Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 107
Chapter 107
Norah’s POV
The ride back was suffocatingly quiet.
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The night outside Paris glittered past in streaks of light, but none of it could cut through the cold knot forming in my chest.
Lucien’s last look—shock, hurt, fury–kept replaying in my mind like a broken reel.
“So,” Mateo finally drawled, breaking the silence, “it seems my dear fiancée forgot what she agreed to ho”
T
snapped
“Good.”
of my thoughts and turned to him. “I haven’t forgotten.”
He gave a short, humorless chuckle as the car rolled into his private garage and came to a stop.
The engine cut off.
The air inside the car grew heavy.
“In that case, Nono,” he murmured, his voice lazy but edged with something darker, “you should also remember I cleaned up Eleanor’s mess for you, faced those reporters for you, and walked into that house with you.”
He turned his head, gaze locking on mine.
“Now it’s time for you to pay your part.”
“You helped me get inside the mansion. I agreed to be your fiancée. The deal is done.” I met his eyes, trying to keep my voice steady and cold.
“Is it?” Mateo laughed softly.
He unbuckled his seat belt and shifted closer, his body suddenly invading my space.
I instinctively leaned back until the seat dug into my spine.
“Because while you were under that agreement with me,” he went on, his tone dropping, “you were in another man’s bed. Making a lot of noise.”
His hand braced against the headrest beside my face; his other hand closed around my wrist.
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The car was too small, too confined. I was trapped between the seat and his body, nowhere to
-
- go.
“Mateo, don’t-” I turned my head away, trying to avoid him.
His fingers tightened on my chin, forcing my face back toward him.
“Nono, you’ve put me in a very bad mood.”
“And I always charge interest.
Before I could answer, his mouth crashed down on mine.
His tongu
e he own
d its way past my lips, rough and unrelenting, sweeping through my mouth
, tasting and biting as if he wanted to erase every trace of Lucien.
The thick mix of his scent and smoke flooded my senses, leaving no room to breathe or think.
My body stiffened. My palms pressed against his chest, but I couldn’t move him at all.
Humiliation and anger burned under my
skin–but my body still trembled, reacting despite
-
- me.
And Mateo… knew exactly what he was doing.
Unlike Lucien’s wild, consuming passion, his kiss was coldly controlled. Calculated.
He knew where to angle his mouth, when to slow down and when to suddenly deepen the kiss, how to brush just the right spot on the roof of my mouth to send a shiver through my spine.
Something inside me–something that had been wrenched open that night–stirred again.
Heat coiled low in my belly.
My breathing turned shallow and uneven.
The hands I’d braced against his chest gradually lost their strength, fingers curling weakly against his shirt.
He felt the change.
His kiss deepened, grew even more domineering. One hand slid up and locked around the back of my head; the other slipped decisively under the hem of my dress.
“No-!” I gasped against his lips as his fingers skimmed up the inside of my thigh.
I tried to jerk away, but he held me firmly in place.
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“Shh…” he murmured against my mouth. “Your body is the one inviting me, Nono.”
His fingertips, calloused and warm, moved higher, over skin that had already been teased and left wanting in that bedroom.
When he brushed over my already sensitive, slick folds, my entire body jolted.
A wave of shame–laced pleasure crashed through me.
My mind screamed stop, but deep inside, something traitorous twisted and tightened and reached for more.
He found
‘it with unerring precision.
it down hard on my bottom lip to hold back the sound clawing its way out of my throat.
“You see?” he whispered, lifting his head just enough for his words to ghost over my lips. “You’re wet. You want this.”
His thumb moved in slow, cruel circles over that tiny bundle of nerves, keeping the pressure deliberately light, deliberately maddening.
My breathing turned into harsh, broken pants. I turned my face aside, refusing to look at him.
“Nono, don’t run from it,” he said with a low laugh.
His mouth came down on mine again.
Then, without warning, one long, roughened finger slid inside me–then a second.
“Ah-!” A strangled cry escaped me before I could swallow it down. My walls clenched tight around him.
He began to move his fingers, thrusting in a steady rhythm.
The desire Lucien had stoked and I’d been forced to bury in the mansion came flooding back, raw and unfinished.
Wetness spilled out, coating his fingers, letting them slide deeper, stretch me further.
He curled them inside me, searching–until he found that spot.
Every time he pressed there, my vision blurred. Sparks shot through my nerves, down my legs, up my spine.
He was too experienced. Too skilled.
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He knew exactly how to control the pace, when to push and when to pull back, how to keep me teetering on the edge instead of letting me fall.
I clamped my teeth together, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of hearing my moans.
But my body betrayed me.
My hips began to move, chasing his touch. My inner muscles tightened around his fingers, clinging to them, pulling him deeper.
He swallowed my broken sounds with his kiss, devouring every tremor.
Pleasure
else–Lu
d and built, wave after wave crashing over me, higher, sharper, until everything
leanor, the mansion, the diary–was burned away.
My nails dug into his arm through his shirt. My thighs shook, falling open wider, completely at his mercy.
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