Catching Bianca: A Dark Mafia Romance (Shadows of Obsession Book 4)
Catching Bianca: Chapter 19

Carrick, a lower-ranking soldier on chauffer duty tonight, stops the car by the curb outside my condo.

He exits first, checking the street. Once satisfied, he opens the back door, letting me out first. He quickly moves away, his assessing eyes looking for possible threats.

He’s good. Most of Carter’s soldiers are good, but this one must’ve had a one-on-one lesson with Koby. It’s in his stance, in the calculated way he checks the street, section by section.

“Come on, we’re here,” I tell Bianca, holding my hand out to help her even though I’m still reeling from the show she put on not half an hour ago.

She went dancing again and some blond asshole slipped in behind her, his arm draping around her middle.

She didn’t push him away.

Oh, no. No, she fucking stared right at me while the fucker swayed with her in the middle of the dance floor.

Holding my instincts at bay demanded all the restraint I could muster. Those instincts that begged me to storm over there and break his hand ten different ways. That begged me to pull her close and kiss her until I’d erased fine from her vocabulary. Until she showed me what hides beneath that tough exterior.

If anything…

She kept up the charade for ten minutes before she stormed back to tell me she’s tired.

I was more than happy to take her home.

She glares at my outstretched hand. “I can manage.”

Her eyes sparkle, cheeks flush pink, lips purse, anger written all over her pretty face.

Fuck knows why.

I should be the one throwing a tantrum after watching her writhe against another man for ten minutes straight.

It’s Russian roulette with this girl. Nine times out of ten, she snaps for no reason, her temper a ticking bomb, constantly shifting but not far off exploding, the cold bitch on display.

I should drag her out, take her inside, then lock her and her piss-poor attitude in the spare bedroom, but I can’t.

A big, metaphorical hand on my shoulder holds me back because I know there’s more to her than this mask. Once in a blue moon, when her guard slips, a different side of her peeks through. A more human, vulnerable side.

It never stays long. Her walls snap up so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t lose balance.

She shoves my hand aside, gunning me down with a defiant stare as she scrambles out of the car and adjusts her tiny dress as if it could cover more than the bare minimum of her round ass. Goosebumps dot her skin, the chilly evening air a stark contrast from the warm interior of Carrick’s car.

Instinct kicks in before I have time to reconsider.

I shimmy out of my jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

Why I bother is beyond me.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” she says, pulling the jacket off.

I expected that much. What I didn’t expect is the speed at which her attitude makes me snap. I grip both sides of the jacket, yank her forward and zip her up in one hard tug.

“I don’t give a fuck how fine you are, Winter. It’s cold. Your dress is practically a belt and the last thing I need is you catching a cold. I bet you’re delightful when you’re unwell.”

Her eyes widen, lips part, but words—thankfully—don’t come. I wouldn’t be held responsible for my actions if she’d started arguing again.

“Call me if anything seems out of sorts,” I tell Carrick, who takes the wheel again, the engine idling to keep the inside warm.

He’ll stay out here all night as an added security layer at Hailey’s insistence.

Since Bianca’s arms are trapped inside the jacket and she’s a touch unstable on her four-inch heels, I rest my hand on the small of her back, leading her toward the entrance.

Her unvoiced protests bounce around my head.

I’m fine.

I can manage.

Of course she can.

Looks like she can also keep her mouth shut—which comes as a surprise—while I guide her into the elevator. She leans against the wall, watching my every move. Her usual hardness is gone, head tilted, intrigued.

Holding her tongue, she stares, a battle raging inside her mind if the look on her flushed face is any indication. Her burgundy lipstick remains perfectly intact, not a smudge in sight.

The rush of relief sweeping over me is a mystery until I realize it’s because her perfect lipstick means she didn’t kiss the blonde guy. Good for him. He’d regret tasting her faster than he could form a coherent thought.

We arrive on the seventeenth floor and the ding brings Bianca back to the here and now. Her eyes regain focus as she shunts away from the wall, hands trapped inside my jacket.

I expected she’d shoulder past me with a huff, but she patiently waits while I unlock the door, letting her inside. I’ve lived here almost a year, but tonight’s the first time I’ve seen a pair of women’s shoes in the hallway. Once Bianca’s kicked her sharp stilettos off, they create a strangely comforting picture.

“Could you unzip me?” She asks the question carefully, soft, stripped of any malice.

I spin around, catching a ghost of a smile gracing her face. “Sure. Come here.”

She steps forward, the scent of coconut mixing with a sweet perfume—a new addition to her scent. One that has an even more powerful brainwashing effect. I take more care sliding the jacket’s zipper down than I did yanking it up.

“Thanks,” she utters, passing it over.

She’s blushing, the alluring pinkness spreading down her cleavage. It holds my attention until she turns on her bare foot, sauntering further inside my condo. Her hips sway in the most delicious way and that velvet dress rolls up an inch or two.

I’m transfixed.

My cock twitches in my pants. My grip tightens on the jacket. It seems that as soon as her cold, bitchy exterior melts, I’m powerless to resist her magnetic charm.

She’s been driving me nuts all evening, but not ripping her clothes off was easier when we were surrounded by people.

I dismiss the thought, following in her footsteps. She’s made herself comfortable on the kitchen island, her feet dangling in the air, eyes on mine as soon as I round the corner.

“Could I have a glass of wine?” she asks, watching me fetch a bottle of whiskey.

I had two drinks at Scarlett, though hardly put a dent in the second by the time we left. Enjoying the evening was out of the question while my focus narrowed to the men ogling her like sex on a stick.

I need something alcoholic. Something strong that’ll take the edge off my agitated mind. A glass of the amber, burning liquid will do, though I deserve a dozen, if only for not knocking out every man who mentally undressed Bianca tonight.

Glancing over my shoulder, I scan her from head to toe. She doesn’t look drunk. Not even tipsy. She had two glasses of white with Hailey, but they were both watering the alcohol down with lemonade. White wine spritzer, I believe it’s called.

“You sure you want another?”

“Yes please, I’m fine. I danced it all away.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything other than fine,” I say, filling a wine glass halfway up.

I spin around when music starts playing, a deep eleven wrinkling my forehead. Bianca’s still on the kitchen island, my phone in hand, eyes cast downward.

“No one told you that stealing is a bad thing?” I trade her a glass of wine for my phone.

“You gave me your jacket,” she reminds me. “The phone was in your pocket, so it’s not stealing.”

“How did you unlock it?”

Another small smile curves her lips, not half as cute as the other. This one is more calculated, more measured.

“You’re very careful about my security, but not your own. I saw you tap out the pin at least a dozen times. I’d have to be particularly dumb not to memorize it. Worried I might’ve seen something I wasn’t supposed to?”

Save for at least a dozen pictures of her saved to my camera roll, there’s nothing important there. My sensitive data is stored on a secure server, the password twenty-four characters long, a combination of numbers, letters, and punctuation marks.

She wouldn’t memorize it even if I spelled it out.

There’s another one to get into the remote connection I use for the apps running on my laptop.

“You can dig through the whole thing for all I care.” I lean against the cupboard opposite the kitchen island.

It’s a struggle not to let my gaze wander, not to trace the shape of her body instead of meeting her gaze. The swell of her breasts might have gotten me addicted. Just like her waist dipping in the most sinful way before her hips curve.

“Had fun tonight?” she asks, ghosting her lips over the rim of her wine glass like she did back at Scarlett.

It’s as if she has a front-row seat into my thoughts, as if she knows that move sends my pulse into overdrive.

Fun? No, Winter, I most definitely did not have fun.

I wasn’t far off ordering Arthur to hold me back while she danced with that blond guy. During those ten minutes, I planned a thousand ways to kill him. Each more painful than the last as I watched his hands grope her body. When he dipped his face into the crook of her neck, kissing her skin, I was this fucking close to grabbing my gun.

“I do this every weekend, Winter. It gets old. You, on the other hand, looked like you enjoyed the evening.”

She shrugs, taking a silent moment to drape her brown hair over one shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“What’s your flavor, Ryder? Men? Women? Both?”

Now it’s my turn to cock a brow. “I didn’t realize there was room for doubt.”

“I don’t like assuming, and after you completely ignored me earlier, I started wondering. So? What is it?”

“When have I ignored you?”

“After you zipped up my dress.” She taps the wine glass twice, brushing her index finger along the rim. “When I said there was a time and place for hot, I was coming on to you. Don’t tell me you’re so clueless you didn’t realize.”

I’m not that clueless. But I’m surprised she brought it up. Women don’t usually admit their failures.

“Women.” I answer her question. It’s safer than getting into the other topic.

Bianca slides off the counter, bare feet touching cold tiles. She’s a touch shaky as she sips her wine, holding my eyes hostage. Her dark lashes cast shadows over her pink cheeks, adding a few points to how hot she looks.

Uncertainty shadows her features, barely a hint of it. If I hadn’t paid so much attention to her expressions over the past week, I wouldn’t know it, but I’ve spent every waking minute in her flower shop, studying her face.

She’s closed off most of the time. Focused and content when she arranges a bouquet, but when she hands it over to the customer, vulnerability peeks through.

It disappears the moment her customer smiles or praises her work. I’ve memorized everything about that vulnerable look.

It shines in her eyes now, more potent than when she braces for judgment of her work. Even more so when she takes the first step forward.

The music changes to a darker, slower, more loaded tune: Bobi Andonov’s “Apartment.” The worst song for this situation. Perfect for a slow, passionate fuck in the soft glow of candlelight.

Bianca takes another step, her scent targeting my nose. Her brief bursts of unguarded emotions do weird things to me. My pulse quickens, my cock swells, my breath stutters…

For now, my ethics stand in the way of those reactions, chanting on repeat: she’s tipsy.

She’s not. Doesn’t look or sound like it at all, but it’s my last line of defense. Last obstacle I throw under my own feet. It’s all that’s stopping me cinching her waist and bruising her lips with mine. I’ll hold on to the delusion as long as possible.

I don’t stop her advancing. Don’t say a word, curious how brave she is. Curious how long it’ll take before her pliability hardens once more.

She stops, her bare feet an inch from mine. “Can I ask you another question?”

You just did…

“I’m listening.”

She’s so close I see her pulse fluttering on her delicate neck. Rolling her shoulders back, she tilts her head, staring right into my eyes. “If I kiss you… will you push me away?”

Heat explodes through me, a force so strong it steals the breath out of my chest. Will I? Do I have the strength to push her away if that smart mouth covers mine?

Fuck no.

“Yes.”

She angles her head, studying me as if she hears my thoughts betray my weaknesses.

A flicker of what might be hurt crosses her face. Too bad she catches herself before I know for sure.

“Am I not your type, or—?”

“You’re pretty, but I don’t like you, Winter.”

She smiles wider, a flirty look in those honey eyes. She tiptoes her fingers up my chest, grasping a handful of my shirt, then grabs my right hand, moving it to rest on her hip.

“We’re adults, Ryder. Single. You can’t deny the tension between us. You don’t have to like me to fuck me, right?”

Desire detonates beneath my skin, electrifying my stiff cock. I grasp her wrists, pinning both small hands against my chest. I was certain I’d push her away…

But who am I kidding? This was inevitable. I’ve imagined too many times what she’d sound like full of my cock.

And she’s right. I don’t have to like her for this. The sexual attraction, how hard I am whenever she’s near, is enough.

“You want me to fuck you, Winter?”

“Yes.” A firm nod. Her cheeks run red, pupils dilate, but she rises on her toes, ghosting my lips with hers. “Hard.”

For some reason, that pisses me off. Rationally, I know we both have one goal in mind: to sate our curiosity and burning hunger, but the emphasis she put on hard boils my blood.

She doesn’t want more than an orgasm…

Does it matter who makes her come? Am I a convenient choice given I’m right here? Anger balloons inside my chest. I’d had a different vision for this but fine. If she wants a hard fuck, that’s what she’ll get.

“Hard,” I echo. “As you wish.” I spin us around, slamming her back against the cupboards. “Just so we’re clear. We’re only doing this once, understood?”

The turmoil inside me is a clear indication that even once is too much. Too bad there’s no way can I stop.

“Just once,” she agrees.

She’s so close that every fiber in me is aware of her proximity. Of her plump lips ready for a kiss.

No. No kissing.

A taste of her would be the final nail in my coffin. Eliminating the temptation, I spin her again, pressing my hand between her shoulder blades.

“On your toes. Cheek on the counter.” I don’t give her time to obey, forcing her down. My other hand slips under her dress.

She’s soaked, the evidence of her arousal sticky on her thighs, the scrap of lace drenched. Her moan hits my ears when I circle her entrance with my thumb.

“Who are you this wet for?” I grit out, yanking her thong halfway down. “That blond fucker?”

“You,” she moans, her fingers twitching on the counter.

“Good answer.” She’s so delicate, despite the cold-bitch aura, and I want her so fucking desperately I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. “How long since this pussy was railed?”

“You want to know when I last had sex?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” Moving my hand to her hip, I spread her open. “How long?”

“Eight months,” she admits.

“That’s not good. I won’t be gentle, Bianca.”

“I told you, I don’t want gentle.”

I unzip my pants, pull my cock out and roll Bianca’s skirt over her bare ass. “You’ll be sore tomorrow. Birth control?”

“Yes. IUD.”

Her pussy glistens, all pink, wet, and swollen. I’m dying to take a knee and feast. I’m dying to haul her into my arms, carry her into my bedroom, and make her scream all night.

Why the hell have I agreed to this? Why did I insist on a one-time deal? It won’t be enough. A quick, hard fuck in the kitchen will only fuel my craving.

It’s too late to reconsider. Too late to weigh the pros and cons. If I don’t seat my cock deep inside her in the next ten seconds, I’ll end up certifiable.

She wants a wild ride? Fucking fine. I’ll fuck her through the wall if only to punish her for the mayhem she ignites within me.

I swipe two fingers between her pussy lips, groaning at the warm, wet softness. “Fuck, Winter…”

“Yes, fuck Winter.” The challenging note in her voice makes my cock so hard it’s painful. I’m gone. Done.

I grip my shaft, press the head against her slit, and in one thrust, I’m balls-deep. Bianca lets out a half-moan, half-yelp, her fingers digging into the counter.

“So tight,” I grit out, staring at the point where we’re joined.

“Freefalling” by Facading comes on, a much better soundtrack for what will happen here.

She rises on her tiptoes as I pull out, one hand on her hip, the other on her head, holding her cheek to the cold marble.

I let the greedy beast breathing fire in my head take the reins, compelling me to piston in and out of Bianca to unload its anger.

“This what you wanted?” I ask, basking in her moans. She gasps every time I force my way inside.

Every gasp, every shaky inhale, every sound she makes and every clap of our flesh sends shivers down my spine. I watch my cock slide in and out, fingers sinking into her hips.

“So-oh, so good!” Bianca mewls. “Harder, Ryder.” She juts her ass in time with me. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

“I do hate you.”

I hate that she always pretends. I hate that she makes me weak. I hate that she owns me whenever her mask dissolves. I show her that, driving my cock home inside her like a penance.

“You like being used, Winter?” I seethe, punctuating every word with a hard thrust. “Treated like a fuck doll?”

“Stop talking!”

Even in the throes of passion she holds on to her defenses, her words clipped, teeth grinding. I only see the side of her face, but that’s enough.

Curling one hand under her warm chest, my fingers replace her throat and I lift her up until her back’s flush with my chest. She’s on her tiptoes, her head in the crook of my shoulder, neck on display, fingers clawing my arms.

Every spasm passing through her almost sends me over. She’s divine, perfect, fucking made for me if her delicate body taking every inch and begging for more is any proof.

“Oh, oh… yes!” she cries out when I angle my hips to better target her G spot. “There, right there.”

An idea hits me out of the blue. Toying with her the way I do with less submissive girls wasn’t on my agenda, but maybe this will make her drop the mask.

“You want to come, Bianca?” I growl, easing off when her pussy starts clenching around me. “Beg.”

She scoffs, her nails digging into my arm. “You wish.” Her small hand covers mine, moving it from her hip to her clit. “Make. Me. Come.”

I stop moving altogether, buried balls-deep inside her. A pinch of her clit earns me a body-wide shudder. “Beg.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole!”

“And you’re a cold bitch. We’re even.” I power inside her again, resuming my hard, unforgiving pace. Her moan fills the air, morphing into a frustrated whimper when I stop again. “Beg.”

She stubbornly shakes her head. Fucking minx. I tighten my hold on her throat, cutting off her air supply. My other hand is still between her legs and I torture her clit with fast, circular strokes. She clenches around me, the sweet mewls falling from her lips my favorite erotic melody.

I stop again, marveling in the cold sweat dampening the baby hairs above her temple. She tries bucking her hips, getting off on my cock, but I lean into her further, trapping her between my chest and the cupboards.

“No cheating.” I graze my teeth against her ear, my fingers working her clit again. She’s so sensitive I have her on edge within moments.

And. I. Stop.

For the next five minutes, I alternate between playing her clit and hitting her G spot. Her frustration mounts fast, every next gasp coming out more strained the longer this goes on.

I lose count of how many times I deny her. Her pussy chokes my cock. It’s divine. She was fucking designed for me. I’m not far off blowing my load just from feeling her tremble.

“No, no, no!” she whines, writhing in my arms when I bottom out and stop moving.

“Beg, Winter.”

“Please!” she yells, her nails breaking the skin on my arm. “Please, Ryder. I can’t take this! Please make me come.”

I bury my face in her neck, both hands grasping her hips. “Good girl. Hold on tight.”

This time I give her what she wants. What she needs.

I work myself into her until she shatters, her orgasm knocking the breath out of my chest.

I’ve fucked many women and made all of them come, but feeling Bianca fall apart in my arms is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Nothing can compare.

My balls pull taut as release erupts at the base of my spine, warm cum shooting deep inside her.

Bianca’s delirious, coming so hard it’s as if all those denied orgasms are slamming into her one by one. She’s shaking, moaning, clawing my arms, and at the same time, she’s slipping from my grasp, her knees caving in. I hold her harder against me, my face buried in the crook of her neck until she goes slack.

“That was amazing.” She gasps softly when I pull out and tuck my cock back in my pants. “Still hate me?”

Yanking her dress down, I spin her around, replaceing those honey-colored eyes glistening with satisfaction.

“Nothing changed. You got what you wanted, right?”

She smiles, stamps a kiss on my cheek and walks away, throwing a soft “Good night, Ryder” over her shoulder.