Chapter 4 - Exclusive
1461 Words
She was on his bed again.
Only this time, the room felt different.
Siena knelt between his thighs, naked and waiting, her hands resting gently on his knees. There was no sound. Just the shallow sound of his own breath and the throb of something deep in his chest that didn’t make sense.
Her eyes lifted to his.
Not sultry. Not shy. It’s like it’s searching for something to him.
And that unsettled him more than anything else.
She touched him, not rough, not fast, but just slowly, like she had all the time in the world. Her fingers wrapped around his c**k, stroking him with this calm patience he hadn’t earned. Her eyes never left his. She was watching him too closely, like she wasn’t there just to please him, like she was reading something he didn’t want her to find.
“Why do you look at me like that?” he asked, voice low, heavy.
Her mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“You tell me.”
She leaned forward and took him into her mouth.
Warm. Wet. Perfect for him.
He groaned unintentionally as her lips moved down, tongue sliding against him like she’d been made for this. Her pace was unhurried, torturous, like she knew she had him on edge and didn’t care how much he needed more.
His hand fisted in her hair. He wanted to take over. To f**k her throat until his head emptied.
But she pulled back before he could.
Her hand stroked him slowly, deliberately, teasing.
“You only f**k me when you want to forget,” she said softly.
He stilled.
“What did you say?”
He tried to push her off, tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t open.
Her eyes locked on his, dark and endless.
“You’ll never get me out of your head, Rocco,” she whispered. “Even if you kill me.”
He jolted awake. His chest rising and falling while his sheets tangled. Sweat clinging to his skin. His c**k still hard and aching.
His hand shot to the nightstand. Grabbed his phone.
There was only one number he could think to call.
“Mr. Montenegro,” the woman said, calm and smooth as always. “Need some assistance late at night?”
“I want to book her.”
“Who, sir? Would you like Siena again this time?”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “Now.”
There was a pause.
Then, “I’m afraid she’s already booked, sir.”
His jaw clenched.
“Cancel it,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Montenegro, but the client has confirmed and paid in advance. She’s unavailable until Sunday.”
‘s**t’, he murmured.
“Shall I offer someone else?” the woman asked, carefully.
“No,” he said. “Don’t send anyone.”
He ended the call without another word.
The phone dropped to the table beside him with a dull thud.
Rocco sat there in silence, the tension coiled tight in his chest like a loaded gun.
He couldn’t sleep again that night.
The next days had drained him.
Hours of board meetings, investor calls, and security briefings. Rocco nodded when he had to, signed what needed signing, and responded in clipped. That was fine. Let them believe he was just a polished billionaire with bloodless hands. Montenegro Industries expanding, dominating, thriving. They had no idea what really kept his empire running.
He wore the lie well.
But by nightfall, the suit felt like a skin he couldn’t peel off fast enough.
He spent an hour in the gym trying to wear himself down. Ten rounds on the bag. Pull-ups until his arms burned. Cold shower. Whiskey.
Still not enough.
Three days.
Three f*****g days since the agency told him she was "unavailable."
That shouldn’t matter.She was just a body. One of many. A warm place to forget things.
So why the hell did it feel like a hole in his chest every time he thought of her name?
He needed to get this out of his system.
So he called a different agency.
He told them he didn’t want to get talkers. He just wanted someone who would do what she was told and leave after.
They sent someone within an hour.
She was tall and blonde.
Too eager.
The moment she stepped through the door, she smiled too wide. Stepped too close. Her perfume was too strong. She wore a tight dress and tried to press her hands against his chest before he even said a word.
“I’ve heard about you,” she purred, fingers sliding up his shirt. “They say you don’t call twice. I must’ve made the cut.”
He stared at her blankly. She didn’t notice. Just kept talking.
“I don’t need warm-up. You can do whatever you want with me. Choke me. Tie me. I’ve had worse.”
He turned away and poured himself a drink, hoping the burn would numb the tension behind his eyes.
When he turned back, she was already pulling her dress down, breasts exposed, smiling like she thought it was seduction.
“Do you like that?” she asked, voice breathy. “Want me on my knees for you?”
He didn’t answer. He looked at her flawless body, polished face, trying too hard, and felt nothing.
Nothing.
She leaned forward to kiss him.
That was the final straw.
“Put your dress back on,” he said coldly.
She blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But I thought—”
“Leave or I’ll shot your head?”
Her face froze, confused then fear showed on her face and immediately dressed and went out.
Rocco didn’t flinch the moment the door clicked shut. He let out a breath through his nose and dropped the untouched whiskey back onto the table.
The next day, he felt like he wanted to heat up his hand. He went to the abandoned building that they owned and went to the basement.
Rocco didn’t need to announce his presence. The guards posted outside the unmarked steel door simply stepped aside as he approached, their eyes averted.
The basement reeked of oil, rust, and old blood. The concrete walls were stained. A single overhead bulb buzzed above the chair in the center of the room.
And in that chair, there’s a man sat, wrists bound, head slumped forward.
Two guards flanked him. One of them looked away when Rocco entered.
He didn’t speak at first. As he should.
Rocco walked toward the man slowly, removing the gloves from his coat pocket, flexing his fingers as he slid them on.
“You opened the wrong crate,” Rocco said quietly. “That’s not just sloppy. That’s stupid.”
The man’s lips trembled. “It wasn’t me, I swear. I checked everything—”
“No,” Rocco cut him off. “You didn’t.”
His tone was flat. Dry.
He stepped forward and kicked the man in the chest, hard. The body crashed backward, gasping as the air left his lungs.
Rocco didn’t shout. He never did.
He just knelt down, wrapped one hand around the man’s jaw, and forced him to look up.
“You cost me thirty million euros,” he said coldly. “And worse… you made me look weak.”
The man tried to speak, but Rocco drove his fist into his face before he could.
Blood spattered the floor.
By the time he stood up, the man was broken. Breathing. But barely.
Rocco turned to the guards.
“Strip him. Dump him at the docks. Make it obvious.”
One of the guards shifted. “Obvious, sir?”
“Yes,” Rocco said, already turning away. “I want the next bastard who gets careless to see what it costs.”
He lit a cigarette as he stepped outside into the night air. The wind was sharp, cutting. He inhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl past the collar of his coat.
He reached for his phone and called the agency.
“Mr. Montenegro,” the handler answered quickly. “We weren’t expecting—”
“Cancel her current booking.”
A pause.
“Siena, sir?” she clarified.
“Yes.”
“She’s currently under a premium client agreement. Scheduled through Sunday—”
“I’ll triple the rate.”
The line was quiet.
“I’ll speak to her—”
“No,” he snapped. “You won’t speak to her. You’ll pull her. Immediately. Then you’ll send me an exclusivity contract. Long-term. I want her exclusively.”
The woman hesitated, but she knew better than to argue.
“Yes, sir.”
He ended the call.
- Writer
