Page 22 of Stricken

The asshole smiles. "Which makes it even more interesting."

"I bet."

"So what do you say, Mr. Solovey?" he whispers into the tight space between us.

The tension between us is electric, suffocating. I should walk away or put a bullet between his eyes.

Instead, I mutter, "Fuck it," and follow him toward the elevator after he leaves a couple of hundred-dollar bills for the bartender. As we walk, I pull out my phone and text Ivan, telling him I'll be a while. He responds with a thumbs-up emoji and a curt promise to wait.

My brain is all foggy, not processing the situation correctly as we cross the intimately-lit lobby.

When the elevator doors slide shut Nico pounces, pinning me firmly against the cold metal wall. His lips crash into mine, hungry and insistent. I respond with equal fervor, my hands gripping his hips, pulling him against me, trying to feel his cock. When I draw back to take a breath, I'm stunned by how the fluorescent light above casting sharp shadows on his face only makes him look even more beautiful. I never thought I'd think about someone this way, but with him all sorts of ridiculous thoughts fill my head.

Beneath my fingertips, his body is firm and unyielding, yet his eyes communicate a different story. Maybe I'll break him tonight.

Before I manage to come to my senses, the elevator dings, announcing our arrival at whatever place he's prepared for this rendezvous. Did he plan this? Or is he always ready?

We walk briskly down the corridor until we get to the suite at the end. Nico pulls out a key card and presses it to the lock. It clicks and the door gives in.

We stumble into the hotel room, a tangle of limbs and heated breaths. Nico shoves me against the wall again, his body pressed flush against mine. He doesn't kiss me, just stares into my eyes.

"So you did plan this," I whisper.

"I was hoping," he counters, running his index finger up my chest to pop the top button of my dress shirt.

"And if someone saw us?"

He leans in, eliminating all distance between our faces and presses his mouth to my cheek. "Relax,gattino," he husks out against my skin. "This place belongs to my family. I'll wipe the security footage later." His lips trail along my jaw, then he pulls back to look at me as if needing to know his solution to our predicament is fine with me. "Good?"

I arch an eyebrow, a sliver of suspicion cutting through the fog of lust. "And what if you're tempted to use it as blackmail?"

He smiles. "Please. I have more interesting ways to keep you coming back." He brushes his finger over the curve of my Adam's apple. "Besides, isn't what we're currently doing considered a major taboo in both our families?"

I take a moment to process his explanation. He's right. We'll both burn if either syndicate finds out. Then my hands slide under his shirt, feeling the lean muscle beneath. "Cocky bastard."

"You have no idea," Nico purrs, grinding his hips against mine.

I bite back a moan and bring my hands higher, tangling them in his thick, dark waves. "This is insane. We are not supposed to get mixed up. Solovey and Morelli are enemies."

"Makes it more exciting, doesn't it?" He nips at my lower lip.

We kiss again, deep and searching. When we finally break apart, gasping for air, I find myself drowning in those impossibly blue eyes. The raw hunger I see there matches my own, and I realize with a jolt to my system that knowing who Nico really is has only intensified my attraction.

"Fuck," I breathe, tracing the cleft in his chin. "I should hate you."

Nico's smile is wolfish. "But you don't, do you, Vlad?"

I don't answer. I can't. Instead, I pull him in for another searing kiss, grabbing his silk tie. Our tongues battle for dominance while our hands frantically tug at clothing. Buttons scatter across the plush carpet as I rip open his shirt, revealing that toned chest dusted with dark hair.

"Impatient, aren't we?" Nico chuckles, shrugging off the ruined garment.

"Shut up," I growl, running my palms over his warm skin.

"Make me." He makes quick work of my own shirt, then attacks my belt.

We stumble toward the bed, a chaos of urgent hands and feet and half-removed clothing. I trip, falling backward onto the mattress with him on top of me. For a moment, we're both short-winded, staring at each other.

Then it's a frenzy of movement. We roll across the sheets, each fighting for control. Nico's nimble fingers work my zipper while I yank down his tailored slacks. Our cocks brush through the thin fabric of our underwear and I hiss at the contact.

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