Adelina's POV
Mental note to self: First, change phone password. Second, never hide things from Lukas… unless I want to end up breathless, pinned against a wall, and questioning all my life decisions — especially the ones involving my poor phone left unattended within his reach.
Because apparently, the man doesn't knock, doesn't ask, and definitely doesn't wait.
He finds out everything. Everything.
And that damn birthday password? Stupid. So stupid. Why am I like this?
I rubbed my lips, still tingling from the kiss that felt more like a storm than affection. Who kisses like that before sunrise? My mafia maniac does — like he owns me, body and soul.
And worst of all?
I think I liked it.
Scratch that — I loved it.
My knees still felt like jelly, my chest ached with the aftershocks of how deeply he kissed me, how he looked at me like I was his religion, his battlefield, and his home.
And now… now he's declared he's staying with me?
Oh god. My room. My closet. My snacks. My secret journal.I need a plan. A good one. A survival one.
Because Lukas isn't just staying.
He's invading.
And I'm not even mad about it.
I sighed, reluctantly nodding in defeat — because let's face it, saying no to Lukas was like telling a storm to calm down. Useless.
And just when I thought he would let it go…
That signature smirk curved on his lips — dangerous and delicious. The kind that promised trouble… the kind I never seem to walk away from.
He leaned in, his voice dropping low against my ear, laced with heat and wickedness.
"You could barely handle a kiss, doll… how are you going to handle me when I'm inside you..."He paused, letting the silence burn."Deep."
My breath hitched. A traitorous shiver ran down my spine. My eyes widened in disbelief — and heat. Flustered? That would be an understatement.
I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks, my mind going blank as every nerve in my body reacted to him.
This man was sin wrapped in a tailored black shirt. And I was completely, utterly, stupidly addicted.
Mental Note: Never sit too close to Lukas unless you're prepared to lose your sanity.
The day started like any other. A few meetings. Some calls. A presentation to finish. I was in CEO mode. Composed. Confident. Dressed in a sleek ivory blouse tucked into a high-slit pencil skirt, I had every intention of staying professional.
But Lukas… Lukas had other plans.
From the moment I walked into the study, laptop in hand, he was already lounging on the couch, shirt unbuttoned halfway, hair tousled, those dangerous eyes following me like a predator watching its prey.
"Don't stare," I warned playfully.
"I wasn't," he said. "I was undressing you in my head."
I rolled my eyes and turned away, but heat pooled low in my belly.
I took my seat, started my virtual call, and began presenting quarterly stats to my board. Just two minutes in, I felt movement. His fingers slipped under the slit of my skirt, resting dangerously high on my thigh.
I flinched but didn't move. Couldn't.
"Behave," I muttered between clenched teeth.
His reply was a soft, infuriating whisper against my ear:"Make me."
He didn't stop there. His hand stayed — warm, firm, teasing — fingers tracing slow circles like he had all the time in the world. Then, just when I was mid-sentence, his fingers slid a breath higher, just enough to make me bite my lip to stop a moan.
I shifted in my seat. My pulse was a wild thing.
The board asked a question. I stuttered. Lukas smirked. I glared.
But it didn't end.
Later, while I was writing an email, he walked behind me, brushing my hair aside and kissing the back of my neck — slow, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver racing down my spine.
"You taste like trouble," he murmured.
"I'm working."
He chuckled darkly. "Not for long."
He pulled me back against his chest, one hand sliding under my blouse — not hurried, just a warning. A silent promise. His lips brushed the shell of my ear.
"I love watching you squirm, doll."
I pushed him away, cheeks flushed. "You're evil."
"Only for you."
But the final straw? It was dinner. I invited a few colleagues over. Lukas sat next to me like a gentleman — until under the table, his hand found my bare thigh again. This time, he didn't stop. He didn't even pretend to be innocent. He caressed, he teased, he drove me to the edge.
I nearly knocked over my wine glass when he leaned over, voice low:
"You're dripping, aren't you?"
I froze. He chuckled softly. No one else heard. But I was undone.
After they left, I stormed into the living room, heart racing."Do you have any idea how distracting you are?"
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the devil in his eyes."That's the point, sweetheart. You're mine. I want your mind messed up. Your body craving. Your thoughts soaked in me."
I didn't know whether to slap him or kiss him.
So I did both.But mostly the second.
This man was going to break me.
And the worst part? I was starting to want him to.
Lukas had a way of creeping into my space like smoke—thick, suffocating, addictive. Every time I tried to focus, his presence was like a heatwave crashing into my spine. I could barely breathe.
I was in the middle of an important call with board members when he walked in, shirtless, hair damp, muscles flexing with every step. He didn't say a word—just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes burning into my skin like I was already naked.
His gaze was shameless. And it made my voice hitch mid-sentence.
He smirked. He knew what he was doing.
While I struggled to finish my report, his footsteps padded closer behind me. I didn't even have time to react when his hand slid under the table—bold, slow, fingers splaying over my thigh. My breath caught. My hand trembled on the mousepad.
"Keep talking, sweetheart," he whispered darkly near my ear. "Don't mind me."
I choked on my next word as his fingers edged higher—just beneath the hem of my silk shorts, thumb brushing the inside of my thigh. I nearly dropped the laptop.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Could only feel.
His breath tickled my ear. "You're soaked. From just this?"I whimpered. God, I hated him. But I needed him more.
I ended the call with a lie about network issues and barely turned around before he pulled me into his lap, straddling him instinctively. His hands gripped my waist like he owned me.
"You're playing with fire," I whispered.
"I am fire," he growled. "And you're going to burn for me."
And then he kissed me. No—devoured me.
His lips claimed mine with a hunger that stole air from my lungs, like he wanted to erase the space between us, mark me from the inside out. Teeth grazed my bottom lip, hands sliding under my top, thumbs stroking over sensitive skin. His kiss was rough, dirty—tongue tangled with mine, desperate and possessive.
I gasped into his mouth, grinding against him involuntarily. I was melting, falling, unraveling under his touch. I couldn't stop. Didn't want to.
And just when I thought he'd take me apart completely… he stopped.
Pulled back with his breath still heavy, lips swollen, his voice like velvet over a blade. "Not yet."
I blinked. "W-What?"
He smirked, brushing my hair behind my ear. "Not until you beg."
And then he stood, adjusted his sweatpants, and walked away—like he hadn't just left me soaked, breathless, and aching for more.
I collapsed onto the couch, lips parted, heart hammering, thighs clenched. I was furious. Turned on. And hopelessly, irreversibly his.
I sat there, still trembling from the storm he'd left in my body. My lips were swollen. My thighs still ached. My pride? In tatters.
But two could play this game.
I smirked to myself, brushing my tousled hair back from my face as I stood, already plotting.
"Enjoy your little victory, Mr. Mafia," I whispered to the empty hallway, my voice laced with wicked promise."Tomorrow, I'll make sure it's you who begs."
He thought I was just his doll—his to tease, to touch, to torment?
Fine.Let's see how well the king handles losing control.
Game on.