Page 8 of The Bratty Heir

Victor's hand shot out, gripping Rocco's jaw. His thumb brushed over Rocco's lower lip, the touch electric. "You'd have to learn to obey," he said, voice low and dangerous. "To submit. To be a good boy for me.”

The words hit Rocco like a physical blow, arousal coiling hot and heavy in his gut. He should be offended, should be pushing Victor away and storming out. But all he could think about was how much he wanted to lean into that touch, to surrender to Victor's strength and control.

"And if I don't want to be good?" Rocco challenged, even as his body betrayed him, pressing closer to Victor's solid warmth.

Victor's grip tightened, just shy of painful. "Then you'll be punished," he growled. "Until you learn your place."

Rocco's cock throbbed in his thin shorts, a damp spot forming where the head pressed against the fabric. He knew Victor could see it, could smell the musk of his arousal. But he was beyond caring.

"Maybe that's exactly what I need," Rocco purred, pressing himself more firmly against Victor's body. "Someone to put me in my place."

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

Then Victor stepped back, releasing Rocco from his grip. The loss of contact left Rocco feeling bereft, his body screaming for more.

"Careful what you wish for, little prince," Victor said, voice rough with barely contained desire. "You might just get it."

He turned away, moving towards the door. "Hit the showers," he called over his shoulder. "We're done for today."

Rocco sagged against the wall, frustration and arousal warring in his veins. "That's it?" he called after Victor's retreating back. "You're just going to leave me like this?"

Victor paused in the doorway, turning to fix Rocco with a smoldering gaze. "Consider it motivation," he said, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "For next time."

With that, he was gone, leaving Rocco alone with his aching muscles and throbbing cock. As he made his way to the shower on shaky legs, Rocco couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into.

One thing was certain: training with Victor Kovac was going to be a whole lot more complicated—and a whole lot hotter—than he'd ever imagined.

CHAPTER 4

CRASH COURSE

The leather chair creaked as Rocco shifted restlessly, eyes glazing over at the mountain of ledgers and files spread across his father's mahogany desk. Victor loomed behind him, a wall of muscle and menace, his presence both comforting and suffocating.

"Pay attention," Victor growled, his hand coming down heavy on Rocco's shoulder. "This isn't some game. Your life depends on understanding every detail of these operations."

Rocco rolled his eyes, shrugging off Victor's touch. "Spare me the dramatics, old man. It's just numbers on a page."

In a flash, Victor spun the chair around, gripping the armrests and leaning in close. His face was inches from Rocco's, eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

"Just numbers?" he snarled. "Those numbers represent lives, you spoiled little shit. Every dollar, every transaction—it's built on blood and broken bones."

Rocco's breath caught in his throat, arousal warring with fear. He could smell Victor's cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and gunpowder that made his head spin.

"I-I didn't mean..." Rocco stammered, hating how small his voice sounded.

Victor's grip tightened on the chair, the leather creaking ominously. "No, you didn't think. That's your problem, isn't it? You never think about the consequences of your actions."

He straightened, releasing the chair with a disgusted snort. "Maybe it's time I taught you a lesson about consequences."

Rocco's heart raced, excitement and trepidation coursing through his veins. "What are you going to do?" he challenged, unable to help himself. "Spank me?"

Something dark and hungry flashed in Victor's eyes. "Don't tempt me, boy. You might not like what you get."

The threat sent a jolt of heat straight to Rocco's cock. He shifted in his seat, grateful for the desk hiding his growing arousal.

"Now," Victor continued, his voice clipped and professional once more. "Walk me through the cash flow for our construction fronts. And this time, try to use that pretty little head of yours for something other than hair gel."

Rocco bristled at the insult, but bit back a retort. He turned his attention to the ledgers, forcing himself to focus on the columns of numbers and coded entries.

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