A Gift To The Mafia king: Luis's Obsession

Chapter 4: The first touch

Elena's POV

He stood in my doorway with his hands shaking, and I did not know if I should run or stay.

But there was nowhere to run, and my legs would not move anyway, so I stayed. I pressed my back against the wall, and I watched him, and I waited to see if he had come to end me.

Luis Montero did not move. He stood there with one foot in the room and one foot in the hallway, and his black eyes stayed on my face. His chest was still rising and falling too fast, and his hands were still shaking at his sides.

The snow continued to fall outside the window, the room was cold and dark, and neither of us spoke.

Then he stepped inside.

He did not close the door behind him. He left it open, like he wanted to remind me that I could not leave even if the door was wide open. Guards were in the hallway, and I knew because I could hear their boots on the stone floor. So there was nowhere to run.

He walked toward me, and his steps were slow, like he was trying to control something inside himself. He stopped when he was close enough to touch me, and he was too close for comfort. He was close enough that I could literally smell him again. I could smell his cologne, his smoke, and something wild that I still could not name.

I did not move or flinch. I just kept my back against the wall and my eyes on his face.

He looked down at me, and his black eyes moved over my face like he was searching for something. I did not know what he was searching for, and I did not know if he found it.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he asked. His voice was low and rough.

I steadied myself before responding, because I did not want to show fear or weakness.

"Like what?" I asked with a firm voice.

He tilted his head. "Like you are trying to see something no one else can see."

I looked at him, staring straight at his black eyes and the scar on his face and the way his hands would not stop shaking. I looked at the man who had killed without blinking, and at the same man who had told me I was not a prisoner.

"Maybe I am," I said.

Something flickered across his face that looked like surprise, or confusion. He was probably not used to people or rather peace offerings, as the men had called me, answer him like that. He was not used to people looking at him like that.

He raised his hand, and I held my breath. But I did not flinch, or close my eyes. I kept them open and watched as his hand came closer to my face.

His fingers touched my cheek gently.

His skin was warm, but his fingers were rough, and covered in scars and calluses from years of violence. But his touch was gentle. So gentle that it made my chest hurt.

He did not grab me, or hit me. He just held his hand against my cheek, and his thumb moved slowly across my skin, like he was trying to memorize the shape of my face.

I did not pull away, even though I should have.

I should have turned my head, or I should have done something to stop him. But I did not move. I just let him touch me, and I did not know why.

His hand was still shaking even against my skin, but I noticed the shake had reduced the minute he touched my face.

"Why are you not afraid of me?" he whispered.

I thought about his question. I thought about the warehouse and the blood and the gunshot that was so loud it made my ears ring. I thought about the man whom I had watched kill, and the man standing in front of me with his hand on my cheek right now.

"Who says I am not afraid?" I said.

"Your eyes," he said. "They do not look at me like I am a monster."

"Maybe that is because I have seen worse monsters than you."

His eyes widened just a little, and just for a second. Then his face went still again, and he leaned closer.

I felt his breath on my lips, like he was going to kiss me.

I knew it before he did it. I could see it in his eyes, and I could feel it in the way his hand moved from my cheek to the back of my neck.

Then he actually kissed me.

It was not soft, neither was it gentle. It was hard, desperate and hungry, like he had been starving for a very long time and I was the first food he had seen in years. His mouth moved against mine, and his hand tightened on the back of my neck, as he pulled me closer.

I did not kiss him back, but I did not push him away either. I just stood there with my back against the wall and my hands at my sides, and I let him kiss me.

His other hand went to my waist, as his fingers dug into my hip, and he pushed me harder against the wall. His body was pressed against mine, and I could feel how much he wanted me. I could feel it in the way his heart pounded against my chest, and the way his breath came faster and faster.

His mouth left mine and moved to my neck.

I felt his teeth on my skin. It was not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to remind me that he could hurt me if he wanted to. He pressed his lips to the spot where my neck met my shoulder, and I felt him breathe me in.

He was shaking.

His whole body was shaking. His hands, his chest, and his breath. He was shaking like he was trying to hold something back, like he was fighting a war inside himself and he was not sure if he was going to win.

I did not move, and I did not speak. I just stood there with my back against the wall and let him hold me.

And then he stopped.

He pulled back so fast that I almost fell forward. His chest was heaving, his eyes were wild, and his hands were still shaking. He looked at me like he had just woken up from a nightmare.

"I cannot," he said.

His voice was broken, and cracked. Like glass that had been shattered and glued back together too many times.

He stepped back. Then he stepped back again. He put enough distance between us, and he looked at me like I was something dangerous, and something that could destroy him if he got too close.

"I cannot," he said again.

Then he turned and walked to the door. He did not look back, he just walked out of the room, and his boots echoed on the stone floor, as the door closed behind him.

I heard the lock click, and I released the breath I had been holding, because I was finally alone again.

I stood there for a long time with my back against the wall. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it would break through my ribs. My lips were tingling, and my neck was warm where his mouth had been.

I raised my hand and touched my lips.

They tasted like him, and like smoke.

I should have been terrified, or crying, or I should have been begging someone to let me go.

But I was not terrified.

And that realization terrified me more than anything else.