8

Chapter 8: The Man I Remembered Wrong

Maya’s pov

I stayed on my knees because standing felt impossible right now.

The rug burned through the fishnets. Ace’s hand stayed knotted in the wig patiently in the way a man is patient when he already knows he will be obeyed. He looked down at me like I was late for something he had paid for in advance and I could literally see he was losing his cool

“I don’t repeat myself,” he said, his voice lower and rougher than the voice I remembered. “Take it out. Or get out.”

My mouth opened and for one stupid second the truth sat on my tongue.

I wanted to tell him that Ace, it’s Maya. You used to let me fall asleep in your study when Miranda forgot I existed... but then the memory from the past crashed in and crushed that thought

Miranda had nearly gutted his empire. She had walked out of his bed and into Lorenzo’s and smiled while she did it. If I ripped this mask off inside Rossi walls and said I was her daughter, he might remember the quiet girl or he might see another knife wearing my mother’s blood. I couldn’t gamble which one.

He watched me freeze and the last of his patience left his face.

“If you can’t follow one simple order,” he said, already turning toward the door, “send someone who can.”

Panic hit so hard I tasted iron. If he walked away from this, the guards would haul me out, and the only man strong enough to stand against Lorenzo would be gone before I got a sentence out. I caught his wrist with both hands.

“Wait.”

He stopped, looked at my fingers on him and then at the mask.

“I can,” I said and my voice came out thin. “I just...”

He didn’t let the rest live. He hauled me up by the arm roughly like he has finally finished waiting. My heels skidded on the rug before my chest slammed into his and for a breath all I got was that old cologne under whiskey and smoke, and my stomach dropped the way it used to when he walked into a room and the air changed.

I hardly took three breaths before his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t soft like the careful thing Luca used to give me thinking I might crack. Ace bit my lower lip until I gasped, then shoved his tongue in after the sound and took the rest of my mouth like it belonged to him.

The kiss was deep wet and filthy, then his hand left my arm and locked around the back of my neck so I couldn’t turn away from it. The other hand feeling rough and hot dropped and closed over my breast through the thin dress. He squeezed hard and my nipple pulled tight so fast the ache shot straight down my stomach, and a noise broke out of me that I didn’t recognize as mine.

My whole body was betraying me but still, I tried to remember the speech I made and why I had walked into this room in the first place but all that came was another sound when his thumb dragged over the fabric and found the peak and rolled it slowly until the dress felt like nothing.

He made a low noise in his throat, it sounded almost like a deep laugh, and kissed me harder using his teeth and more tongue, the scrape of stubble burning my chin. My hips jerked without permission and heat flooded between my legs so sudden I felt the wet soak through the tiny scrap of underwear and stick to my skin.

No. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He had been my stepfather. He had sat at the end of the table while Miranda talked over me and once told a guard to stop staring at me too much...I know all that yet my body was shaking against him like it had been waiting for exactly this wrong thing.

He broke the kiss just enough to speak against my swollen mouth. His breath was hot and his hand stayed on my breast, thumb still moving slowly while I was trying to stick to reason

“There it is.”

I blinked feeling dizzy, my lips wet. “What?”

His hand slid down my ribs, over the dip of my waist, over my hip, and cupped me through the dress, he didn't push inside, just the full weight of his palm against the ache and I flinched. He felt it and the corner of his mouth moved.

“I can smell you,” he said his voice quiet and so sure of himself. “You’re soaked already. Didn’t even get my cock in your mouth... such a cute responsive slut.”

Shame burned up my neck so fast I thought the mask would fog. I shook my head, which was useless, because his fingers pressed slowly just once right where I was throbbing, and my thighs tried to close around his hand on their own. A broken sound left me and he answered it with one of his own that rumbled low in his chest and the sound went straight to the place he was touching. My knees nearly gave out but I grabbed his shirt just to stay upright.

This was wrong. I could taste how wrong it was under the whiskey on his tongue but the wildest thing was that despite knowing, that didn’t kill the pulse and instead qmade it worse. Every time I remembered whose hand was between my legs, my clit jumped like it wanted the memory too.

I got one shaking hand flat on his chest. “I need to talk...”

He kissed me deeper again before the sentence could finish, his mouth closing over mine with such impatience that whatever I had been trying to say disappeared almost immediately.

His hand tightened around my waist, drawing me closer while the other moved slowly down my back, and I found myself gripping his shirt as the kiss grew more demanding. I could taste the whiskey on his tongue, feel the rough scrape of his stubble against my chin, and every time I thought he was about to pull away, he only tilted his head and kissed me again.

It was infuriating how easily he distracted me, especially when I had spent so much time preparing for this conversation. Yet there I was, standing in his arms, struggling to remember the very words that could determine whether I made it out of the Rossi mansion.

His hand settled firmly against my lower back before sliding farther down, and the sudden pressure drew a startled breath from me. He used that moment to pull me closer until my chest was pressed against his, leaving barely enough room for me to breathe properly.

God, he was warm. Even through his clothes, I could feel the tension in his body, and when my fingers tightened around the front of his shirt, he seemed to take it as encouragement. The realization made my stomach twist because I wasn't even sure what I wanted anymore. I needed him to listen and understand why I had come here, but another part of me was still trying to make sense of how the quiet girl he once knew had ended up in this situation with him.

“Ace...”

His hand moved suddenly, coming down across my backside with a sharp smack that made me gasp and jerk against him. The sound seemed ridiculously loud in the otherwise quiet room, and I barely had time to process it before he did it again and it was harder this time. My fingers bunched in his shirt as the sting spread beneath my dress, and I pulled my mouth away just enough to look at him. He didn't seem remotely concerned about my surprise. If anything, the look in his eyes suggested he had been expecting exactly that reaction.

“Behave,” he said against my lips, his voice noticeably rougher. “Be a good girl and stop fighting me.”

I stared at him, my breathing uneven, and for several seconds I couldn't find a single sensible thing to say.

The nerve of this man. He had interrupted me, kissed away every attempt I made to explain myself, and now he was ordering me to behave as though I was the one making things difficult.

I should have been furious, and a part of me certainly was, but anger wasn't the only thing making my hands shake. There was the shock of his closeness, the confusion of being treated like a stranger by someone who had once known me, and the horrible realization that I was letting him distract me from the danger waiting outside this room.

I shifted against him, trying to recover enough space to think, but his grip remained firm and the movement only made me more aware of how closely he was watching me. He felt that too. A dark sound left him sounding pleased and mean, and he spanked me a third time, open palm, and swallowed the cry I made.

He walked me backward until my shoulders hit the wall, the impact jolting through me as one hand stayed at my throat, thumb resting heavy on the frantic jump of my pulse, it wasn’t closing but just holding me there while the other found the neckline of the dress and pulled.

The thin fabric gave way with a soft, wet tear, cool air rushing over my chest a second before he dragged it down and both breasts spilled free bare and heavy, nipples already tight and aching in the low light.

For a second he just looked, his breathing gone rough and uneven, and then his mouth dropped and closed over one. It was hot and wet, tongue dragging slow and deliberate over the peak before his teeth caught it and tugged.

The sensation was so insane that my head knocked the wall and a high broken sound ripped out of me as he sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, the pull deep and relentless while his free hand came up and rolled the other nipple between his fingers, pinching, tugging, mean and precise until every sharp pull shot straight between my legs.

I could hear the wet sound of his mouth working, my own ragged breathing, the small helpless noises I couldn’t keep in and my hips rolled against nothing and chasing pressure that wasn’t there, and I hated myself for it and did it again, thighs pressing tight as the ache bloomed wet and sudden.

“Sensitive,” he muttered against my skin, almost to himself. He bit gently then harshly, his teeth scraping before he soothed it with his tongue, and my thighs shook hard enough that my knees nearly gave. “Fuck. Listen to you.”

The mask and wig was still on but the dress was bunched around my waist and his mouth was on my breast and his hand had slid back down to cup me again, grinding the heel of his palm right where I was soaked through, and if he decided to pull the mask off before I explained... I was finished or worse.. I might get killed in his fit of anger

With that little reasoning, I pushed at his shoulder but I was weak making the motion useless, my fingers curling into his shirt instead of shoving as he spanked my bare skin this time where the dress had ridden up, the crack was louder, the sting sharper and brighter and fuckkk... the shock of it was making my eyes water while the heat sank straight into the throb between my legs.

“I said behave.”

His phone rang. The sound cut through everything. He went still against my chest, hiz breath hot and damp on my wet nipple, then he swore low under his breath and stepped back like I had stopped existing.

The sudden loss of his mouth and his hand was so sharp I swayed, skin cooling too fast where he had been, the ache left behind pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

He took the phone from his pocket and answered without even looking at me.

“What.”

One word. That was all, and somehow it was enough to make me realize that whatever had been happening between us was already over.

His voice had changed completely, losing every trace of the rough impatience from moments earlier and becoming something colder, sharper and frighteningly familiar.

I couldn't hear the person on the other end, but I watched Ace's face as he listened, and the transformation was almost disturbing. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowed slightly, and whatever he heard made the last traces of distraction disappear from his expression.

He was no longer looking at me, or paying attention to the girl standing against his wall with a ruined dress and trembling hands. His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder, as though he had already moved on to another problem entirely.

“When.”

I swallowed and looked down at myself, finally remembering that my dress was still hanging in a complete mess.

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I had managed to survive twenty-two years of embarrassment only to discover a brand-new level of humiliation inside Ace's space. I tried pulling the torn neckline together, but the fabric wouldn't stay where it belonged, and every attempt only made the damage more obvious. Meanwhile, the man responsible was calmly listening to his phone call as if he hadn't just turned my entire evening upside down.

His free hand moved to his cuff, straightening it with a casualness that almost offended me.

“I’m coming.”

He ended the call and immediately began putting himself back together, adjusting his clothes before reaching for his jacket.

His movements were controlled and unhurried, and not once did he glance in my direction. I stood there watching him, waiting for some acknowledgment or indication that he remembered I was still in the room, but nothing came. It was almost impressive how thoroughly he could dismiss someone without saying a single word.

And the worst part was that I couldn't even afford to be offended.

My whole body started to shake as the seriousness of my situation finally settled over me. I had walked into this room with one purpose, one very important reason for risking everything, and I still hadn't said the only sentence that mattered.

Ace didn't know who I was, why I had come, what Lorenzo was doing or why I needed his help so desperately. As far as he was concerned, I was probably just another masked stranger who had wandered into his room, and the thought made something cold settle in my stomach.

If he left now, what was I supposed to do?

I could run after him, grab his arm and blurt out my name, tell him about Miranda, Lorenzo and everything else before he had a chance to throw me out. But what if he didn't believe me? What if he decided this was another Rossi trick, another carefully arranged attempt to use him? I knew enough about Ace to understand that desperation wasn't something he trusted, and I had already given him far too many reasons to question my presence here.

My hands wouldn't stay still. I tried fixing the dress again, pulling the torn fabric together with numb fingers, but it was useless. The neckline wouldn't hold properly, and I could feel my face burning as I struggled with it. My wig had shifted slightly, too, and I hurriedly adjusted it before remembering that my mask was probably crooked.

Wonderful, Maya. Really wonderful.

He reached the door and I stopped moving.

For one horrible second, I thought that was it. My opportunity was gone, the twins were still trapped, Lorenzo still had control over everything, and the only man powerful enough to interfere was about to walk out without even knowing why I had come. My throat tightened as I stared at his back, trying to force myself to speak before it was too late, but the words refused to come.

His hand closed around the handle but then he stopped.

I hardly dared to breathe as he turned his head and looked back at me. His eyes moved over my crooked dress, the mask covering my face, the ridiculous wig and the way I was still standing against the wall with my hands desperately holding the torn fabric together. He took his time looking, and something unreadable crossed his expression, making my stomach twist all over again.

It wasn't softness. I knew that much. There was nothing particularly gentle about the way Ace looked at people, and whatever he was thinking now, he certainly wasn't about to share it with me.

“You’re coming with me,” he said.

It wasn't a question. He opened the door and waited, like the choice had already been made and I was only slow about walking through it.