Chapter 20

TWENTY

Angelo

Sunlight already streams through a gap between the curtains when I wake up. I squint. Doesn't housekeeping close the fucking curtains when they turn down the bed at night? Then I remember Sabella drawing them open to look down at the street.

Sabella.

Her body is supple and warm in my arms, her back pressed against my chest. And I don't want to move. I want to stay like this until she wakes up and then some more. I'm well aware that I'm breaking another promise I made myself. I keep on breaking rules and promises when I'm with her. I keep on disappointing myself, proving how weak my will is, because that's what she does to me.

If I'd met her as a random person and not my destined wife, would I have felt the same about her? I can't be certain. I only know possessiveness and obsession tormented me from the moment I laid my eyes on her. I've been true to her since my father announced she was my betrothed. I was only fourteen years old. I've never looked at another woman, even when Sabella was nothing but a concept in my mind and a promise to be fulfilled in the distant future.

But from the moment I saw her, I wanted her. I desired her when I shouldn't have, when she wasn't a day older than sixteen. I waited for her, counting the days until she turned eighteen. And when I finally took her, I knew I'd never get enough. I waited another year to put a ring on her finger, which, looking back, felt like the longest year of my life. And now she's here, in my arms, the woman who's plotting my downfall.

The woman who's destined to destroy me.

As always, it's a bitter pill to swallow. I can eliminate Lavigne and remove the threat—and in good time, I will—but there will always be another Lavigne, someone else in the force willing to make a deal.

I'm bone-fucking-tired. I'm tired of fighting and pushing and keeping her at a distance. I'm tired of being on my guard twenty-four-seven, making damn sure I don't arm her with the ammunition she needs. This business of watching and waiting for the moment she betrays me again is exhausting. I don't think I've ever been this worn out, not even when I took over my father's business and worked eighteen-hour days.

I think about last night, about who my wife met and who she spoke to. This is legit business. The people who were invited aren't criminals like me. There wasn't anything to hide from her, which is the only reason I brought her. Her choices are placing enormous limitations on our life. I can't take her anywhere without analyzing every minute detail of the event—who will be there, who they're connected to, and how she may use what they say. I can't let her live under my roof.

And now there's Sophie. Fuck. As well as the other children. Sophie will be devastated that Sabella can't live with us. My niece feels safe with Sabella. She likes her. They made a connection. I can't deny that Sabella is good with her. Pride warms my chest. My wife will make an excellent mother. That, in itself, is the biggest fucking problem of all, because when there are children, I'll have to separate them from their mother.

The thought physically hurts. I have good memories of my mother taking care of us. Those times were special, even if I didn't tell her and show her enough gratitude. My children won't make the same memories with their mother. Their mother will always be banished, living in a house at the far end of the property, and they will live in their rightful place with me.

It's not ideal. It's not conducive for a healthy childhood, but she doesn't leave me a choice. During the week, they'll be under my care. I'll make sure they're properly educated and that their every need is met. We'll live like a divorced couple with Sabella getting the weekend visitation rights. Even then, I'll have to be careful, making sure she doesn't get information on me via the children. Because if there's one thing I'll never allow, it's letting her run to freedom and taking any child of mine away from me.

The fucked-up situation weighs down on me. The complications keep on piling up. I'm worried that the whole house of cards is going to come tumbling down. Sometimes, I feel that a pending doom is hanging over our heads, the cloud ready to burst and shower us in a shitstorm. The darkness keeps creeping up, blackening the edges of the picture of our future in my head. I can't shake this premonition that it's all going to fall to pieces, that it's not a bullet that's going to slay me but my weakness for Sabella.

Sabella stirs, sighing softly in her sleep.

Even with the thoughts milling in my head, I tighten my arms around her. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Making her kneel started out as a way of humiliating her. A punishment. Last night, I turned it into something different. I turned it into a game of submission and domination. I get off on it. I get off on the control but also on taking care of her.

She stretches, pushing her ass against my groin. My cock has been hard since I blinked myself awake. I'd love nothing more than rolling her on her stomach, pinning her down, and fucking her senseless, but we have a flight to catch.

Kissing the shell of her ear, I whisper, "Wake up, cara."

She utters a small protest. It hurts me to deny her sleep. We both need the rest, but a glance at my watch tells me we're already running late.

"Wake up," I say, lust turning my voice thick.

When I nip her earlobe, she opens her eyes.

I lick away the sting of my teeth. "We've got to go in fifteen."

She turns on her back and looks at me. Her beautiful brown eyes are warm and fuzzy with sleep. Dreamy with desire. Her naked body is a temptation too big to resist.

For a torturing moment, I imagine lifting her onto my cock and making her ride me, but the clock is ticking.

Fuck it.

I'll reschedule the flight.

Her eyes flare when I lock my hands around her waist and roll onto my back, bringing her on top of me. She's wide awake now, no longer soft and sleepy. Her gaze comes alive with awareness and need. She's hot and demanding when she sits up and straddles me. I let it be, letting her fulfill my fantasy.

She looks at my cock as she feels her way around it, stroking the length before tracing the tip. A groan catches in my chest when she cups my balls and squeezes like a wicked tease. She pumps me in her fist and catches the precum that spills from the tip on her finger. I nearly combust as she sticks that finger in her mouth and tastes me while giving me the hottest, dirtiest of looks.

I'm done.

Slain.

Grabbing her waist, I lift her onto her knees. She wraps a hand around the base of my cock and guides the head to her pussy. She doesn't go slowly. No. The vixen impales herself on my cock in one swift downward swoop of her hips. I cup her breasts, filling my palms as she starts to move. Leaning back, she takes me deeper. Her soft, urgent moans fill the room. I want to slam into her—hard—but I force myself to let her set the pace.

She slides up and down, rubbing her clit over the coarse hair on my pubic bone. I smooth a hand down her body to trace my mark. The lines are embossed under my thumb. My cock twitches inside her as possession sparks in every molecule of my body.

Mine.

Forever.

No matter how.

No matter what sins I have to commit.

I want her to say it as she rocks her hips faster. Already tasting the disappointment on my tongue, I don't ask. I understand why she won't. I understand what I've broken. It's my punishment to live with, and what an effective one it is. Just how much it pains me, she'll never know.

"I'm close," she says, her smile almost shy.

Fuck, I love this woman. I love everything about her.

I still, breaking my rhythm.

I love her.

The thought is foreign. Heavy. Yet also light. Miraculous. Scary.

The knowledge pierces me in a million different ways, settling with a solid weight in my mind and a feather-light touch in my heart.

I love her.

I think I always have. At first, I only loved the idea of her. Later, I fell in love with the girl. Now, she's a part of me. She's been a part of me from the day I learned about her existence. I can't pretend otherwise any longer. I can't hate her, not even if she destroys me.

Threading one hand through her hair, I pull her face to mine and kiss her lips. I move my other hand from the seal on top of her skin to the button that triggers her pleasure and make her come. The minute her pussy clenches on my cock, I shoot. I jerk my hips up, punching deeper. Never able to get enough.

Before she can escape, I press a palm on her lower back. We're laying skin to skin, our bodies connected and her breasts flattened on my chest. She rests her cheek on my heart while I play with her hair, unwilling to end the moment. But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

Too soon, she pushes off me and sits up, still straddling me. My cock slips from her body.

A flush darkens her cheeks. "I think we missed our flight."

I grin even as a strange kind of sadness rips through my ribcage. "I think you're right."

She hooks her hair behind her ear. "Shower?"

It's a timid way of asking if I'll join her.

Not wanting to kill the buzz with the heaviness of my sentiments, I slap her ass playfully. "Give me a minute to order breakfast. You didn't eat much last night."

She leans over, lifts the hotel phone from the receiver, and hands it to me.

I ogle her tits and the triangle between her spread legs as I order two full English breakfasts. Her blush deepens, but she lets me look. I've long since figured out she likes it when I stare.

Stretching to replace the phone, I gently bite her nipple. She yelps. The tip grows hard on my tongue. She tastes delicious. I should carry her to the shower, but instead I suck more of the plump curve into my mouth. Greedier, I bite harder.

This time, she moans. She spears her fingers through my hair and holds me to her, letting me devour her. A groan tears from my chest. Not enough. Never.

I shift to the edge of the bed with her on my lap and lift her when I push to my feet. She wraps her legs around me as I carry her to the bathroom. I take her in the shower again and after our shower on the floor. I take her against the wall while we're eating breakfast and bent over the dresser before we go.

She looks well-fucked when I help her into the car three hours later. I bundled her into a thick coat, but the day is cold. I shift closer to her on the backseat. She surprises me by resting her head on my shoulder. The act may seem small and insignificant, but to me, it's huge. It's so enormous that I freeze, too afraid I'll break the spell if I move.

At the airport, I escort her to the private lounge. Once she's eaten a light lunch, I dial Ryan on speaker and hand her my phone. She held up her end of the bargain. Powell agreed to the deal. We shook hands on it. Signing the contract is a simple formality. It's only fair that I honor the agreement I made with my wife.

She tilts her head, looking at me with a question and hope in her eyes.

"Your brother," I say, unable to prevent the harshness of my tone. The fact that he killed my mother and sister will never change.

She reaches for the phone uncertainly, as if she's afraid that I'll snatch it away, and takes it with a shaky hand. "Ryan?"

"Sabella! How are you?"

"I'm good. How about you?"

I don't give her privacy. I listen with attention to every word she says. She asks about everyone, posing the most questions about the kids, and finally reminds Ryan that he hasn't sent her a photo. The bastard tells her he's been busy and that it slipped his mind, but he promises to send some straight away.

"How's Mom coping with Laura and all that?" she asks, lowering her voice and turning her face away to scavenge what little privacy she can get.

"The dust has finally settled," Ryan says. "Everyone can go back to their lives now." He pauses. "I suppose everyone but…"

"Me?"

"That came out wrong."

"Is Daisy still making problems?"

"She realized there's nothing more for her to inherit and that the business isn't mine." He chuckles. "She cooled down quickly after that."

"Tell me more about Brad's milestones," Sabella says with enthusiasm.

"There's not much more to tell. Do you think you'll come visit?"

Our gazes lock when she looks up. I shake my head.

She shifts on her seat. "I, um, don't think so."

I hold out my hand.

"I have to go. Will you tell everyone I love them?"

"I'll give them your message. We love you too. Take care, sis."

Taking the phone from her, I end the call.

She bites her lip and turns her face to the glass wall through which the runways and parked Boeings are visible. I know she's practicing self-control, trying not to cry. If speaking to her family only serves to make her sad, I'm not sure calling them is a good idea.

A part of me wants to take her in my arms and soothe her, but she's withdrawing because she doesn't want me to witness her weakness. Respecting the unspoken wish, I get up and walk to a quiet corner from where I have a visual on her before making another call.

The guard picks up immediately.

"How are things at the new house?" I ask.

"Everything is in order, sir."

"Have you widened the perimeter of your watch?"

"Yes, sir. We're keeping an eye on the road and all entry points."

"Focus on the forest and the surrounding terrain too. If anyone decides to visit on foot, they're not going to use the road."

"With respect, sir, no one knows the area surrounding the house is being watched. We're staying out of view. The terrain is rocky. There's a very good chance that any unsuspecting visitor will come via the road."

"Just cover the whole area."

"Yes, sir," he says again.

I end the call and pull up the app that's connected to the cameras I asked Fabien to discreetly install when he redecorated Sophie's temporary room. There's one in each room, showing every angle. Sophie and Heidi are in the kitchen, rolling out dough. Sophie is chatting away, her lips constantly moving, but I don't activate the sound. Knowing they're safe is the only purpose for now.

"Sophie is happy," I tell Sabella when I return to my seat. "She's baking with Heidi." I don't mention the cameras. I love her, but I don't trust her. It's better not to put all my cards on the table.

"That's good," she says, perking up. "I'm looking forward to seeing her."

My voice holds a warning. "Don't get too attached to her, bella."

She gives me a wounded look. "You said you'd try the local school if Mr. Powell signed the deal. Didn't he?"

"He did. I just don't want you to harbor false hope or unrealistic expectations."

"It'll work out." She smiles. "You'll see."

I also don't tell her that the plan was always to move Sophie back in with me, regardless of where she goes to school. Why make her hate me more when I can delay it with another couple of weeks?