"You're my first." I looked up, my eyebrows scrunching. "I mean, the first person I have kidnapped," he corrected himself, and had I looked away, I would've missed the crimson slowly seeping into his cheeks, and the fact that he couldn't meet my eyes.
"That's… good to know." I guess.
My brain went into a completely different place for a second there, and those were the thoughts I shouldn't even be entertaining. Besides, the man in front of me was not someone to scratch an itch with. Not someone to experiment with
He was too... much. Too pretty. Too hot. Too fucking young. And probably also too much of an alpha to follow my lead. I'd had that problem before., I wanted to submit to somebody else, yes,but I also wanted control. I wanted to see someone on their knees, begging. For their release. For me. And for a second, I could see him, like that, with his crimson cheeks and hooded eyes. Begging.
"Anyway," I said, trying to break the uncomfortable silence as I grabbed a pad and soaked it in antiseptic. "You never answered my question."
"Which was?"
"What are you doing here? In this room. Bathroom. Whatever?"
I lifted the pad, bringing it toward his hand as he said, "This is my roo—Oh, fuck! Cazzo!" He screamed as I pressed the pad to the four puncture marks that had opened up again. I guess I’d done more damage than I’d initially thought.
"I beg your pardon?" I pressed harder. "This isyourroom?"
"Fuck, yes. Fuuuuuck." He tried pulling his hand away, but I held his wrist with my free hand and dragged the pad over the marks. "Can you just stop?"
"No," I said sweetly, pressing even harder. "Why the fuck amIin your room, Nicolas?"
When he lifted his head, I should've been prepared for the insanity shining in those dark depths. I should've been prepared for what would come out of his mouth, but I wasn't. Not even close.I took another pad, soaked it, and pressed again. This time he didn't yell. Didn't even flinch.
"Because I couldn't bear to have you anywhere else," he muttered. "Because, for whatever fucked-up reason, I couldn't bring myself to put you in another room. Because I needed you here. Where I could see you. Where I would know you were still here."
"Why?" I gritted out. "I am just a prisoner. I don't even know why I'm here. You haven’t told me anything, you haven’t shared anything, so–" I punched his shoulder. "Speak the fuck up or let me go."
A tick jumped in his cheek, and the vein on his forehead bulged up, telling me I was edging way too close to the abyss. But I didn't care. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now.
"Because when I saw you with that fuckface in the restaurant, I wanted to break both his arms and his legs,” he said. “Because when the shooting started, I knew he’d orchestrated it. Because I think you know more about him than you're letting on. Because I'm afraid you're a spy sent by one of the families to kill me."
"W-What?" I stammered.
"And because–" his free hand wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer. "–I can'tstop fucking thinking about you. And every time you look at me, every time you order me around, my cock feels like it's going to explode from words alone.I'm too fucking tired of denying myself what I want."
"And what do you want?" I breathed.
"You."
6
NICOLAS
"M-Me?"The sound of her voice wrapped around me, making me forget about the world, about my duties, and this life I’d never wanted. At least not yet. "You don't even know my name," she whispered, avoiding my eyes.
"But I do," I said.
I know everything about you, I wanted to add, but I didn't want to spook her. I was also eighty percent sure she really had no idea who I was, but the skeptical part of me refused to let go fully. I needed to hear it from her. I’d been betrayed too many times by people who wore the masks of friends and family. I wouldn’t let anyone close if they planned to stab me in the back.
"Ajla Kapetanovic," I murmured, probably fucking up her last name, while my thumb brushedoverher pulse point. "Thirty-one years old. From Bosnia and Herzegovina. Born on January 28th, 1994, in Tuzla. In the middle of the war."
Her eyes widened, her pulse jumped underneath my finger, but I refused to stop.
"You have a younger sister, Maja, who's living back home with your mom. Your father is still alive, but you haven't seen him in years. You moved to New York ten years ago after landing a position as the Marketing Manager at Atlay, then relocated to Redmont two years ago after being promoted again. Director of Marketing and PR."
"H-How?"
"Tesoro,” I said quietly. “I am Nicolas Moretti. There aren’t many things I cannot find. But those are just facts. Anyone could dig them up if they tried hard enough. That’s not what I want to know.”