ΔΙΑ
Chapter 23
Lola
Her lips were still tingling.
Her thighs still remembered the feel of his hands.
And her brain hadn’t quite caught up to what he whispered before the elevator doors opened.
I want to do that so many times.
“You’re safe with me. But if you keep driving me crazy like this… I might not let you out again.”
Yeah. That did it.
Right there. That was the button.
Possessiveness? Claimed? Mafia boy crazy talk?
Breeding kinks into my life left and right. I never thought I’d like someone feeling so possessive but turns out, it makes me want to be naughty to see what he’ll do.
Absolute chaos in her bloodstream.
She was ninety–nine percent sure her ovaries just signed over their lives to this man.
Her lips were still tingling.
O
Her thighs still remembered the feel of his hands.
She squirmed started squirming in his grasp but he just held on tighter and stepped inside the penthouse. Lola was trying to keep her breathing steady,
cool, collected and failing.
Not like she just melted on his mouth thirty seconds ago.
The space was… unreal.
This is where he lives?! And he brought me here after he’s seen my place? We’re exact opposites.
Wide open. Tall ceilings. Floor–to–ceiling windows that stretched the length of the room and overlooked the glittering chaos of the Vegas skyline. A sleek, modern kitchen sat tucked to one side. Hidden lighting. Stainless everything. So clean it looked unused. Enzo led her through it casually, like it wasn’t giving billionaire lair.
“I assume you don’t cook much,” she said, scanning the counters for any signs of life. Not even a coffee mug out of place.
“I have people for that,” he replied simply.
Of course he did.
They passed the formal dining space. Marble. Statement chandelier. An intimidatingly long table that looked like it had never heard laughter. Or human joy.
Then the living room. More velvet. Dark wood. A bar so polished it looked like a set piece.
It was beautiful.
1/4
Chapt
Sharp, Cold.
Exactly like him–if she hadn’t just kissed him breathless in a steel elevator.
No records. No mismatched throw pillows. No random books.
Just perfection.
Too much order is making me feel sick, not physically but mentally. It’s making me feel nervous.
Her place was full of color. Texture. Life.
This? This was an expensive museum curated by a man who didn’t sleep like normal people.
It’s making me think of the academy.
2
“Guest room’s down here,” he said, nodding toward the hall and placing her ground to explore on her own.
She peeked inside. Nice. Elegant. Safe. But when she turned back toward him, she just lifted a brow.
“Show me your room.”
It has to feel more lived in than the rest of the place.
He held her gaze a beat, then turned. No comment. No hesitation. Just a silent pivot and a walk toward a set of dark double doors. The master suite was
worse.
Black walls. Heavy bed. Lines clean enough to cut. A closet that looked like a tailor’s showroom. And across the room–the bathroom.
The entire place is serial killer tidy. Everything lined up with and inch of space between the edge and item. Maybe he’s sick.
Marble floors. Floor–to–ceiling glass shower, rainfall head the size of her damn steering wheel. Warm lighting and a subtle scent of cedar and vetiver.
She let out a breathless laugh. “Okay. That’s insane.”
Oh yeah, come to mama.
“It’s like… if a five–star hotel and a Bond villain’s wet dream had a baby. Let’s see this shower in action.”
“Yours is way better than the guest room.”
He leaned on the doorway, arms crossed. “You picking favorites already?”
She grinned. “Just calling it like I see it.”
Oh, I’m absolutely losing my mind.
No question about it.
She’d kissed him like her life depended on it.
2/4
5:45 pm P PPP.
Chapter 23
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