Dark Queen

“Oops, so sorry. Must be my childlike hands.” I grin, placing the bottle down and walking away.

Chapter Nineteen

Luca

My crotch is damp. Marcello’s roar of a laughter draws all eyes to our section. I’m going to kill that ballerina.

Getting to my feet, I march through the bar. Gripping her under the arm, to the shock of the barmaid, I drag her to my office, she doesn’t fight it, complying like a good little princess, all the while knowing she’s anything but.

I slam the door behind us.

“Do you have a death wish?” I scorn, angry and turned on all in the same damn breath.

Her face is breathtaking. No makeup, naked, and still the best-looking girl in any room.

Her chest heaves, her nipples poking through her shirt. Is she not wearing a bra?

“Look at this mess. I have a meeting after I leave here,” I fume, gesturing to the wet patch she made.

She lifts her shoulder. “I can blow on it for you.” Her brow quirks, those fat lips offering a knowing smirk.

I want to strip her naked and fuck the life from her over my desk, make her scream so everyone can hear her come undone beneath me.

“You do realize I’m your boss, right? Your disobedience won’t be tolerated,” I growl.

A light giggle of disbelief filters through the air daggering me in the chest, “Tell my boss grinding himself on employees is sexual harassment, so don’t tell me what will and won’t be tolerated.”

My legs close the space between us before I realize I’ve even moved.

Once again, I pin her against a wall, pushing my body against hers. “Are you making threats, little ballerina?” I breathe down on her, and she matches me glare for glare.

She’s exceptional. I want to keep her, but I can’t. Someone killed Serena because of her link to me. I need to stay away. But then she licks her bottom lip, and my cock pushes against the zipper of my slacks, desperate to be slapped against her ass.

Her breathing accelerates, making her shirt gape, offering a view of the swell of her tits.

“Like making wet patches, do you?” I taunt. “I bet your panties are soaked.”

Her lashes flutter, “Not that people can see. Yours looks like you can’t hold your bladder,” she mocks. “Is it an age thing?”

“You’re angry about my comment,” I smirk, pushing further into her. “Yet acted very childlike with your response,” I inform her.

“What do you want from me?” She squints her eyes, and I want to say everything.

“I think it’s you who wants something.” I raise a brow, dropping my eyes to her nipples pushing against the white fabric of her blouse.

“Then give it to me,” she dares, and damn her, I drop a knee and suck her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, flicking my tongue over the small bud, coating her shirt in saliva.

Her hands grab at my hair, a whimper coming from her lips.

I pull away, standing, leering at the wet spot allowing me a clear view of her sexy rosebud nipple.

“Now we’re even,” I state. “Get out.”

When I make it back through to the bar, Alyssa has changed her shirt and is busying herself serving customers. I track her movements for a few seconds, then go back to the table.

Marcello has finished eating, and my food is stone cold.

“She’s very entertaining,” Marcello taunts, pleased with his hire. Prick.

I sit back in my seat as a girl enters, her fiery red hair like a beacon.

She’s flustered, blaring my name to Simon, “Where is Luca Leto?”

My guards flank her, grabbing her arms. A silence falls over the room. I jerk my head for them to bring her to me.

Alyssa focuses on me, her brow crinkling with worry. She moves to the bar, talking to Simon, never taking her eyes from mine.

Marcello moves his chair around to get a better view of the girl. She’s young, red, frizzy hair bouncing off her head like cotton candy. It looks ridiculous.

“You,” she says my name like it’s tar on her tongue.

“And you are?” I ask, jerking my head for my guards to release her arms. I think I can protect myself from this child.

“Natasha, Serena’s sister.”

Interesting.

I look her over with new eyes, trying to find pieces of her sister within her features, but she’s nothing like her.

“I don’t want your money,” she sneers. “You killed my sister.”

“Lower your voice,” I command, standing, buttoning my jacket, my appetite gone.

“I didn’t kill her, but I will find out who did and make them pay for what they did to her,” I assure her. Running my gaze through the bar, the customers go back to their drinks but I know they’re all straining to hear what’s being said.

Scrunching up her nose, she twists her lips, shaking her head. “I know who killed her.” She looks at me like I’m an idiot.