Page 13 of The Bratty Heir

Rocco's breath caught in his throat, arousal coiling hot and heavy in his gut. "Then show me," he challenged, tilting his chin up defiantly. "Prove you're more than just talk, old man."

For a moment, the tension between them was electric, crackling with potential energy. Rocco thought Victor might actually kiss him—or hit him. Either option sent a thrill of excitement through his body.

Then Victor released him abruptly, turning to stare out the window. "We're not having this conversation," he said gruffly. "Not when you're drunk and reckless."

Frustration and arousal warred in Rocco's veins. He slumped back in his seat, crossing his arms petulantly. "I'm not that drunk," he muttered.

Victor's laugh was low and humorless. "Sure you're not, princess. And I'm the fucking tooth fairy."

The rest of the ride passed in tense silence, the air thick with unresolved sexual tension. By the time they pulled up to the Rossetti penthouse, Rocco was a mess of conflicting emotions—anger, desire, and a gnawing sense of shame he couldn't quite shake.

As they stepped into the elevator, Victor's hand came to rest on the small of Rocco's back, guiding him inside. The touch sent shivers racing up Rocco's spine, his body leaning into Victor's solid warmth despite his best efforts.

"You know," Rocco said, unable to bear the silence any longer, "if you wanted to spend time with me, you could've just asked. No need for the whole knight in shining armor routine."

Victor's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This isn't a game, Rocco," he growled. "You could have been seriously hurt tonight. Or worse."

Rocco rolled his eyes, even as his heart raced at the genuine concern in Victor's voice. "Please. I can handle myself."

In a blur of motion, Victor had Rocco pinned against the elevator wall, one massive forearm braced beside Rocco's head. "Can you?" he purred, voice low and dangerous. "Because from where I'm standing, you're just a spoiled brat begging for someone to put you in your place."

Rocco's breath caught in his throat, arousal coiling hot and heavy in his gut. He should be terrified, should be pushing Victor away and demanding to be released. But all he could focus on was the heat of Victor's body, the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with gunpowder and leather.

"Maybe that's exactly what I need," Rocco breathed, pressing himself more firmly against Victor's solid bulk. "Someone to show me my place."

Victor's eyes darkened, something primal and hungry flashing in their depths. For a heart-stopping moment, Rocco thought the older man might actually kiss him.

Then the elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal the penthouse foyer. Victor stepped back, releasing Rocco from his grip.

"Go to bed," he ordered, voice clipped and professional once more. "We'll discuss your punishment for tonight's little stunt in the morning."

Rocco's cock throbbed at the word 'punishment', his imagination running wild with possibilities. But he forced himself to nod, not trusting his voice.

As he turned to go, Victor's hand shot out, gripping Rocco's wrist. "And Rocco?" he said, voice low and intense. "Don't even think about sneaking out again. I'll know."

Rocco swallowed hard, nodding again before practically fleeing to his room. He collapsed onto his bed, body thrumming with unfulfilled need.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He shouldn't be lusting after his father's enforcer, shouldn't be craving Victor's touch and approval like a drug. But as he replayed the events of the night in his mind, Rocco couldn't deny the visceral reaction Victor sparked in him.

He was in way over his head, caught between his growing attraction to Victor and his desperate need to prove himself. One thing was certain: tomorrow's "punishment" was going to be interesting.

As Rocco drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with stormy eyes and strong hands that promised both pain and pleasure in equal measure. He was well and truly fucked—in more ways than one.

CHAPTER 6

BOUNDARIES TESTED

The morning sun filtered through the penthouse windows, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. Luca's head throbbed, a painful reminder of last night's excesses. He groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

"Rise and shine, princess." Victor's gravelly voice cut through the haze of Luca's hangover. "Time to face the consequences of your little adventure."

Luca cracked one eye open, glaring at the mountain of muscle looming over his bed. Victor stood there in a tight black t-shirt that left little to the imagination, arms crossed over his broad chest. The sight sent an unwelcome jolt of arousal through Luca's body.

"Fuck off," Luca mumbled, reaching for the blankets. "It's too early for your bullshit."

In a blur of motion, Victor ripped the covers away, leaving Luca exposed to the chilly air. He yelped, curling in on himself.

"What the hell, Kovac?"

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