Aurora Achilles fits perfectly against my side. I long to feel her bare flesh pressed against mine as I watch her emerald eyes widen in shock and lower in delight as I build her pleasure to new heights. Visions of her naked and writhing in my sheets have me half hard in my trousers.
Which isn’t a good impression as I turn us into the dining room.
The calculating expressions on every face in the room clear away the heat simmering in my blood.
But maybe my lust isn’t such a bad thing. Showing my interest in her may buy me more time to find the culprit behind the attacks on my family. If my parents believe an heir is inevitable—and soon—they might loosen their grip on my immediate future and grant me the freedom to continue my mission.
I tease my fingertips along Aurora’s ribs and enjoy her startled inhale as my thumb brushes against the lower swell of her breast.
God, I want to explore every inch of her, tasting and teasing her from head to toe. I bet my hand would dwarf her pert little breast as her hard nipple pressed against my palm.
“I knew they’d be a perfect match,” my mother says in a conspiratorial stage whisper to Aurora’s mother.
Madona Achilles studies us with haughty eyes before smiling and leaning forward to respond to my mother.
“They’re getting along quite well, aren’t they? I’m sure we’re all quite pleased.”
I eye the places readied at the table and decide to play by my mother’s rules for the time being. I’d much rather have Aurora sitting beside me where I can touch her whenever I want, but with the upcoming conversation, I want her face in clear view so I can study her expressions.
She hesitates when I start around the table, but I don’t give her a choice to balk. Her stiff shoulders annoy the hell out of me, but they remind me of what’s at stake.
The soft sway of her hips teases me as nothing else ever has before.
I’ll enjoy breaking down her walls and molding her to my will. For now, I’ll focus on learning as much as I can about her.
When I remove my arm from around her and pull out her chair, she aims skeptical eyes up at me. I sigh and guide her into her seat with a loose grip on her elbow.
Her prim and proper pose as she perches on the edge of her seat awakens the beast within me. Feral hunger grips me as I imagine wrecking her with my teeth and tongue, so I scoot her chair closer to the table, appeasing the monster within me by ruining her faux propriety.
She grunts and grips the edge of the table as I force her deeper into the seat. Once I’m satisfied she’s suitably riled, I smirk down at her and stride around the table to my seat.
The blush on her cheeks highlights her doll-like features, but as our parents feel each other out with small talk, her face pales.
I keep my eyes focused solely on her as the kitchen staff brings out the first wave of dishes.
“Since they both seem eager, I have no problem with a quicker timeline. We don’t need a year to prepare a wedding,” Horatio Achilles, Aurora’s father, says.
My father nods and picks up his glass.
“I agree, the sooner the better, but we don’t want more rumors,” he says.
The fake concern marring his brows as he studies his drink sends ice down my spine.
“Maybe we do.”
Everyone swivels their attention to Madona as her words register.
“What do you mean?” my mother asks.
The ice infecting my spine spreads to my limbs as my mother’s deceit registers. I take a sip of water to hide my anger. She knew before she greeted me today what news awaited me. In fact, she planned how to direct this entire conversation with my father. She knew it would come to this, yet didn’t say a word to me.
“Aurora is eighteen. She’s an Achilles. There’s nothing wrong with her being so madly in love with Giorgio Vivaldi she has a shotgun wedding,” Madona Achilles says.
To my surprise, Aurora lifts her fork to her mouth and slips a bite between her lips as though the words don’t affect her at all. She keeps her gaze trained on her plate, but the tightness around her eyes and her reluctance to swallow speak volumes.
She’s fully aware of the conversation and definitely opposes, but the little mouse remains quiet even as her mother throws her to the wolves.
My mother counteracts with faux concern.
“We couldn’t do that to Aurora; plus, we shouldn’t risk your family name for the sake of ours.”
“Oh, please, it won’t bother Aurora at all. She’s never listened to gossip anyway, and we’re not risking anything. We’re honored to associate with the Vivaldi’s,” Madona says.
“You’re too kind,” my mother responds.
Madona dabs her painted lips with her napkin and folds it back into her lap as though she’s royalty before speaking.
“I’m not being kind. We want what’s best for both families. If that means pregnancy before a wedding, then we should explore our options.”
For the briefest of moments, Aurora’s features twist, but she closes her eyes and inhales through her nose before blanking her expression and putting food on her fork as though there’s nothing amiss.
I trace the base of my glass with one finger, playing in the condensation, and curl my other hand into a fist under the table.
The entire conversation between our mothers is too absurd. Not a single word spoken is believable. The more I hear, the less inclined I am to trust our parental units.
And I don’t like the pain shining from Aurora’s eyes. Her anguish was beautiful when I was the one wielding it, but sourness coats my tongue as I watch her suffer under someone else’s verbal blows.
She hides it better than most, but there’s no denying the slow death of her soul as her mother chips away at her dignity. I’ve watched countless men breathe their last, but no one has affected me the way her haunted eyes do.
I miss the spark of defiance as she glared at me.
Fuck, I’m so screwed. I’m obsessed after only a few minutes with her.
“Other than a few college courses—which she can always retake at a later date—she has no other commitments.”
Her mother’s words pull me out of my musings, and I realize I missed part of their conversation.
Aurora’s fingers tighten around her fork and her nostrils flare, but she sits with her back rigid and her mouth shut.
As fresh fury sparkles in her eyes, I long to have those gorgeous, fiery green orbs aimed at me.
“But we can only rush a wedding so much. Our children deserve a proper ceremony,” my mother says.
“I agree, but there are other factors to consider, too. Six months would be too long. If she gets pregnant right away, she’ll be showing too much, but if she doesn’t, then worse rumors will spread about our families’ power.”
“Four months might be manageable,” my mother delivers flawlessly.
Aurora’s hand shakes as she brings the fork to her lips again, but she sticks the tiny bite into her mouth and chews with striking determination.
“They should move in together as soon as possible,” Madona says.
Aurora freezes. Blinks. Clenches her jaw. Blinks again. The tears shimmering in her eyes both enrage and enchant me.
“Since Aurora has nothing tying her to one place, why don’t we—”
I watch in fascination as Aurora’s composure snaps. She slaps her fork onto the table, spits her mouthful into her napkin, and tosses it onto her plate as she stands.
She glares at her mother. In mere seconds, she conveys more emotions than I can count, so when she shifts her gaze toward her father and sends a fresh wave to him, all I can do is stare in awe.
Without a word or a backward glance, she leaves the room.
I follow before her mother breaks the silence, far more interested in my little mouse than in the farce between our parents.
With an uncanny sense of direction, Aurora reaches the guest bathroom before I catch up with her, but I wedge my foot between the door and the frame before she can close it behind her.
My balls ache as she lifts shimmering green orbs up to my face. Her deep, even inhale through her nose only heightens my desire.
“Please remove your foot from the door,” she says in a harsh and forceful voice.
She vibrates with fury. I want to see her break. I need to see her wild, raw, and exposed.
“No. Let me in, mia topolina,” I growl.
“Don’t mock me! I just…” She pushes against the door. Desperation creeps into her tone. “I just need a minute alone.”
“Move away from the door, Aurora. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then go away! Please, Giorgio, I—”
The sound of my name on her lips shreds my control. I push my way into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
She squeaks and shuffles backward. I crowd her against the wall and lean down when she averts her gaze, but not before I enjoy the widening of her eyes and the flush of her cheeks.
Her chest heaves with her startled breaths, and I resist the urge to plaster my front against hers by bracing my forearms on the wall, bracketing her in without touching her.
She’s so feminine and petite. I ache with the need to make her mine.
“Don’t say my name unless you want me all over you. Understand, little mouse?”
“No, I don’t. I do not understand.”
Tempting my demons, I tilt her chin up with my knuckle before propping my forearm back on the wall.
“What don’t you understand?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re mine, Aurora.”
As I say the words, certainty barrels through me. She became mine the moment she walked through my parents’ front door. Nothing our families say matters. Whether we marry today, tomorrow, in four months, or four years, it does not fucking matter.
Aurora Achilles is mine.
She scoffs and shakes her head.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re being a complete jerk. Isn’t this situation bad enough already?”
I growl, pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger, and force her eyes to mine.
“Excuse me?” I challenge.
She swallows and defiantly fans her lashes against her cheeks for a few seconds before meeting my stare and speaking slowly, as though to an invalid.
“You. Are. Being. A. Jerk.”
I stare in shock long after her words register, but her expression doesn’t change.
I expected her to elaborate on why the situation was terrible, not to call me out with such unwavering boldness.
My hand moves without my permission, but I savor the pounding of her pulse as I wrap my fingers around her throat.
“Say that again,” I dare.
Her lower lip trembles, but she squares her shoulders and maintains eye contact as she responds.
“I’m a woman of my word, and I don’t like to repeat myself, so why don’t you make it easy on both of us and. Stop. Being. A. Jerk.”
No one in my adult life, except for possibly Fiero, has ever spoken to me with such snark. No one else would have survived the consequences.
But this tiny slip of a woman stands her ground and uses my own words against me.
I’m enamored. Hooked. Delighted.
Doomed.
I flick my gaze down to her lush lips before I lower my mouth a hairsbreadth away from hers.
“You want me to stop, but I haven’t even begun, have I, mia topolina?”
She closes her eyes and tries to turn her face away, but I tighten my grip on her throat and sneak my tongue along the bottom edge of her lower lip.
“Do you really want me to stop, Aurora?”
Her choppy breaths warm my lips, but her low, throaty please destroys my control.
“Just one taste. I just need one taste, then I’ll stop,” I lie before closing the distance between our lips.
I hum in delight at her softness and brush my closed mouth back and forth across hers before dipping my tongue between her lips. Her clenched teeth prevent me from exploring her depths, but I need more, so I flex my fingers around her throat and take advantage when she gasps.
The hot sweetness of her mouth overrides the rest of world and becomes my new favorite addiction, and when I stroke my tongue over hers, I groan from the force of my need.
She pushes at my sides and trembles, so close to giving in, but she maintains her defiance despite the hammering of her throat against my palm and the pebbling of her nipples against my chest. I pull back and feast my eyes on her flushed face and swollen lips.
“This is the opposite of not being a jerk,” she deadpans with her chin raised and her eyes closed.
Her tiny fingers dig into my sides. She trembles from head to toe.
I’m an idiot for wanting her, but I can’t pull away now. Not after I’ve had a taste.
Aurora Achilles may be the death of me, but I’ll protect her no matter what it takes.
No one will hurt her except for me, and when I do, she’ll beg for more.
So much more.
