Bound by power and desire

Chapter 3

Oh, Lord, just confess already. Are you a human trafficker? Some shady business owner? A cult leader?

The penthouse was actually penthousing.

When he'd said "penthouse" initially, I'd pictured something decent. Middle-income. A nice view, maybe. But this? This was a different stratosphere entirely.

The chandeliers. The crystal. The furniture, each piece gleaming under the soft lighting, screaming money in a language I didn't speak.

Floor to ceiling windows stretched across the entire wall, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The kind of view that made you feel like you were floating above the world. The kind of view that reminded you how small you really were.

I turned to look at him, my hands going cold. My heartbreak seemed to have evaporated, replaced by something sharper. Instinct. Caution. The detective in me clawing her way back to the surface.

He'd seen it. Of course he had. A flicker of amusement crossed his green eyes.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice smooth as the whiskey I'd been drinking. "You're safe with me."

I didn't know why, but I trusted him. Somehow.

Strange, right? A detective always on her guard. Always looking for the lie. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And yet here I was, standing in a stranger's penthouse, believing him when he said I was safe.

I exhaled and sat on the sofa. The leather was buttery soft. It probably cost more than my monthly rent.

The silence stretched. I suddenly seemed to forget the creepy situation I was in, the unspoken mystery of his money, the fact that I'd just walked into a stranger's home, as my mind drifted back. Back to the image of Adrian kissing Sienna. Back to her smirk. Back to his shrug.

"At least thanks for giving me the taste of what it's like to be with the perfect, hot detective, Kendra Davenport."

The house was silent except for the soft hum of the city below. Hanging in the air was just the unspoken source of his wealth and the sound of Sergio's steps as he came and sat near me.

And suddenly, I just started ranting.

"For five years, I did everything for him," I heard myself say, the words tumbling out like a dam had broken. "Financial support. Emotional support. Everything. And he just left me for my stepsister. Said I was only busy." I laughed bitterly. "Mind you, it was that work that paid for his rent. A good number of times."

The words kept coming. Years of resentment. Years of making excuses for a man who never made excuses for me. Years of convincing myself I was the problem.

Sergio shifted closer, passing an arm around my shoulders. His warmth seeped through my jacket.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

He held me close for a long time. Close enough to smell his cologne, something woodsy and expensive, and hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his chest. I shifted closer. The heat emanating from him was so comforting. So safe.

The silence stretched. He didn't say anything. Didn't try to fill it with questions or platitudes or empty reassurances. He just held me and drew slow, soothing circles on my arm. Patient. Present. There.

Once the pain seemed to have subsided, once the tears had dried and the trembling had stopped, I raised my head.

Our gazes met.

His green eyes were soft now. Unreadable, still, but softer. Like he was seeing me. The real me. The broken me. The me I never let anyone see.

I leaned in and kissed him.

His hand stilled on my arm. For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't respond. I thought I'd made a mistake.

Then slowly, he answered.

The kiss was thorough. Exploring. Not demanding, not hurried. He kissed me like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize every detail. We were both breathless when we broke apart.

"Kendra," he said, his voice rough. "Is this really what you want?"

Oh, Lord, Sergio. If only you knew.

I'd spent five years giving myself to someone who never truly wanted me. I'd spent five years convincing myself that love meant sacrifice, that devotion meant erasing my own needs. I'd spent five years being invisible.

Tonight, I wanted to be seen.

"More than anything," I whispered, leaning closer.

He studied me for a long moment. Searching. Weighing. Then he stood up.

He bent down and scooped me into his arms, effortlessly, like I weighed nothing, before carrying me upstairs.

He set me down on the bed slowly. Way too slowly. Like I was something precious. Like I wasn't already broken.

Like he was afraid I might shatter.

He captured my lips in a bruising kiss, his hands already sliding beneath my top, hungry and impatient. I whimpered into his mouth, my fingers tangling deep in his hair to pull him closer.

With a deft movement, he unhooked my bra, freeing my breasts to the cool air before his palm cupped one firmly. His thumb found my n****e, rolling and flicking the sensitive peak until I was arching against him, a low moan vibrating in my throat.