by Jagger Cole
One thing Viv said does ring out though. My war is not over. And the part of it I’ve already fought fifteen years for did rob me of a childhood. It robbed me of growing up at the pace people should. I learned to shave with a field knife. My first beer was stolen in a raid on a police station and shared with four other guerrillas. I learned to drive with one hand holding a gun. My first woman was… well, it was not a romantic affair.
When I look at Claire, I don’t simply see a woman I want, carnally. I do want to claim her in every fucking way a man can claim a woman, of course. I want to taste every goddamn inch of her skin and learn what makes her gasp for more. I want to feel her tight heat around me when I take her for the first time. But more than that, I see a life I was denied. I see a future of happiness with her. God help me, I see a wife.
I pull my phone back out and bring up my security system. I am unashamed to admit I’ve spied in on her almost daily. And yet, either because she somehow knows about the cameras, or bad timing, I’ve yet to see what I desire to see. But this time, fate is kind to me. Her bathroom door opens, and I hiss quietly. Claire steps out in a billow of steam, wrapped in a soft white towel. She walks into the front-facing master bedroom of her quarters. I switch cameras to follow her. I might have the whole security system streamed to my phone. But her quarters are blocked from the rest of the security team and guards.
Only I can see her. She’s for my eyes, no one else’s.
The towel drops, and I growl. My cock hardens like steel in my pants. I reach down to cup myself, and I groan. Claire finishes drying her hair and then turns to look in the full-length mirror. Her hands slide over herself, and my jaw tightens along with my grip on myself. How I want to throw her down on that bed and have her. Or against the very mirror she’s looking at herself in.
But then she reaches for a bra and panties. Silk pajamas follow, and I scowl. My treat has been taken from me. For a moment, I consider finishing myself what she started. But I don’t. No, my lust and my seed are for her only.
I stand and storm back into my room. I pour myself a heavy drink instead and gulp half of it down on my way back outside. I think about going to her. I think about pounding down her door, marching in there, and taking from her what I please. And the thing is, I’m certain Claire would willingly give me what I want. But what I told her before stays true, and I won’t be shaken from that course.
I sit in my chair and gaze out over the moonlit city I bled for. No, I won’t just take Claire. I’ll take her when she’s fucking begging me for it. After that though, there’s not a power on earth that will take me from her.
8
Claire
For the fourth night, sleep doesn’t come easy. Based on the comfort that surrounds me, it should, of course. The bed is absolutely perfect, and huge. It feels like I’m swimming in it when I sink into it at night. The sheets are exquisite and soft, and the pillows are orgasmic. The rooms themselves are all temperature controlled. But I can also turn off the air and open the big doors to the balcony to let the sea air in. That’s what I’ve been doing most nights and gazing out at the twinkling lights of the beautiful city of Catone below.
But still, I can’t sleep. I know the easy answer is that I’m somewhere new. The even easier answer is that I’m being held here—and I am being held, no matter how much I secretly fantasize about the man keeping me. Enzo Amantea is gorgeous, tempting, and captivating. But he’s still who he is. Four days into my stay in Bullogia, it’s clear that he’s been at least partly maligned by the world media. He most certainly is not the bloodthirsty usurper some news outlets have made him out to be. And yet, he’s also not a saint.
He does want what’s best for his country. I can see that. But he doesn’t always do it in the smoothest way. Or in the most courteous way. For all of Enzo’s talk about not surrounding himself with yes-men, he is surrounded by a lot of them. His second in command, Giotto, does seem to be the one who can give him his shit right back. But at the end of the day, Enzo is king. And the king does what he will.
The other reason for sleep not coming could be that I’m mostly a little bored. After that first night here when I had dinner with him, and when he kissed me, I’ve barely seen Enzo. Or at least, I don’t see him alone. He’s given me access to some of his meetings and daily “ruling a kingdom” type stuff. That all has been helpful for the story I’m framing and putting together on a post-uprising Bullogia. But it’s not giving me any real insight into him personally. And I’m starting to wonder if our lack of time together is on purpose.
I know I should be more than okay with this. After all, I’m getting the story of a lifetime. And with Enzo keeping his distance, there’s a lack of… temptation. Even being who he is, and with me essentially being kept here in the palace, if he came for me like he promised to do, I’m fairly certain “no” wouldn’t be a word in my vocabulary.
If Enzo Amantea wanted me, I know I’d be his. Even if it was for one night.
I mean, the man is undeniable. He’s pure sex, like he was built for pleasure. Just yesterday, I was meandering around an outdoor walkway that looked over the inner courtyard of the palace and caught sight of Enzo doing laps in a lavish garden pool. I mean how many heads of state do you know with a body like a Greek statue with abs that might as well be photoshopped?
Beyond the obvious physical traits though, Enzo also seems to carry this aura of power around him. He’s a natural leader, because people want to please him. He enters a room and sucks the air out of with his sheer presence. Men want to be him, and it’s not without jealousy that I’ve watched women in his court meetings look at him with one thing on their minds.
The main reason I can’t sleep is Enzo himself. It’s my fourth night here, and I can’t pretend it’s anything else anymore. Just like I can’t pretend the underlying issue isn’t desire. Even with what he is and knowing he’s the subject of the story of my career, I can’t help it. Deep down, and maybe not even that deep, I want Enzo Amantea to have me. I want him to take me, and that both terrifies and confuses me.
I’ve never even been attracted to men like him. I’ve never had a single interest in “alpha” types. It could be that Enzo is different. Or, it could be that he’s simply so incredibly alpha and so incredible self-assured of every decision he makes that it’s what I’ve always secretly craved but never found.
Under my covers, I tremble. My core tightens as I think about him. My skin tingles when I remember him in the pool the other day. When I think about how he kissed me, my heart skips, and my body craves more. For a moment, my hand begins to slide low under the covers. But just as my fingertips slip under the waist of my silk pajamas, I stop myself.
God, what am I doing? Enzo is undeniable because no one denies him. But it’s my job to do just that. I have to deny him, and resist him. I’m here for the story. The fact that my story kissed me like a man has never once kissed me can’t be the focus here. Besides, I think with a blush. Who knows if he has fucking cameras in here. My cheeks redden at the thought. After all, I’ve changed a dozen times, and showered every day since I got here. If there are hidden cameras in my quarters, Enzo has already seen almost everything he can see.
I force my eyes closed and try and take slow breaths. It’s not like I have anything on my schedule tomorrow except following Enzo’s palace entourage around. But I need to sleep. Or at least, I need to stop fantasizing about him. I lay there and think about him coming to my quarters. I imagine him coming in without asking permission, and then sliding over me in this very bed.
The visual is so real that I can almost hear him crossing the floor towards the bed. But then suddenly, I know it’s not a dream. I hear a creak, and my eyes fly open. The scream catches like ice in my throat, and my eyes widen in horror. Ten feet from the foot of my bed, staring at me with a snarl, is a man dressed in black, holding a huge knife.
I start to scream, but the man lunges towards me like he’s got fucking superpowers. His weight crashes into me, and h
is hand on my mouth muffles my scream of terror. The cold edge of the knife presses to my throat, and tears cloud my eyes.
“So Enzo has a new little plaything,” the man hisses in accented English. “Tonight, he sees how his little toys get broken when he leaves them unattended.”
The man raises the knife, and I scream with every ounce of my strength, even if it’s muffled. But suddenly, I hear the sound of a door splintering. The man pinning me down starts to turn, and something suddenly lunges across the bedroom into him. My attacker grunts and topples off the bed, and the dark figure lands on top of him. My adrenaline is on free-flow, and it takes me a second to realize the man standing over my attacker is Enzo.
He deftly grabs the man by the shirt and pounds a fist into his face three times. The attacker drops the huge knife. Without even blinking, Enzo grabs it, pulls the man into a chokehold, and sinks the knife to the hilt in the attacker’s throat.
I scream, over and over as Enzo drops the body and moves towards me. I’m still screaming when he wraps me in his arms tightly. But the strength in those arms and the heat of his body are like a balm. I stop screaming, and I cling to him. My eyes are wide, and I stare at the dead man on the floor. Enzo holds me tightly and strokes my back.
“You’re safe now, Claire,” he says with surety. “I’m here, and nothing is going to happen to you.” He pulls away, and our eyes lock inches apart. “You’re mine, pretty girl,” he growls. “And I will kill to protect what’s mine.”
His lips find mine, and I let all my guard down when I kiss him back. I’m still kissing him when he scoops me into his arms and stands. Guards pour into the room, and Enzo pulls his lips from mine to tell them what happened. I bury my face in his chest, like I need to hide from everything. He’s curt with his guards, and then Giotto is there to take over.
“Go, my friend,” he grunts at Enzo. “I’ve got this.”
Enzo carries me from the room and down several hallways. We finally step into private quarters even bigger than mine, and I realize they’re his. He marches right into bedroom, and my core tightens.
“Enzo…”
“You’re sleeping here,” he growls. It’s a “and that’s final” type statement, and I don’t fight it. Nor do I want to. He puts me under the covers. I turn and bite my lip when I see him pull his shirt and pants off, stripping to boxers. He slides into the bed, and I tremble when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight. He cocoons me in his warmth, and his lips kiss the back of my head.
“Sleep, Claire. You’re safe here,” he promises. “Sleep.”
He kisses my head again, and it’s the last thing I remember.
9
Enzo
“Motherfuckers!” I roar. I almost throw the remote through the flat screen. But instead, I slam a fist down on the table I’m standing by. On the news, the BBC is running another hit piece on me. This time, it’s shaky camera phone footage from one of the news crews I kicked out. What’s worst is I know who it’s from; the assholes with the burned flag. It’s been edited and cut and recut to make it look like my guards just came out and started pointing guns at the press. There’s of course no mention of the flag and the bullet casings.
“Assholes!” I yell. I hear stirring, and I frown. Shit. I turn, and I see a blushing Claire step from my bedroom.
“My apologies,” I growl. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, it’s fine. I think I was awake before you…” she murmurs. “Before you yelled.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
She nods. “Yeah, great actually.”
“Good.” I didn’t. Actually, I didn’t sleep at all. It was a miracle the attacker got in here at all, but after that, the palace went into lockdown. Even still, and even with the entire squad of guards outside my bedroom door, I didn’t close my eyes all night. I just held her and breathed in the scent of her. I wanted her, yes, but not like that. Not after my enemies almost took her from me. I just wanted to hold her and keep her safe.
I almost had to have her this morning, when I woke up painfully hard. I thought for sure my thick cock so hard against her ass would wake her, but she didn’t. So I slipped out to watch the news. And now I get this dribble.
I let my eyes drink her in. Her being here, in my inner sanctum, is something I did not anticipate. Maybe I anticipated sleeping with her and claiming her. But I never thought of her here. She looks so vulnerable standing there like she’s a lamb in a lion’s den. But it makes me vulnerable as well. And in a strange way, I like that.
She smiles at me and then glances past me at the screen. “What is that?”
“Bullshit,” I growl. I go to turn it off, but she stops me and come over.
“Oh God, this?”
“It’s from the other day.”
“Frontline News,” she mutters. “I saw them setting up the bullets and the flag.”
“Jackals, all of them.”
She smiles softly. “Going to put a hit out on them or something? Have them killed?”
“I should,” I growl.
Claire pales, and I smile. “I’m just kidding.” Well, I’m half kidding. But I won’t. Without thinking, I pull her into my arms. Claire gasps, and without another wasted second, I take her mouth with mine. I kiss her slowly, relishing the feel of her soft warm lips on mine before I pull away. “Coffee?”
“Yes please,” she whispers. She’s staring at me, like she can’t believe I just kissed her. Or like she’s can’t believe she wanted me to. Because she clearly did. I bring her an espresso and sip mine. I ring my staff for breakfast for two. Twenty minutes later, she’s halfway through her favorite breakfast of an egg white omelet with broccoli and strawberry yogurt.
She pauses mid-bite though and frowns. She looks up at me curiously, and her brow furrows when she sees me smiling. “It’s not an accident that this is my favorite breakfast of all time, is it?”
“Would you like me to lie?”
“No.”
“Then no, it’s not.” She smiles a little. “Does that worry you or scare you?”
“No,” she says without hesitation. “Should it?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t.”
I look into her eyes. “Claire, last night…” I frown. “That should never have happened. My entire security team is looking into how he got in. And I will get to the bottom of this. Someone will answer for this, I promise you.”
Her face is pale when she nods. “Is he…” she swallows.
“Dead,” I grunt. I don’t need to cover it or shield her. She saw what she saw last night, and I won’t sugar coat it.
She nods, looking a little a dazed. “How did you know he was there?”
Again, I won’t sugar coat. “Cameras in your room,” I say plainly. Her eyes widen, but I shake my head. “Only I could see them. Only me.”
She blushes pink, and I grin. “I barely saw anything.” She looks at me skeptically though a heated face. “I didn’t, actually. Not for lack of trying.”
Claire’s blush deepens, and she looks down at her coffee.
“Do not feel bad for him, beautiful.”
“Oh, I don’t.”
“He would have hurt you to hurt me.”
“And so, you killed him.”
“Without regret, yes,” I say with zero apology. “And I would a hundred times to protect you.” Our eyes lock across the table. “I’d kill for you, Claire.”
She nods, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. But her eyes shine when they hold mine. We finish our food, and then I stand. “I’ll have your things brought here so you can dress and get ready.”
She wrinkles her forehead. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Yes. I want to show you something.”
An hour later, Claire gasps. Her hands tighten, and lips part in a mix of thrill and excitement. I grin and floor the accelerator. The 1969 Porsche with the top down roars down the country road, with the wind blowing through our hair. It might be considered
reckless for me to be doing this after last night’s attack. But that’s actually half of my point in doing it. The man I killed in Claire’s room has been identified as an assassin working for the regime I overthrew. He had a royal guard uniform in a bag, too. It’s believed that the idea was to kill Claire and either frame me with the murder weapon, or if he was caught doing that, make it look like my own men were revolting from within.
Me going for a drive out in the open in a damn sports car sends a message. It either tells them I’m not scared, or it tells them I’m too crazy to be scared. Perhaps both. Either way, a message is sent. And we’re not alone, either. We’re being followed not far behind by three SUVs full of my top guardsmen.
We drive through the sunny countryside of Bullogia. Stop by stop, I show Claire what I wanted to show her. First, it’s a new bridge to one of the tinier little sub-islands of Bullogia. This one was blown up by the regime when it was clear I was winning. The olive farmers on that little island couldn’t easily bring their crops to market, or to the shipyards to be processed and exported after that. The new bridge corrects that.
Next, we stop at a brand-new elementary school. The former regime wanted children as young as fourteen taking lessons at “military academies” which were just training them to be soldiers. They used the school that was here as a torture facility for enemies of the state, like me and my men. Giotto spent a month in that place enduring hell, and even lost two toes to it. After the war, I had it leveled, and this new school built in its place.
