Raine - Archive

Heat detonates through my entire body, slick wetness pools between my thighs preparing me for his huge length, which is still pressed against my stomach.

Want. White hot want is coursing through my veins.

Humiliating, aching need that curls low in my stomach and spreads to my clit before I can stop it. My body reacts to him in ways my brain can’t keep up with, and judging by the slow darkening of his eyes, Leon feels every tiny shift in me.

His hand flexes against my waist, mine are still gripping the front of his shirt, neither of us moves.

The entire house feels suspended around us, silent and watchful beneath the chandeliers while rain lashes softly against the tall windows somewhere deeper inside the estate.

I can feel the shape of his cock, my pussy walls clamp around nothing, an irritating, grating sensation that sends a tiny whimper from my lips. This is the terrifying weight of what a man like him could do to me if he stopped holding himself back.

“Leon,” I whisper again, but this time his name comes out breathless.

His eyes drag over my face slowly memorising every flushed inch of me. 

“Yeah, Bunny?”

The nickname sounds filthy coming from his plump, swollen mouth.

Possessive.

Condescension I should rebel against, but instead makes my pulse jump harder instead of pissing me off. It takes everything to not drop to my knees here in the hall.

I swallow hard. 

“I can’t…”

For the first time since I met him, Leon goes completely still, watching me carefully enough that it makes my chest tighten.

“Can’t what?” he asks quietly.

“This.” I gesture weakly between us, cheeks burning so badly I want the marble floor to crack open and swallow me whole. “Whatever this is.”

He exhales slowly through his nose before taking a deliberate step backward, putting enough space between us that I can breathe properly again.

The sudden absence of his body heat feels wrong immediately. I hate it and he notices the smallest frown I have tried to mask.

“You said no,” he says simply with a shrug.

I blink at him.

That’s it? No argument or pressure, no manipulative bullshit.

Just that.

“You’re…stopping because I said no?”

A rough mirthless smirk touches his mouth. 

“Don’t look so fucking surprised.”

Honestly, I don’t know how not to. Every instinct I’ve developed over the years tells me men like Leon take what they want, they don’t stop because I say no, there’s no pulling back when they’re hard and angry and ready to fuck.

But he did.

Barely, judging by the tension still carved into his massive body, but he did.

Leon adjusts the cuffs of his shirt slowly, physically forcing himself back under control. The movement pulls my attention straight to his hands again. Tattooed knuckles, veins shifting beneath tan skin, fingers that looked terrifying wrapped around a man’s throat and devastating curled against my waist.

God.

I need to stop staring at his hands.

“You done panicking?” he asks.

“I’m not panicking.”

His eyes flick lazily down my body. 

“Your pupils are blown and your breathing sounds like you’ve just ran a marathon.”

Heat crawls even higher into my face.

Leon’s mouth twitches slightly, clearly enjoying this.

Asshole.

He turns then, walking deeper into the estate without checking whether I follow.

The heels of his shoes echo softly against the marble floors while I trail behind him trying not to look as overwhelmed as I feel. The house stretches endlessly around us, all dark polished wood and gold light and looming oil paintings of dead men who probably ordered executions between courses at dinner.

Nothing here feels normal, even the silence feels expensive.

“What exactly is this job?” I ask finally, mostly because I need something else to focus on besides the image of his mouth on mine replaying in my head every five seconds.

Leon glances back at me briefly. 

“Archiving.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It sounds boring,” he corrects. “Which is why nobody has taken the job.”

He leads me down a long hallway lined with locked black doors before stopping outside one at the very end. His palm presses briefly against a hidden panel beside the frame, the lock clicks open.

The room beyond looks less like an office and more like the private library of a man hiding state secrets. Floor-to-ceiling shelves disappear into shadow above us, packed with leather-bound ledgers, archival boxes, stacks of yellowing documents and old photographs sealed carefully inside protective cases.

The air smells like cedarwood, ink and dust.

“We keep records here,” Leon says calmly, stepping inside. “Financial,. territory agreements, family history, shipments, names, births, deaths. Every deal the Marcellos have made for the last hundred years.”

“So you are a gangster?” I stare at him. “and you’re just telling me this?”

“You’re staying,” His eyes settle on me meaningfully. “Doesn’t make a difference now.”

It’s a threat wrapped in silk.

“We don’t use the term gangster, it's crass, we much prefer Mafia, Bunny.”

Shit, shit, shit. I walk slowly farther into the room, fingertips brushing the edge of one massive wooden desk. 

“I haven’t said yes.” I stop and turn toward him. “Why me?”

Leon leans one shoulder against the bookshelf behind him, watching me with the same unbearable focus he always seems to have locked onto me.

“You don’t have a choice,” He confirms completely matter of fact. “And because I need someone intelligent enough to organise this chaos.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

I look him straight in the eyes, frustration finally pushing through some of the fear. 

“You don’t even know me.”

A slow smile curves his mouth.

“Bunny, I know what brand of instant noodles you buy when your paycheck runs out.”

My entire body goes cold.