1-1

~ Alessandro ~

The sun streamed through the heavy curtains when I re-entered the room, carrying a stack of clothes. 

I watched her from the doorway, taking in the defiant set of her jaw even in sleep. She was fragile, yes, but there was a fire there, too. A fire I intended to stoke.

"Wake up, Seraphina," I commanded. "Time to get dressed."

Her eyes fluttered open, then widened as they met mine. A flicker of fear was quickly replaced by stubborn defiance. 

I expected her to argue. But then she pushed herself up, the flimsy gown riding high on her thighs. 

I looked elsewhere. Even a reveal of her nape turned me on. Let alone her thigh.

I placed the clothes on the bed: soft cotton underwear, a pair of loose, dark jeans, and a simple, fitted T-shirt. Practical. For travel. But even simple clothes on her would be a challenge.

"Get ready," I repeated.

She glared at me, her chest heaving slightly. But she reached for the clothes, her movements deliberate, as if each touch was a rebellion. 

She pulled the gown over her head. My breath caught. I should have looked away, but it was too late. 

Her breasts, full and unbound, swayed gently as she moved. Her nipples were already taut from the chill of the air conditioning. 

She deliberately turned her back to me, bending at the waist to pull on the panties. The curve of her spine, the defiant widening of her hips, her glutes, … every line of her body was a challenge. Then, the pinkish opening gnawed at me.

I felt the familiar tightening in my boxers. Already, Sera? I wondered.

The Seraphina I knew was innocent. Not this one who knew about seduction and how to make men suffer. 

As she slid on her panties, she wagged her ass. Right to left. My eyes followed. And I wished she had dithered in sliding it on. I wanted to see more. 

She straightened and turned back to me. Then she began grappling with the bra.

It was a simple, beige one, but it seemed to resist her, pulling tightly. She pumped her breasts, all round and full, trying to adjust them. A raw, unconscious movement that screamed temptation. 

She didn’t look at me. Not once. She knew exactly what she was doing. And I was her captive audience.

My self-control began to fray. I closed the gap between us.

I reached out and my hands settled on her waist as I pulled her flush against me. 

Her breath hitched. She finally looked at me, her eyes wide, a stormy mix of anger and something else… recognition? Desire?

Chest to chest, her breast pumped further, such that one of her nipples was seen as I looked down. 

I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing against the soft skin, tilting her face up. Her lips parted slightly. She was calling for a kiss? I wondered. But I dare not. She must ask. 

The scent of her—clean, innocent, yet so potent—filled my senses. 

In response, she pulled me closer.

My erection, which was already straining against the fabric, pressed hard against her belly. A low growl rumbled in my chest. She was fire. Pure fire.

Her fingers threaded into the hair at the back of my head, pulling my face down towards hers. 

"What do you want?" I rasped. I wanted her to say it. Just so I could kiss her. 

"To make you suffer," she whispered back. 

The words are like a physical blow. My jaw clenched. This was a game. And I had no intention of losing.

I pulled her closer still, tightening my grip on her waist, ignoring the ache in my groin. "I have never wanted anything and couldn't get it, Seraphina. Don't test me." 

A flicker of triumph crossed her face. "Well, whatever you've seen now, will be the last time you'll see it. Think about it as a trailer of a movie you'll never see," she said.

My control snapped. I pushed her away, hard, the sudden movement sending her stumbling back a step. 

My chest heaved. "I shall break you, Seraphina. I will make you wet without penetration, make you beg for release, but I won't. Not unless you tell me to." I bit out the words, my desire a torment. "Not until you crave me as I crave you." I turned on my heel and walked out, slamming the door behind me.

Outside, in the cool, silent corridor, I leaned my head against the polished wood of the door, breathing heavily. 

My hand instinctively went into my pants, stroking myself roughly through the fabric. The image of her, defiant, half-dressed, her breasts swaying, her pink honeypot… it was all etched behind my eyelids.

"Boss? Do you need me?" A melodic voice reached me.

I looked up. It was Mazikeen, my second-in-command, a woman of striking beauty and unnerving calm. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes were discerning, missing nothing. She was dressed in her usual sleek black, a quiet, deadly shadow.

"No, Mazikeen," I said, forcing my voice to an even tone. I needed to move. To quell this unbridled hunger. I pushed off the door and rushed down the hallway, away from the intoxicating scent of her, away from the challenge she presented.

***

I returned thirty minutes later after my composure was regained. Although a dull ache still resided deep in my core. 

My eyes were cast down, a conscious effort to avoid meeting her gaze, or in case she was still naked. 

She stood by the window, her back to me, with the same defiant posture.

"I'm not going to Mexico," she said as though she had been waiting for me. 

I stopped in the doorway. "I'm not asking, Seraphina. I'm taking you." I crossed the room, grabbed her hand, and yanked. 

She stumbled, falling into step with me. She struggled, twisting her wrist, pulling back with surprising strength. But I was stronger. I pulled her out of the room, dragging her across the corridor, down the wide marble staircase, towards the private jet awaiting us on the tarmac.

"Mazikeen! Strap her into the jet!" I barked, my voice echoing in the vast hangar.

Now, my uncle walked towards me with the entire squad. Two maids, and two thugs, all carrying our luggage. 

Mazikeen moved with silent efficiency and reached Seraphina in an instant. Her hand reached for Seraphina's arm to guide her. But Seraphina reacted with a violent burst of anger. Her hand shot out, a sharp crack echoing through the hangar as she slapped Mazikeen across the face.

Mazikeen froze. Her face hardened, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She looked at me.

I simply met her eyes with a faint shake of my head. No. Not yet. 

She turned back to Seraphina. They stared at each other for a long, charged moment, a silent battle of wills. 

Then, Mazikeen gripped Seraphina's arm, not gently, and began to drag her firmly towards the jet.

My uncle, Marco Torricelli, my long-time advisor, reached where I stood. "Boss," he began, his voice low, "let her go. This girl… she's a weak spot. You're exposing yourself."

I cut him off, my gaze still fixed on Seraphina struggling against Mazikeen. "I got it, sir. It's what I have to do," I growled, my voice leaving no room for argument. I knew the risks. But some things were worth the risk.

I watched as Mazikeen dragged Seraphina up the stairs that led into the jet. 

Five minutes later, I walked in. Seraphina was already strapped into a plush leather seat with six seatbelts pulled taut across her chest, hand, lap, and both legs. Mazikeen was securing the last buckle.

"Are you comfortable, Seraphina?" I asked.

She didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the window, her jaw clenched.

I knelt beside her seat, my face close to hers. "Mazikeen," I began, my gaze sweeping over my second-in-command, "is a loyal companion. In some old texts, Mazikeen was said to be a succubus, one of Lucifer's most trusted. Powerful. Dangerous. She holds her loyalty above all else. Disrespect her again, Seraphina, and you'll face more than just her hardened face." I paused, letting the warning sink in. My eyes flickered back to Seraphina’s defiant profile.

And then it hit me. That whole show in the room. The clothes. The deliberate way she had dressed, or undressed. She wasn't just defiant. She was flirting.

She was trying to seduce me, to gain some form of control, to make me hard and get nothing from it. To make me suffer.

The realization ignited a cold fury in my gut, mixing with the lingering heat of my desire. She was playing with fire. And I was about to show her just how hot it could get.

“Mazikeen, that would be all,” I said and she left. A dark smile touched my lips. She was tied. "You like games, Seraphina? Let's play."

My hand dipped into her bra. She flinched.

I felt the fullness of her breast in my palm. Soft and hard on a deeper hold.

She pressed her lips together. 

“I like that, baby girl,” I said and scoffed.

Then my fingers found her nipple and I circled it. It hardened almost instantly under my touch. 

She held her breath, her face frozen, but I felt the subtle tremor in her body. I had explored women. But my exploration hadn't taught me to hold my fort.

I knew the fabrics of a woman's body better than most. All it required was a touch, and dominance for more touch meant more reaction. This was dominance. 

Her nipple pushed against my finger. I smiled and looked into her face. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, still not looking at me.

I removed my hand from her bra slowly and deliberately, letting the cool air hit her skin for a moment. 

Then, my fingers dipped lower, past the waist of her baggy jeans. 

She gasped, a small, choked sound. She bent inward trying to stop me but it was useless. My hand slipped past the thin fabric of her panties, finding her warm and wet. I fumbled, my index finger brushing over her clitoris.

Her eyes closed tightly. A ragged breath tore from her throat. Her body arched slightly, involuntarily. I felt the wetness bloom beneath my touch, a hot, undeniable proof of her arousal.

So you can be wet, for me? I said to myself.

I pushed down, towards her opening. 

She cringed. Her thigh pressed into my hand. “Please,” she whispered.

“You're begging,” I said. 

Our mouths were open. If she called for it. I'd lean in for a kiss. 

“Please…”

I removed my hand, slowly, lingeringly, watching her body tremble, her eyes still closed, her lips parted in a silent gasp. 

I leaned in, my mouth brushing her ear, whispering, "The score is 1-1, cara mia."

I stood up, leaving her panting, her chest heaving. As I walked away, I heard a low, frustrated huff escape her lips. 

Good!

The game had just begun. And I knew exactly how to win.

“Fuck you, Alessandro, fuck you!” 

She said as I walked away.