“Lea.” It’s a warning, laced with that commanding edge he wields like a weapon. He despises uncertainty, loathes not holding the reins. Good.
“What look is that?” I press, my hand inching across the leather seat, fingers splayed inches from his thigh.
“The one that suggests recklessness,” his dark eyes narrow, but there’s heat simmering there. “The one that begs for a correction.”
I lean closer, my breath ghosting his ear. “Maybe I’m just curious about the curriculum. Wondering what’s next.” My fingers brush his knee, and I feel him tense, his body betraying an interest his tone tries to conceal.
“Patience,piccola,” he murmurs.
“I’ve always learned best by doing.” I trail my hand higher, palm flat against the hard muscle of his inner thigh, feeling the change in him. “I require a more hands-on approach.”
The car crunches up the gravel drive. He exits first, then extends a hand. I take it, letting my fingers slide over his palm. His eyes flicker, but he says nothing as he leads me inside.
The great room is dim and cavernous. He strides to the sleek bar, his broad back to me as he lifts a crystal decanter. “Nightcap?” His tone is casual, but I recognize the test.
“Absolutely.” I kick off my heels, the cool stone floor a shock that grounds my resolve. I pad closer, silent. “Whiskey. Neat.”
He pours the amber liquid into two tumblers. He thinks he’s still in command, that I’m the eager pupil, denied and desperate. He’s about to learn how wrong he is.
As he caps the decanter, I close the distance, taking the glass from his fingers and setting it aside with a deliberate clink. His brows arch in surprise, but before he can speak, I press my palms to his chest, feeling the solid wall of muscle, the accelerating beat of his heart.
“What game is this, Lea?” His voice drops, wary, but his body leans into my touch, betraying him.
I lock my eyes on his. “You’ve been teaching me your rules, Nico,” I say, my hands sliding up to curl into his lapels. “I thought I’d see how well they work in reverse.”
His lips part, but I surge forward, yanking his tie loose. The silk hisses free, and I wind one end around my fist, using it to tug him closer until our mouths are inches apart.
“Lea—” he starts, his voice rough.
“No words,” I command, my voice a quiet echo of his own dominance. “Unless I demand them. Rule one.”
Shock flares in his eyes, quickly melting into dark intrigue and raw arousal. He could overpower me in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t. He’s hooked by the novelty, by the challenge.
I lead him by the tie, backing down the hall to the bedroom—the very room where he broke me, now my arena. I halt at the foot of the bed. “Sit.”
A heartbeat’s pause—his jaw ticks—then he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress, looking up at me with a mix of amusementand defiance. God, he’s beautiful like this, suit rumpled, eyes smoldering.
“You presume to know me,” I say, stepping between his knees, the tie a leash in my grip. “To have dissected every weakness.”
“Haven’t I?” he challenges, his voice husky.
I lean in, lips brushing his. “You’ve only seen the data I’ve allowed you to collect.” I shove him back onto the bed. He yields, surprise flashing as I straddle him, pinning his hips. I seize his wrists, dragging them above his head.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” His tone roughens, but his hips buck subtly, grinding his erection against me.
I bind his wrists to the headboard with his own tie—a loose, symbolic knot he could snap like thread. “I’m testing a hypothesis,” I say, the act sending a flood of heat through me. “Your turn to be the subject.”
His pupils widen. “You believe I’ll submit?”
“I know you’re dying to see what data I collect.” I unbutton his shirt slowly, exposing the tanned skin, the brutal map of scars from his wars. My fingers trace one jagged line along his ribs, and I feel him shudder. “This?”
“Knife. Decade ago,” his voice strains as I bend, my tongue flicking the scar, tasting salt. He hisses.
Another, near his collarbone. “And this?”
“Bullet graze. Russian fuckers.” I suck the mark, my teeth grazing his skin, and his back arches, a deep groan rumbling in his chest.
I strip him piece by piece—shirt peeled away, belt whipped free with a snap that echoes like a promise. The zipper rasps down, and I palm his throbbing length through the fabric, feeling it twitches. “Hips up.”
