Page 28 of Charming Villain

Her back arches just a fraction at the reminder of that night. She bites her lip, staring straight ahead. I smirk, letting my free hand drift up her thigh. The flimsy dress rides higher under my palm, baring more of her leg. She’s so tense she might shatter.

“You still think you can ignore me?” I whisper, pressing my mouth to the shell of her ear and letting my breath fan across her skin. “Pretend you aren’t attracted to me?” My tone drips with dark amusement as I trace the curve of her jaw with my nose. “We both know better. Your body betrays you every time I touch you, every time I’m near you.”

I feel her breath hitch. Yes,that’swhat I want—some reaction, even if it’s just the flutter of her pulse. But before she can respond, I shove her away. Gianna tumbles off my lap, catching herself on the couch cushion to avoid hitting the floor. The confusion on her face is delicious, and it sends a thrill through me.

“Get out of my sight,” I snap, twisting my body to face the television. “I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

She lingers, breath quickened, eyes momentarily stormy. Maybe she wants to say something, to confront me, to tell me she wants me. But then her expression shutters closed. Gianna stands, smoothes her dress, and exits without a word.

I curse under my breath and slump into the couch. My cock is half-hard from having her in my lap, and I hate that I am as attracted to her as she is to me.She’s supposed to be the one suffering, damn it.Instead, I’m the one teetering on the edge, unable to exorcise the memory of her parted lips and muffled moans, desperate to repeat it.

The hours bleed into evening, each minute dragging like sandpaper across my nerves. I pick at the dinner she’s prepared, barely tasting the seasoned pork chops, ignoring the salad that probably tastes perfect. The food turns to ash in my mouth while my mind circles back to that moment on the couch and then, in turn, to our night in the motel. My appetite is focused elsewhere. By the time I retreat to our bedroom and strip off my shirt, I’m simmering with unsatisfied need disguised as fury, though I’m not sure anymore which emotion is the mask and which is real.

Gianna follows me with silent footsteps, carrying fresh linens to replace the ones she just laundered. She doesn’t look at me, but I watch the careful way she tucks the corners of the fitted sheet, smoothing out wrinkles like it’s a ritual that steadies her. Her movements are precise and measured, as though she’s channeling all her fears into household tasks.

I lean against the doorframe. There’s a dull ache in my temples, a sign that I’m half-drunk already.Perfect. Maybe I’ll finally sleep without dreaming of her writhing under me.

She finishes the last pillowcase, smoothing it with the palm of her hand. I sense hesitation in the way her fingers twitch, as if she wants to say something but is wrestling with the words. And then, quietly, she asks, “Does it still hurt?”

The question is so unexpected that I don’t even have time to think through my reply. “What?”

Gianna lifts her chin enough for me to see the concern in her eyes. “Your scar,” she clarifies. “The one on your chest from my father. Does it still hurt?”

A twinge stabs through my gut, sharp and unwelcome. I never talk about the brand, never let anyone’s pity or curiosity about it phase me. Rage flickers beneath my skin like a lit fuse, but so does a strange pull. Why does she care? What game is she playing? “You’re awfully bold all of a sudden.”

She sets the pillow aside and fixes her gaze on the ruined patch of flesh on my chest. “You don’t talk about it.”

“No shit,” I mumble. “Why would I?” It was the darkest night of my life. One minute, I was enjoying myself at a bar in Aggieville; the next, I was a burnt piece of flesh begging my fingers to hit the right buttons so I could call my brother. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything I’d ever felt before or since. I was weak that night, careless, and Giovanni caught me off guard—a mistake I’ve replayed in my head a thousand times. When I woke up in the hospital, I vowed to never be that vulnerable again.

Gianna presses her lips together, her grip on the pillowcase tightening until her knuckles whiten. Then she blurts out, “It looks painful.”

Before I can stop her, she drops the pillow and crosses the distance between us in three quick steps. My chest tightens, heart hammering against my ribs. I should shove her away, put distance between us. Just a few minutes ago, I wanted her on top of me. Now, I want her to be as far away from me as possible. But instead, I freeze, every muscle locked in place as her hand lifts. Her fingertips brush the edge of the scar tissue, tracing the raised border where smooth flesh meets rough.

A quiet shudder ripples through me, but her touch is the opposite of pain—it’s gentle, so gentle I almost don’t feel it at first. My breath leaves in a hiss between clenched teeth. No one has touched me here besides the doctor.

“Don’t,” I growl, but it’s too late.

She skims her fingertips over the ruined flesh, tracing the jagged edges I’ve spent years trying to forget. Each stroke maps the twisted landscape I’ve hidden away beneath my clothes. I expect disgust to flicker across her face, but all I see is sorrow in her dark eyes, and my brain refuses her pity. The understanding in her expression burns worse than the original wound ever did.

I wrench away, stumbling back. “Don’t ever touch me like that again,” I snarl at her.

Gianna lowers her hand, expression morphing into confusion. “I’m sorry.”

God, I need to get control back—now.She stands there staring at me with uncertainty. My lungs burn as I inhale, feeling the brand on my chest throb with phantom heat. I hate that she saw me vulnerable, even for a second.

A reckless idea sparks in my mind, flooding through me like poison. If I can’t erase the memory of her touch, I can overwrite it with something else. Something darker, more carnal.Make her choke on my dick until she hates me. Until I hate her.Until we both forget this moment of weakness ever happened.Because right now, all I can do is remember the softness in her eyes, the gentle way she reached for me, and it makes me want to tear something apart.

“Kneel.” The same command as the other night, but this time, my tone is colder. Harder. Gianna drops to the floor with infuriating obedience, her knees hitting the ground with a soft thud.

I step closer to her, feeling every nerve ending in my body flare with anger and desire. The scar on my chest tingles, phantom pain, or phantom comfort, I can’t decide which. “Open your mouth.” My voice is harsh, cracking at the edges.

For a second, I think she might refuse. Her jaw sets, her cheeks coloring with a hue of embarrassment. But slowly, her lips part, and a shiver dances across my skin.

My cock is already throbbing, straining against the confines of my pants. My fingers fumble with my belt, the leather hissing as I yank it loose. The button on my jeans pops open, the zipper rasps, and I’m freeing my dick before I can second-guess my decision. It springs out, and the tip glistens with a bead of precum. I grip the base, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke, and Gianna’s eyes flick down. Her lips are still parted, just like she was ordered, and I can see the faintest tremble in her bottom lip.

I step in closer, so close my cock brushes against her chin, and she flinches. The warmth of her skin sends a jolt straight to my balls. “Open wider,” I growl, barely holding onto control. Gianna hesitates, but I don’t give her a choice. My free hand grabs her jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks, and I force her mouth open wider. Her breath is hot against my dick, and I can’t wait anymore.

I press the head of my cock against her lips, smearing slick precum across her mouth. She whimpers, and the sound goes straight to my dick, making it twitch in my hand. I drag the tip along her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, teasing her. “That’s it,” I mutter, dark and low. “Get a good taste of what you’re supposed to be taking care of.”

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