His Virgin Stripper

30- Begging for a Lie

Marcello

I watched with deep satisfaction as the realization hit her like a physical punch straight to the gut.

The sudden change in her posture was instantaneous, her whole body freezing as the weight of my words anchored her to the floorboards.

I kept my gaze locked onto her face, watching closely with a dark sense of amusement as her eyes widened to the size of saucers, her pupils dilating in shock. It was a beautiful sight.

Her brain was working at a sprint, connecting the dots bit by bit, piecing together every event that had happened since we met. The shattered glass from the alleyway, the silent, armed men guarding the doors, the casual talk of execution in my office, and the size of this safe house.

The confusion was fading, replaced by a cold terror that made her skin go pale under the dim light.

My eyes moved slowly along the contours of her face with so much intensity it felt like a physical touch.

I tracked the curve of her jaw, the slight tremble in her bottom lip, and the way her eyebrows pulled together in utter disbelief, trying to commit every expression to my permanent memory.

The past forty-eight hours had been a blood-soaked blur of phone calls, strategy, and cleaning up the mess left by the ambush in the rental, but right now, the chaos of my world faded into the background.

I had missed this. I’d missed watching her dramatic performances, the raw, unfiltered honesty of her reactions in a world full of calculated liars and plastic smiles.

She didn't know how to hide what she was feeling, and it was intoxicating.

I inhaled a shallow breath through my nose, and the familiar, delicate scent of jasmine filled my lungs.

It was faint, nearly masked by the heavy scent of old leather and the lingering copper of blood on my own clothes, but it was there.

Sweeter than anything else in this room. A harsh realization pricked at the back of my mind—I’d miss her jasmine scent. Once the pieces were officially in play and the contract was set, things would change.

But right now, she was here, breathing the same air, filling my dark office with something pure.

My eyes drifted downward, settling on the soft curve of her lips. A sudden, violent pull tugged at my chest, a primal urge to lean down and kiss them once again just to feel the heat of her skin.

The memory of her soft lips pressed against mine while Roxy knocked at the door flashed vividly before my eyes, the ghost of her touch burning against my skin.

I wanted to taste that sweetness again, to drown out the bitter taste of gunpowder and betrayal that had been coating my tongue for days.

Sienna's voice suddenly snapped me right out of the trance.

"No," she whispered, the syllable slipping out of her like a small gasp. She took a step back, her boots scuffing against the thick rug as she shook her head aggressively, her hands rising to press against her temples. "No, no, no."

A high, strained laugh of disbelief escaped her throat, a sharp sound that rattled the quiet of the office. She looked up at me, her eyes wild, searching my features for any sign that I was playing some cruel joke on her.

"You can't be," she stammered, her voice cracking as she tried to force a smile that wouldn't form.

"Y-you're just a really rich man, right? A millionaire who's... whose rival is just incredibly jealous of his success? That's what this is. You're just a businessman who got caught up in some crazy corporate warfare... right?"

The desperation in her tone was loud, a frantic attempt to rebuild the wall of normalcy she had been clinging to since she woke up.

She wanted a lie. She was practically begging me to give her a version of reality that didn't involve human blood or organized crime.

A slow smirk crept up my lips, the sharp expression breaking the hard line of my mouth.

It was the first time I had really smiled in days, a genuine spark of dark humor cutting through the exhaustion that had been weighing down my shoulders since the ambush.

The absurdity of her denial was almost endearing.

I leaned back slightly, my hands still flat against the polished mahogany of the desk as I looked down at her.

My dark dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up past my forearms, and my tailored trousers sat low on my hips. I looked exactly like what I was—a man who had been working through a crisis, stripped of corporate pretense.

"Nope," I finally answered, my voice a low, gravelly rumble that offered no comfort, no lifeline for her denial to grasp onto. "I'm not the type to lie or joke around about these things, sweetheart."

The words landed heavily between us, shattering the last remaining illusion she had built. I watched closely as Sienna started panicking, the reality of her situation completely setting in.

Her breathing turned shallow and rapid, her chest heaving beneath her top as her eyes darted frantically around the room, tracking the closed windows, the heavy walls, and the locked door behind her like a trapped bird realizing the cage was solid iron.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves, her knuckles turning white as she began to spiral right in front of me.

She was losing her grip, her mind drowning in the implications of what I was. I could see the exact moment she realized she was alone in a fortified mansion with a man who could end a life with a single nod of his head.

I let my eyes trace the line of her throat as she swallowed hard, her pulse jumping erratically against her skin. The vulnerability of her stance made something primal stir in my gut, but I kept my posture relaxed, anchoring my weight against the mahogany wood.

I decided she had spun enough. It was time to pull her back to the ground before she completely fractured.

"That's enough, don't you think?" I said, my tone shifting, dropping the teasing edge and replacing it with the cold, authoritative weight she needed to hear.

I straightened my spine, pulling my hands off the desk and running a hand down the front of my crisp dress shirt, ensuring the dark fabric sat neatly against my chest. "Let's talk about the contract."

The word hit the air like a command. Sienna paused instantly, her frantic movements freezing as she looked up at me through the fringe of her hair.

The panic was still vibrating in her wide eyes, but the mention of the agreement seemed to force her back into the present moment.

She stood entirely still, her gaze darting from my face to the heavy mahogany door beside her.

I tracked the subtle shift in her weight, the way her shoulders angled toward the exit, her body language radiating a desperate, survival instinct.

She looked like she wanted to make a run for the door, to throw her weight against the wood and sprint into the hallway without looking back.

A dark feeling settled into my chest as I watched her evaluate her chances.

Good thing I locked it.