoning.

His arm loosened on my waist, his hand skimming up over my chest to rest on my throat. He didn’t apply pressure to my windpipe, but his knuckles eased beneath my chin, tipping my head back slightly.

“Have a drink with me.” The velvet command enfolded me, the seductive warmth of his voice wrapping around my body as his intoxicating scent inundated my senses.

“I don’t want a drink.” I managed a shaky protest. Dulling my wits with alcohol would weaken my mind, the only weapon I possessed.