Dark Queen - Ker Dukey Page 0,18

to cancer. Her family owns a farm, but it’s in fucking debt. She moved to the big city to go it alone.”

“Are you writing a book on the needy?” I snap. “I don’t give a fuck about any of that. And why the hell do you know all of that shit?” I run a hand through my hair, agitated. Every nerve ending is lit without an outlet.

Marcello leans back on the leather couch he uses instead of an office chair, his laptop set up on a coffee table. “Of course, I was going to look into who the hell she was, Luca. You put half a million down for her.”

My eyes narrow on him, pinning him to his seat. “That was Mother’s money. She’d want it to go to something she loved. It wasn’t for some fucking stranger who means nothing. Don’t get it twisted.”

I hate that I got her a place, that Marcello was with me that day and saw our interaction. I feel vulnerable, exposed, and I can’t have that.

“Fire her, Marcello, or I’ll cut off your balls,” I warn. Exiting his office, I slam the door against the back wall, hearing the faint thud as something falls.

Entering my office, I flick the lock and lean against the wall. Freeing my cock from my slacks, it’s heavy in my palm.

The air from the room chases over my shaft, and I hiss out. Gripping the throbbing head, I fuck my fist, thinking about Alyssa’s shocked eyes, parted lips, and accelerated breathing.

If I would have dipped into the waistband of her panties, she would have been soaked. The girl wasn’t intimidated by me, and that made her either stupid or brave.

Both.

I want to fuck her pretty, pouty mouth, eat her wet pussy until she’s crying for mercy, all while fingering her tight little ass that’s no doubt never been touched.

“Shit,” I rasp, stroking harder. My balls tighten. Warmth spreads over my thighs and up my spine. Her hard nipples come to mind, pushing me over the edge.

“Fuck…” Ribbons of cum spurt pulsing from my bulging head. It’s not enough.

Dammit, I’m going to kill Marcello.

Chapter Fourteen

Alyssa

“How do you know him?” Hannah asks, offering me a towel. I’d rushed to the staff bathroom needing to clean the wound.

I watch her through the mirror placed above a large basin.

“He was at my ballet school the day I auditioned.” I inhale, trying to regain my equilibrium. He knocked me off kilter.

“Is he affiliated with Swan somehow?” I ask, breathless, clutching the sides of the basin to steady myself.

Crossing her arms, she shakes her head, leaning against the tiled wall, examining me. “Not that I know of, but the Leto’s have their name in everything, so who knows.”

She places a hand on my arm, her brow dipping low. “They’re dangerous men, Alyssa. Be careful, okay?”

Silence sits between us for a second and then she’s leaving, the door closes with her exit, and my head races.

What does she mean dangerous? In what way?

My hands jitter the effect of him still coursing through my body.

Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths before checking myself in the mirror, “you’re fine, it’s all fine.”

The bleeding has stopped, so I splash some cold water on my cheeks straighten my shirt and head back out to finish my shift.

I work the next hour, the constant feeling of being watched making my skin itch.

Every nerve in my body is raw. I just want to go back to my room and try to unpack everything that’s happened and make sense of it all.

Clearing my last table of wine glasses, I turn and almost drop them when dark orbs track my movements from a barstool.

Like Mr. Leto, this man is dressed impeccably, but his toothy grin is nothing like the predatory one belonging to his friend.

“It’s you,” I breathe, squinting my eyes at him.

“It’s you.” He taps his palm on the stool next to him.

“You’re a Leto,” I say, the pieces coming together like a lightbulb turning on.

“You’re perceptive, but no. We’re actually related through our mothers. I’m Marcello Benetti.” He offers his hand for me to shake, and I timidly give it a quick tug.

My hand is so much smaller than his, it becomes cocooned in his palm.

“But you are related,” I state. Slipping onto the barstool next to him, I fist my hands in my lap, wishing I had the little ballerina doll to jab into my thigh to relieve the anxiety Hannah’s warning left me with.

“Cousins, but more like