Beautiful Bastard

Irene’s POV

He gave a slight close-lipped smile, and I pressed my lips together, searching Mom’s face.

“He said he'd dropped by from the meeting. With your dad.” She mouthed.

Pulling a chair back for me right across from Damian’s, she leaned in.

“Be nice.”

I puffed out a breath before collapsing into the chair.

At first his eyes lifted to mine, assessing me before they fell full focus on his plate as he stabbed his fork into the steak, fixing it in his mouth.

Each time his lips parted, my breath caught in my throat as I watched how the piece of meat slipped into his mouth.

Suddenly, I was jealous of the meat.

Stop, Rene. I should act mad. Stay mad.

For one, I hated how I found myself swallowing thick saliva as his full pink lips moved.

The muscles in his neck bobbed as the food disappeared down his throat.

This enticing asshole made me a hungry woman.

I had to admit it.

“It might actually make you feel better if you eat. Stare later.” The words came out of his mouth, calm and sarcastic.

A crazy part of my brain imagined he referred to himself as the food.

When our eyes met this time, I cocked my brow at him.

“You're here. Following me around like some die-hard fan. That's quite rich for a busy man. Is it not?”

He stopped, placing his fork down, his jaw clenched.

Noticing the change in his facial expression, I hid a smile as I cut into my steak, placing a chunk in my mouth.

“I want to talk to Irene. In private.” He announced in a loud voice that drew Mom's attention, and she came hurrying over.

"Oh, that’s fine. Irene's room is upstairs. On the left.”

Turning to me, she touched my arm lightly.

“Take him there. Quick, sweetie.” She said, and I dropped my fork, sucking in my cheeks in annoyance.

Seriously, wasn't she tired of running around for stuck-up rich men like Dad? Now it's him.

“I'm still eating. Maybe later," I said, my eyes going tight and holding his stare in silent warning.

The corner of his lips twitched, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he settled in his seat.

He knew what he was doing.

“Irene?” Mom called in a voice under her breath, nudging me, but I stayed still.

Putting his arms up in the air, he nodded.

“Fine. I thought we could go over the arrangements for our engagement next week.”

"Now, it looks like you'd be fine with anything.”

My fist balled up. Engagement? I didn't agree to any of this.

Mom's expression faltered as she flashed a small smile at him.

“She'll talk. It's good. To get to know each other better and all. Right, sweetie?” "Mom asked," her eyes pleading with me to give in.

I looked away from her to find him getting to his feet.

"Mrs. Reynolds, it's cool. We'll just meet each other at the reception.” He said, and the light left my mom's eyes.

Geez. Can he just shut the fuck up?

Jumping to my feet, I made to say, ‘Meet you at the reception in your fucking dreams,’ but instead I said,

“Come, Mr. Russo. I'll take you up.” I said in between gritted teeth, forcing a smile as I stepped in front, marching upstairs.

I felt his presence behind me with heavier steps than mine until I threw the door to my room open, spinning around to face him.

“Here. Talk away, Mr. Russo. I have all the time in the world.” My arms akimbo, my tone was laced with impatience until I watched him gently kick the door shut behind him.

Running a thumb across his stubble, he stalked towards me, and my heart jumped.

“What was that back there?” He asked.

I drew in a quick breath, catching a strand of my hair to twirl around my finger.

“What was what?”

He faced away from me before turning back around.

“I wasn't asking for your opinion about the engagement. That's a done deal. I meant you trying to play dumb about—"

“Free fuck.” I finished his sentence, my head screaming at me in delirious anticipation when something dark flashed in his eyes.

That familiar tightness in between my thighs pressed me forward, and soon we were standing inches apart.

“Shit. When you say it like that, it—" He paused, his eyes lingering on my lips, his Adam's apple bobbed.

I knew he was attracted to me. Sexually, of course.

But it's so fucked up because I'm also into him. In that way.

I wished our circumstances were different.

If only he were still that stranger I met at the club.

The one that pinned me against the wall and almost—

“It makes you what? Want to take me. Get in between me.” My words came out hushed, the tightness in my throat competing with the one in between my thighs as he reached for my arms, pressing his thumb into my collarbones.

“What if I didn't leave that day? What would have happened, huh?” He asked, and my breath became uneven as he leaned in, his nose hovering close to my ears.

I almost shut my eyes as I felt the hard rock of his chest brush against mine.

God. His scent. Manly and raw. He should be in between my legs. Not an arranged husband.

"I… imagined we'd have had the best sex of our lives. With my hands tied against the—“

“You like being tied up?” He cut in, his words breathy against my ears as I felt the wet heat of his lips pressing to the side of my neck.

I shivered, tilting my head to the side as my neck muscles gave in.

"I...I think so. Neil has never bought into the idea. But—" My words trailed off as he pulled back.

Not immediately. Gradually, he did.

With his jaw clenched, he looked me dead in the eye.

“Neil. That's his name. The ex.”

I nodded absentmindedly. He remembered I broke up with someone.

I didn’t know men like him listened.

Running his fingers through his hair, I noticed a trail of a tattoo peeking from under his sleeves.

“Do I make you feel different from the way he did?”

I blinked at the unexpected question.

How did we go from marriage, my kink about being tied up, and my ex to this?

“Well, you…um…seem like someone that…uh…gets what he wants.” I stammered a bit.

“Like having sex with you.” He finished and I gave a small nod.

His expression went sour as he eyed me.

“That's all you think of me. Someone that can offer just sex. Nothing else.”

He sounded like he was making the assumptions himself, but I couldn't help but agree.

Gesturing at both of us, I said.

"Um... that's how we met in the first place. If I knew about this marriage thing—"

“I can tie those small wrists to the headboard. Bond those frail ankles of yours. Gag that little mouth—" he started, and I gasped, my heart racing at the thought of it.

Yes. That's all I ever wanted. The idea of domination.

He'd make me want it.

Lust flashed through his features on seeing my flushed expression.

“Bang you and make you scream into the gag. Make you come over and over again till you pass out, those pretty legs shaking.” He continued, and honest to God, my knees buckled, my core down there clenching at his dirty words.

This beautiful bastard.

Excitement pounded in my throat as he reached to graze his thumb across my lips.

“But I won't.” The moment he said those words, something snapped in my chest.

Frustration, maybe.

Damn this man.

He withdrew his hands from me.

“Not until you agree on those dates I talked about.” He added, and my face fell.

Why didn't he understand that the thrill of it all was doing it with someone I barely knew?

Double brownie points if he was a total stranger. It made it so dangerous and kinky.

He wanted to know me.

Why can’t we just skip to the good part?

“I'm not interested in going on one date with you, let alone three.” I blurted out.

I should have added the 'I'm not getting married to you either,' but it was getting too cliché.

With one daring smirk, he nodded, turning around and heading for the door.