Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Angelo

For the rest of the night, I don't sleep. I untie Sabella's wrists and make sure she's comfortable before retrieving a first-aid kit from my bag. I never travel without one. In my line of business, I never know when I'll need it. Using a sterile saline solution, I disinfect the brand mark. Then I simply watch her.

I'm fast getting addicted to the sight of her naked. I never want to see another woman without her clothes. I don't want to spoil the perfect picture seared into my brain.

The burn is a little swollen. It will hurt for a few days, but it's a lesson she needed to learn. I'll have to take care that the wound doesn't get infected. It needs to heal properly. The picture I branded into her skin needs to be as flawless as she is. She's too beautiful to carry anything ugly on her body.

When the sun comes up, I blow out the candle and put the do-not-disturb sign on the door. Her family and friends are not going to look for her before eleven. I'm aware of the brunch her brother organized. Sadly, she's not going to make it.

At a reasonable hour, I call reception and instruct them to leave a message from Sabella for her brother, saying she's sleeping off a hangover. Going through her clutch bag and taking out her phones, both hers and the one I gave her, is another shameless act of invading her privacy. My objective is to make sure the phones are charged, but I'm not going to miss out on an opportunity to steal a glimpse at her content.

Using her thumb print to unlock the phone, I open her photos. Most are of the beach, Pirate, or her family. She's not a big fan of selfies, it seems. What surprises me are the videos. There must be a hundred or more, all of underwater sea life. Some of those videos are downright astounding.

From our chats during that first year, I know her dream is to become a marine biologist. Now I understand how passionate she is about the subject. I was going to tell her she needn't attend university. Enrolling in February only to drop out in June is pointless. However, I didn't consider the depth of her interest. If this is truly her ambition, I should look into a degree she can complete at home. My home. Which will soon be ours. For now, maybe it's better that she keeps busy. It's best to keep up the front until the time is right.

I leave the phones to charge, go back to bed, turn her on her stomach, and push a pillow under her hips. I arrange her with her elbows bent at her sides and her hands next to her head. Face to the side. Feet wide. Legs spread. Then I crawl over her and wet the tip of my hard dick in the slickness of her slit.

Catching my weight on my palms, I brush my lips over the shell of her ear. "Sabella." My voice is hoarse with desire, rough from holding back. "Wake up, cara."

Her folds stretch around me. I rock my hips, sinking the head of my cock into the sweet heat of her pussy.

I kiss her temple. "Open your eyes, bella." A devil's promise now. "I don't want to fuck you while you're unconscious."

She moans, her lips parting and a frown pleating her brow.

"That's it, my good girl." I press my lips on her neck. "It's time to wake up, gorgeous."

She battles to surface from her dreams. Her eyelashes flutter. She utters another soft protest.

Her inner muscles clench around my cock, sucking me deeper into velvet wetness. Fuck. She's so tight, it's like shoving my shaft into a clenched fist. A lubricated, slick fist.

My restraint is already weak as it is. Now? It snaps. I surge all the way in, burying my groin against her ass.

That wakes her up.

She strains her neck, eyes flaring, looking at me from over her shoulder. "Angelo."

Yeah, that sounds perfect. I pull out and thrust again. Gasping, she hollows her back. We're both slick now. I slide in and out with ease, working her gently, coaxing her muscles into relaxing and letting me in however I want, whatever I choose to give her. Shallow. Hard. Soft. Deep.

I'm breathing fast already, my head as drunk as my body, but I pay attention to the signs. She scrunches the sheets in her fists, lifts her ass to meet my thrusts, and moans as she sets the pace. Faster. Harder. Deeper. These are her choices.

I give her what she wants, all of it, rocking when she does and slamming into her when she pushes back. We're not messy and disjointed like last night. We're quickly getting the hang of this, getting to know each other's bodies and trigger points. Hers is when I slide a hand between the mattress and her stomach to massage the little bud I sucked all night.

She hisses when I accidentally rub my wrist over the mark on her skin. I change my angle, making sure I don't irritate the spot, and when I pinch, her body arches like a string on a bow. My climax hits me like an arrow. I've come in my fist plenty, but shooting my load in her pussy is different. Incomparable. A ton and then some more satisfying.

Leaning on one elbow, I kiss her shoulder and withdraw my hand from between her legs. Our chests move rapidly. Our skins are covered with a layer of perspiration. I only pull out so that I can watch my cum drip down her thighs. She tries to close her legs and roll over, but I pin her in place with a palm on the small of her back, only easing up when I'm satisfied.

She twists around, her pretty brown eyes shooting sparks. "You like that, don't you?"

I sit back on my heels, letting her watch. "What?"

Her gaze is drawn to my cock. "Watching."

"So do you."

She flushes. "You know what I mean."

"My cum dripping from your cunt? Yeah, that's one hot and juicy sight."

Her face turns scarlet. "You're crude."

"But you like that too."

She flinches, looks down, and then she pales. She all but falls back on her ass as she scurries away from me, shifting up to the headboard.

"What have you done?" she exclaims.

Many things. Too much to answer. I only observe her as the truth settles on her pretty features.

"You fucking prick." She sounds breathless, as if she's battling to draw air into her lungs. "You fucking branded me. Like a cow."

It's obvious. No answer is necessary except for, "Not like a cow."

She scoots to the edge of the bed and tries to jump off, but I catch her wrist. "I warned you, Sabella. That's something you'll learn about me. I never bluff, and I always keep my promises."

Her bones are fragile beneath the vise of my fingers. So small. Her slender arm trembles in my hold. "You shaved me!"

"I could only apply the mark on smooth skin."

"While I was sleeping." She yanks, trying to free herself. "Wait. It was more than sleeping. You did something to me. You pressed on my neck. It hurt. And then it's all a blank. What did you do to me?"

I rub a thumb over her pulse. "I put you out so you wouldn't feel pain."

"Wouldn't feel pain?" She scoffs. "It's hurting like a bitch."

"Now, yes. I tried to minimize the friction by turning you onto your stomach, but you must've rubbed against the pillow."

"Me?" She covers her breasts with one arm. "You were the one fucking me from behind."

I can't help but smile. "If I remember well, you fucked me right back. Came real hard too." I dip two fingers between her legs and catch some of the slickness. Holding my hand in front of her face, I say, "This is more than just mine. Smell it if you don't believe me."

Her eyes blaze. She slaps my hand away. "Go fuck yourself."

"That's no longer necessary. We're doing such a good job of it together."

She utters a cry. "I hate you."

"You don't have to. You'll make it a whole lot easier on yourself if you like me. You know you want to."

She grits her teeth. "Let me go. My head is killing me and that burn you inflicted on my skin is hurting like hell. I need painkillers."

"Are you going to behave?" I ask, squeezing her wrist with a gentle warning.

"Yes," she says through thin lips. "Do I have a choice?"

"Good girl." I let her go and get to my feet. "Stay put. I'll get you what you need."

Her tone is angry, but there's something else to her words when she says, "I need more than painkillers."

"I'll order breakfast. Coffee. We can both do with some."

She covers herself with a sheet. "Food isn't what I had in mind."

"You need to eat, and you will, but what else would you like?"

"The morning-after pill," she says in a quieter voice.

The request catches me off guard. Of course she'd think about it. I should've expected it. That doesn't mean I have to like it.

"We didn't use protection," she says. "I mean, I know we're both clean, seeing that it was our first time." She clears her throat. "First times. But we didn't talk about birth control. I'm not on the pill."

I can't help how the sound of that pisses me off—not that she's not on the pill but that she wants to use protection with me. I narrow my eyes. "It didn't bother you last night."

"Don't be a dick, Angelo." She gives me a hard look. "I was drunk."

"Yes, you had too much to drink, but you don't get to play that card. You knew perfectly well what you were doing."

"All I'm saying is that I would've probably reacted differently if I were sober."

I take a step closer, stopping right at the edge of the bed, towering over her. "Sober or not, I don't regret what we did. I own my actions, and so will you. Whatever happens, we'll deal with it."

She stares at me with parted lips, looking disheveled and wild and so fucking beautiful. "I'm eighteen, Angelo. You're twenty-two. You can't seriously imply that if I fall pregnant, we'll simply go with the flow, and everything will be all right."

"If you fell pregnant."

She blanches. "What kind of parents do you think we'll make? With everything that's happened?" Tears well up in her eyes, making them glitter. "I can't cope with something like that too. Not now."

I ball my hands to prevent myself from touching her, from soothing her. From feeling sorry for her. "You didn't think about it when you came in my mouth and on my cock. You didn't tell me to stop when you screamed in pleasure."

"I didn't scream," she says with a sharp intake of her breath.

My grin is savage. "Our neighbors will disagree."

"Shit." She drags her hands over her eyes and pushes her hair out of her face. "If Ryan finds out…"

"So what if he does?" I say harsher than I intended.

She looks at me. "My parents are religiously conservative. You don't know my mother. The shame I'll bring over my family will kill her."

I don't care about any of those things—shame and religion and right and wrong. I was raised Catholic, but I've never practiced as an adult. I can imagine how a baby conceived out of wedlock will bother my mother though. That much I can understand.

I curl my fingers, fisting my hands hard. Harder still. Until my knuckles make a cracking sound. "Fine. I'll go to a pharmacy. But you'll stay put until I get back. Is that clear?"

She gives a small nod, biting her lip as she looks at me. I can see she's on the verge of tears and that she's in pain. Both bother me—her pain and her tears.

"We'll shower when I get back," I say, going through my bag where I left it on the sofa and pulling out clean clothes.

"Your stuff is here," she says as if it surprises her.

I glance at her from over my shoulder. "Who do you think pays for your room?"

"But…" She glances at the door as if she'll find the answers beyond it. "But my parents…"

She doesn't know. They didn't tell her this whole party is on me, that it was her brother's idea but that I'm paying.

I pull on briefs and a clean pair of jeans. There's a lot Sabella doesn't know. She doesn't know what kind of business her father is involved in. I won't disillusion her. She clearly adores him. I won't be that brutal.

After yanking a T-shirt over my head, I grab my wallet and the car key and walk to the door.

"The hyper pharmacy in town should be open," she says in a small voice to my back. "Do you know where it is?"

My reply is gruff. "I'll find it."

"I can pay?—"

I jerk the door open. "That won't be necessary." I stop and face her again, taking in her pale cheeks and the sweat that beads on her forehead as well as the way she rocks herself as if she's trying to manage the pain. "Shall I get birth control pills while I'm there, or are we going to use condoms until falling pregnant is no longer an issue?"

She stares at me with wide eyes for a moment, opens her mouth, closes it again, and then shakes her head and looks away. "This was a mistake. I know having been drunk wasn't an excuse, but it won't happen again."

I laugh. "There are so many wrongs in those two sentences. This wasn't a mistake. I'll fuck you drunk or sober because I'm not a gentleman or a good enough man to care about morally gray areas. And most importantly, it will happen again. So I'll decide for you. Seeing that the pill will fuck with your hormones, condoms it'll be." I fix her with a look. "Just know one thing. This is the last time we're killing something we could've created. The fact that I'm even doing this should tell you how much I fucking care about your wishes."

Leaving her with that statement, I slam the door behind me. Everything she said made sense, but I don't like how easily she thinks she can walk away from this, how little she wants my baby in her belly. Because I sure as hell don't feel the same. Exactly the opposite, in fact. I'd love to plant my seed inside her and see her grow big with my child. I'd love to see my baby in her arms and my ring on her finger, and I can't give a damn in which order that happens.

But she's only eighteen. She's only been legal since a few hours, and I've already taken my due. I've already claimed everything I've waited two long years for.

The hotel lobby is quiet this early. It reminds me of the morning I left to kidnap that junior accountant, the one who jumped out of the window.

I get into my car and easily locate the hyper pharmacy Sabella mentioned. After buying an emergency contraceptive pill and several boxes of condoms as well as painkillers and ointments for burn wounds, I drive back to the hotel.

Sabella is waiting obediently naked in bed. The sight somewhat calms my turbulent thoughts. Her submission pacifies some of my anger. I make her drink another glass of water with two painkillers and the morning-after pill, and then I strip and wash both of us in the shower, a task I already love. I enjoy taking care of her.

When I've patted her dry, I mix a few drops of lavender oil in aloe vera jelly and apply the homemade ointment on her mark. The lavender has antibacterial properties, and the aloe vera soothes burns. The scar will look pretty when the angry red has faded and only the embossed lines are left.

She lets me administer the treatment, for once saying nothing. I blow a kiss over the wound and cover it with a non-stick bandage.

Cupping her cheek, I ask, "Better?"

She turns her face to the side, away from my touch. I let her escape. I've put her through a lot in a few short hours.

While we're dressing, I order room service. I pull on my discarded clothes with clean underwear while she shimmies into skinny jeans and a light summer sweater. She leaves the button of the jeans undone, hiding it under the sweater.

A waiter knocks on the door just as she's dried her hair. When I answer the door, he wheels a trolley into the room. He lifts the silver dome covers to reveal scrambled eggs, bacon, and baked beans on toast.

I tip him and lock the door when he's gone.

"Come here," I say, dragging a chair closer.

She walks over without arguing.

I seat her in front of the trolley and spread a napkin over her lap. Unable to resist, I kiss the top of her head. She smells like the hotel shampoo, a scent that reminds me of luxury spas. Using the bench as a seat, I sit down opposite her. After serving her a big helping of everything, I pour coffee and add one sugar and milk like she prefers. I watch her from under my lashes as I help myself to the food. She must be hungry, hungover, or both, because she eats everything on her plate and takes a portion of fruit salad and yoghurt.

By the time we're done eating, the color is back on her cheeks.

"Don't worry about your parents," I say, finishing my coffee. "I'll handle them."

She pushes back the chair and jumps to her feet. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not going to be your dirty little secret, Sabella." At the flare of her eyes, I add, "They'll be more understanding than what you think."

"No," she says quickly. "They don't have to know. Nobody does."

I get up. "Why? Are you're worried about what your family will think because you had sex or because you had sex with me?"

"Both," she admits with a bluntness I didn't expect.

I gnash my teeth. The insult stings, provoking cruel humor. "I'm afraid your virginity is non-returnable, so you'll just have to bite the bullet."

She gasps, shock and hurt flashing in her eyes.

Not caring for that expression on her, I stalk to the bathroom and gather our belongings. She studies me as I shove clothes and toiletries into our bags. I want to come clean and tell the world about us. I want everyone to know what we've done. While I want to shout from the rooftops that she's mine, she'd rather hide the fact that she gave her first time to me.

It doesn't matter. Her first time was mine, and no amount of denial can ever change that. Her innocence always belonged to me. Her virtue was always mine to take. It's been my rightful claim to stake. In a few months' time, when I put a ring on her finger, there'll be no question about what happens in our marital bed. The people from whom she wants to hide her improper secret will know. They'll all know.

Taking her bag in one hand and mine in the other, I carry them downstairs and leave them with a bellboy while I check out. Sabella says nothing. She stands aside, looking shellshocked in the cold light of day.

Just before twelve, we exit the lobby. Ryan, his wife, and Colin, that pretty boy with the soft, white, piano hands whom Sabella calls her best friend, are outside. Ryan and Colin are loading bags into the trunk of Ryan's BMW. Ryan's wife, Celeste, looks the worst for wear with a pair of oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes. She's sitting on a bench next to the entrance, her face whiter than porcelain, sipping green slush that must be some miracle hangover remedy in a takeout cup.

At the sight of her family, Sabella stops dead. She takes three wide steps to the side, putting a stretch of space between us. Celeste spots her first. She gives a weak wave and makes a puking face.

The action catches the men's attention. Ryan and Colin look up simultaneously. When they notice me, they still. Ryan's expression gives nothing away. Neither does his relaxed stance. Colin fists his hands and takes a step forward, but Ryan stops him with an outstretched arm across his chest.

Not taking his eyes off me, Ryan asks in a calm, almost curious tone, "What are you doing here?"

I look at Sabella, my smile mocking. "Will you tell them, or shall I?"

Panic streaks across her face. Her pretty eyes plead with me. I'm not immune to her feelings. Far from it. But when she begs, I can't deny her.

I address her brother. "It looks like I'll be breaking the news."

Sabella hovers on the balls of her feet like a rabbit about to run. To me. To stop me.

Before she gives herself away, I say, "I brought Sabella's birthday gift of course."

Ryan regards me with a narrowed gaze and a half-smile on his lips, no doubt questioning my explanation.

To prove my statement, I take the key from my pocket and press on the button to unlock the doors. The alarm of the red Ferrari in the parking lot beeps, and the signal lights flash.

Colin stares at me with a slack jaw. Celeste sucks in a loud breath and sits up straighter. Ryan's smile grows, but it's not a friendly gesture. However, it's not their reactions I'm interested in. I search my girl's face. And I don't like what I see there. Shock. Embarrassment. Anger.

"I had the car delivered here because I thought you may like to drive it home," I say to her. "The papers are in the glove compartment."

She turns to me, standing tall with squared shoulders. "I don't want it."

"Aren't you going to say thank you first?" I taunt. "At least before telling me what model you prefer."

She bites off every word. "I don't want a car."

I raise a brow. "Isn't that an appropriate gift for an eighteenth birthday?"

"From my parents, maybe." She lifts her chin in an unspoken challenge. "Not a Ferrari." She omits the from you.

"Come on, Sabella." I laugh. "Don't pretend in your circles it's not common." I throw her the key. "Take her for a spin. I know you're dying to."

She catches the key more out of reflex than free will.

Her reluctance to accept my gift angers me. I close the distance between us, stopping short of her. "I thought you'd like it." More mocking. "Is red not your color?"

Colin widens his stance, but Ryan lays a hand on his arm.

"It's inappropriate," she says through clenched teeth, her words meant only for my ears. "Too much."

I don't know why I don't tell her that as my future fiancée a car is the least of her rights. Why don't I tell her we're getting married? Why didn't I last night when I had the chance? Or a year ago, or the year before that, or on the very day we met? Because I know she won't like the idea. I know she'll resist. I know she'll put up a fight. She told me so in not so many words when she threw my ring back at me. Nothing can spell it out clearer than pretending in front of the world last night didn't happen. But hey, why prolong the war? I'll deal with it when the time comes to walk her down the aisle. I'll tie her up and drag her to the altar if I must.

She holds the key out to me on her open palm. "I can't accept it."

I lean closer, saying softly enough for her family not to hear, "Nothing about my gift or last night is inappropriate. You have no idea just how appropriate it is." Closing my hand around hers, I lock her fingers on the key. "Enjoy the ride, Sabella." I cup her nape, drag her closer, and take the kiss that's my right. My due. My goodbye until I put a ring on her finger. I press my parting words in a whisper against her ear. "Take care of my mark. Let me know if it gets infected. I'll send a doctor to have a look."

She leans back, straining in my hold while staring up at me with big, wild eyes. If she's scared I'll give away her secret, she doesn't need to worry. I may not like being the dirt she sweeps under the carpet, but I never break my word.

"Happy birthday," I say, the normal volume intended for everyone.

The bellboy comes out with our bags. "Are these yours, sir?"

Sabella turns red, but she doesn't break our eye contact. She lets me shadow her, concealing the truth that's written on her face from her family.

Probably sensing the tenseness in the atmosphere, the bellboy leaves the bags on the pavement and slips back into the hotel.

I hold her gaze as I pick up my bag. Letting her go takes every ounce of willpower I possess.

Five months.

That's what I tell myself. Five months, and she'll have a pretty summer wedding.

Me, I'll have everything.

Not sparing her family another glance, I walk away before I do something she'll regret, something like stealing her last five months of freedom.