The Counterfeit Lover (War of Sins Book 3)

Anger radiated from Michele as he regarded his pet, so entranced by her own reflection. Was that everything it took to get to her? Call her pretty?

He scowled though he let his greedy eyes roam over her this up close.

It had been weeks since he’d been this close to her.

Her scent invaded his nostrils and breathed in deeply.

Goddamn but he was like a fucking addict, and he couldn’t allow that. Addiction meant loss of control and he’d already established she would never get influence him that way.

“W-what are you doing here?’ she blinked, assessing him with trepidation.

Though inside he was seething, he let his shoulders angle up in a relaxed shrug. The key was to show her she didn’t control him.

‘I was in passing.’

She narrowed her eyes at him.

‘It’s the women’s bathroom,’ she said, her words slow and even.

By God, his pet was being semi-confrontational and he couldn’t help the way his heart thundered in his chest in anticipation.

‘So it is,’ he smiled, taking a step closer.

She looked at him warily before studying her surroundings, biting her lip in apprehension when she realized she couldn’t escape.

‘It’s been a while, pet, hasn’t it?’ he drawled in his smooth, seductive tone—the one he’d always used to keep her in his thrall.

‘Don’t call me that,’ she hissed in a low voice—the first time she’d uttered such an objection.

Michele’s brows drew up in surprise, but he quickly masked it.

‘Why would I not call you that when it’s what you are. My pet. Mine,’ his voice boomed at the last word, and she startled, her eyes flickering with something akin to fear. ‘Or have you forgotten that, pet?’

‘We’re nothing,’ she whispered, moving along the counter of the bathroom in an attempt to get away from him.

He merely chuckled, his movements slow and precise to convey that he was fully in control of himself and the situation.

Taking one step forward, he brought his ungloved hand to her naked shoulder, trailing the back of his fingers down her skin and enjoying the way it erupted in goosebumps.

She wasn’t indifferent, was she?

She blinked repeatedly as she raised her gaze to his, her lips parting, her breath labored.

For one moment, he let himself feel her skin under his fingertips. For weeks he’d been depriving himself of this—of the one person he could touch at leisure without experiencing physical pain. It was so soft and warm—so familiar.

And then there were her eyes. So big and growing bigger as she watched him with hidden emotion.

He was surrounded by a sea of sensation and he didn’t know on which to focus. Her supple skin that made his own come alive through the barest contact, or her eyes, those two big pools of confusion that made him lose himself in them.

It was an overload of feeling as he stepped even closer until the warmth from her entire body met his, proving to him that he was still alive—that he was still capable of things living men were.

But just as he found himself so entranced by her mere presence, he realized it for what it was—his ultimate loss of control.

None too gentle, he wrenched his hand from her shoulder, instead bringing it to the front of her top, pulling on the material.

‘What are you wearing?’ he did his best to keep his voice under control, but it still came out raspy, harsh.

‘Let me go,’ she reached with her own hand, covering his and trying to pull it away.

‘I asked,’ he gritted his teeth, split between excitement at her obvious fearlessness and anger at her foolish display of bravery. ‘What the fuck are you wearing?’

‘It’s none of your business,’ she continued, stunning him even further as she dug her nails into his flesh, the pain hitting him like the best of drugs.

‘And that’s where you’re wrong pet,’ he gave her a wide smile before he pulled at her top, the flimsy material giving way and tearing.

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening but no sound coming out.

‘Everything you do is my business,’ he continued, pulling at other sides of the material until he peeled most of it from her body, leaving her only in her modest bra.

Her reaction was delayed as she brought her arms to her chest to shield herself, raising her head to give him a deadly stare—one filled with a mix of hurt and insolence.

She might be smaller, weaker, more inferior to him. But at that moment, she looked so determined, she might as well have believed she could take him on and win.

Excitement thrummed in his blood as he regarded her like that, so on the verge of losing control. Because that was acceptable—that was the final goal.

The loss of her control.

His was out of the question. But he craved hers in a way he craved little else, because by losing control she would finally show him everything—all those hidden facets.

‘Change back into your normal clothes,’ he barked the order, taking her previous dress from her bag and flinging it at her.

She shook her head, her lower lip between her teeth as she remained rooted to the spot, cradling the material of the dress to her chest.

‘Change!’ His voice thundered, making her jump back and bump into the sink counter.

‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ she said softly.

‘I can and I will, pet,’ his lips tipped into a sinister smile.

Bracing himself against the counter, he caged her in, leaning in until his breath was her breath, his eyes fixed on hers.

‘You offend me,’ he started in a low voice. A shiver went down her back at those words before she stiffened. ‘You offend my eyes with your pitiful attempts at flaunting your body.’

‘I’m not…’

‘You’re not what? Trying to get someone to fuck you? You think I didn’t see how you were batting your lashes at that man? How you were inviting him to compliment you?’

‘When did you?’ she blinked, looking confused.

‘You might try,’ he chuckled. ‘But do you really think anyone would want you for anything more than a fuck?’

Her eyes widened and she blanched, his words hitting her hard—just as he’d intended.

‘But you’re not good for that either, are you?’

‘Why are you here, Michele? Why are you doing this?’

‘Because you offend me with your fucking existence,’ he told her in a steely tone, his nostrils flared as he took her in—the fact that though shocked, she was still so composed, so fucking dignified.

And him?

He was close to his boiling point.

‘You offend me with your fucking hideous clothes. You offend me with your body. Do you think I want to see that?’ he spat at her, pulling her arms down to reveal her torso. ‘Do you think anyone wants to see your ugly body and your gross pale skin?’

She blinked back tears, his insults hitting the mark.

‘You offend me with those eyes of yours and the way you’re looking at me right now.’

‘Please let me go,’ she uttered in a whisper, averting her gaze as one tear fell down her cheek.

‘Change,’ he leaned back, a smug expression on his face as he watched the way she swallowed hard—the way she would surely understand never to wear something like that again.

With hesitant movements, she gripped the hem of the gray dress she’d been wearing, slipping it over her head and pulling it down her body.

All the while, she didn’t look at him—in fact, she looked anywhere but at him.

With even more trembling fingers she undid her pants, sliding them down her legs and placing them in one of the bags.

Michele smirked. Scared as she was and she still managed to be crafty as she hid her body from his view. He had to give it to her, she was truly taking his words to heart.

Suddenly, his mood improved.

‘Is this fine?’ she inquired quietly, politely.

He tilted his head to the side, studying her.

When he didn’t answer, she made to leave, but he wasn’t about to let her go so easily.

Not when he’d been craving her for so long, his entire being reacting violently to her proximity.

She moved, taking a step towards the door, but she didn’t get far as he yanked her back.

He wrapped his hand in her ponytail, tugging her back and bringing her body flush to his own. He pulled on her hair, tipping her chin up so he could gaze down at her.

Beautiful.

So. Fucking. Beautiful.

She held herself still as her eyes sought his, a flicker of something in those creamy irises of hers. Her cheeks were flushed, her tears dried up. She looked up at him with resignation and defiance and Michele didn’t think he’d ever seen anything like that.

It was almost as if she knew what he was going to do to her, was resigned to it physically, but her mind was still her own, and thus, it could rebel.

And that wasn’t what he wanted—not at all.

He didn’t want merely her body.

He wanted her worship and her adoration. He wanted to see the love shine bright in her eyes again.

Her spirit—that was what he wanted the most. And that was what he would ultimately own.

‘Is that all you have to say to me after so long, pet?’ he murmured in a tender voice, leaning down until his lips were a mere breath away from hers.

She gulped down, not answering. She pressed her lips into a thin line in an attempt to keep herself away from him.

He smiled.

Nuzzling his mouth over hers, he brushed his lips across hers once, twice, groaning the third time.

Damn it all to hell but he’d missed that. He’d missed the feel of her lips—odd as it may be considering it had never been a highlight of their relationship. Yet when he’d been deprived of them for so long, he finally felt the absence.

He loved her lips. Her plump, soft lips.

He particularly loved her lips mated to his own. But she was holding back now, not giving to him what he most wanted.

The first instinct was to apply himself more forcefully.

But then he’d get his wildcat. And much as he loved that version of her, at the moment, he wanted his purring cat.

So instead, he brought his teeth over her lips, nibbling softly at her. Small bites that lacked any aggression, but were full of playful curiosity.

She parted her lips to draw in a deep breath.

A first victory.

Michele continued to pepper small bites around her mouth, all the while keeping his hand wrapped tightly in her hair, his eyes affixed to hers.

She had no choice but to look back at him, revealing everything with one gaze.

She was so expressive, he could imagine himself painting her like that.

All maidenly shyness and a hint of desire. Because there was desire. He noted that as soon as her pupils started expanding, the brown of her irises becoming eclipsed by darkness.

She may have held herself still, but she was halfway there already—almost an active participant.

‘I know you still want me, pet,’ he murmured between sweet bites.

She stiffened in his arms, blinking repeatedly.

‘Don’t,’ he told her sternly when he felt the first stirrings of her rebellion. ‘Don’t move.’

She regarded him warily, and he could see so many emotions battling on her face—so many conflicting feelings.

Yes, she did love him still. But it would take a little coaxing to get that to the surface.

Taking a step forward, he pressed her against the counter so there would be no space for her to move or draw back.

With a small yank of her ponytail, he gave her a smile before he finally pressed his lips fully to hers. He gave her a lick, seeking entrance to her mouth.

She didn’t grant it—initially.

But as he alternated between small nibbles and licks, he finally got a reaction out of her as she opened her mouth.

That was enough for him to plunge, take everything she’d unwittingly offered him.

Still holding on to her hair, he brought his other arm around her slight waist, inviting her deeper in his embrace.

To his surprise, she didn’t protest.

For a moment, she let herself go, giving herself to him as she’d done in the past—with wild abandon.

He opened his mouth deeper on top of hers, his tongue swiping over her own as he tasted her deeply. And at his urging, she opened deeper.

He gave and she took.

She gave and he took in return.

For that brief moment, there was an unprecedented equality to their interaction—to the way they both met halfway.

But Michele, unused to such tenderness—unused to such prolonged titillation—found himself growing impatient. As much as he’d previously told himself he would take his time with her, weeks of abstinence—of her marked absence—made him too excited at the prospect of owning her again.

He moved his hand down her thigh, gripping some of the material and pulling it upwards as he sought access to her naked flesh.

The spell was broken.

Her teeth came down on his lip as she bit with all the strength she could muster, drawing blood.

Michele leaned back, surprise flickering over his face at her daring. And as he took in her new expression, he noted none of the previous softness, nor desire.

There was only defiance. Nascent rebellion that seemed to grow with every passing moment as she brought her knee up to kick him.

Yet he was too fast, slapping her knee and pushing it back down before he held her so closely, she couldn’t even think to move again.

‘Didn’t you say I wasn’t even good for a fuck?’ she snapped at him. ‘Then what are you doing here? Why are you trying to fuck me if I offend you so much? Why touch me at all?’ she demanded angrily.

The taste of iron flooded his mouth, a few drops of blood trickling at the corner of his lip.

‘Because you’re mine pet. You’re fucking mine,’ he grit out.

He might not make sense, even to himself, but if there was one thing he was completely sure it was that she was his. He might lose his mind, might go utterly insane—if he hadn’t already done so—but there would always be that ultimate truth.

Venezia Lastra was his.

His pet. His fucking woman.

And only he could ever touch her.

‘You’re mine and you’re never getting rid of me.’

That sentence seemed to get to her.

‘Wh-what?’

‘I’m coming for you, pet. Today, tomorrow, or maybe the end of the week. Who knows?’ he smiled at her terrified expression. ‘But I will be coming for you.’

‘Why?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Why can’t you leave me alone?’

‘Because,’ he smirked, a bored look on his face. ‘If I can’t have you, no one will,’ he said right before he dipped his head, his open mouth making contact with the skin just below her jaw.

She brought her hands to his shoulders in an attempt to push him away, but it was all in vain.

One moment he was sucking on the skin, the next he bit so hard, he broke the surface of it, blood coating his teeth.

She yelped in pain, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

He wasn’t deterred.

He continued to bite and suck until an unmistakable mark of ownership took shape on her body—right on her neck where anyone could see it. He held on for what seemed like forever, lost in her proximity, the taste of her blood and her pronounced cries of pain.

Only when he felt he’d made the mark visible enough did he let go, taking a step back to examine his work of art.

He swiped his tongue over his teeth as he attempted to capture all of her taste—take all of her essence within him. But as he gazed again upon her, he didn’t find what he expected.

Yes, there were tears flowing down her cheeks, but there was no weakness in her eyes. She brought her hand to the red, ugly mark he’d placed on her at the same time as she turned her head to look him dead in the eye.

Before he knew what she was about, she was on him, her nails lodging in his shoulders as she raised herself on the tips of her toes, her open mouth on his neck as he’d done to her. And just as savagely, she bit at his throat until he felt the skin give off—until she stepped away to reveal not only blood but also skin.

He blinked, wholly taken aback by this display.

Especially as she spit out the small bit of skin, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth to wipe the residual blood.

He pressed his own hand to his neck, realizing his wound was much, much worse than hers.

‘I hate you, Michele Guerra. I will hate you until the day I die,’ she declared with such fierceness, awe overtook him until he gazed upon her as one would do a goddess—a being so holy it blinded with her light.

He felt his knees give out, yet it wasn’t from the pain. It was from sheer emotion—from something so unfamiliar he couldn’t name or acknowledge. He just found himself speechless in the face of the ineffable.

‘And if you come for me again, I will die and take you with me to my grave,’ she stated in a deadpan voice before she grabbed her bags, unlocking the door and leaving.

Michele was still rooted to the spot, staring at the spot she’d just vacated as blood continued to pour down his neck.

He felt lightheaded. And it had nothing to do with the blood-loss and everything to do with her.

Her, his pet.

Her, the most amazing thing he’d ever beheld.

And she was all his—will only ever be his.

Slowly, his lips tipped up in a wide smile before he burst out into manic laughter, the pain she’d inflicted on him only fueling him more.

‘I’m coming for you anyway, pet. To the grave, or beyond, I’m coming for you.’

Two weeks passed. Michele split his time between his work and watching his pet. He learned everything he could about her—yet this time it was through first-hand observation not merely hearsay.

He saw the way she behaved at home and how alone she truly was, even when surrounded by family. At times, that information made him mad, but mostly it gave him the confidence that he would be able to steer her back to their initial relationship—where he was the god and she the faithful worshipper.

Yet slowly he became tired of waiting.

Though he’d disciplined himself in such a way that patience was his strongest suit, when it came to her, it was his weakest one.

He wanted her. Now. With him, near him, under him. Any way he could get her.

The interaction in the restroom had only whet his appetite for her and made him look forward to her reactions more than anything. Would she kick him, scratch him, hit him? Would she then kiss him better, touch him tenderly where she’d previously caused pain? The options were endless—just as his thoughts about her.

Michele had always been a diligent worker, applying himself to everything he started, always making sure the end result was perfect.

That reflected in his work and the way he managed the people working under him. But it also shined the brightest in his revenge and how, step by step, he’d built an entire empire to go after those he hated.

From the first time Nicolo had given him a job, he’d aimed to be absolutely perfect.

He still was.

But frustration gnawed at him, as did an inherent desire to have her in his life.