As Rosa's lips brushed against his mouth, Mr. Massera's hard, muscled body froze beneath her.

It didn't take long for him to overcome his stupor, however.

A moment later, groaning helplessly, his large hands clamped around Rosa's bare waist, gripping her flesh possessively, to haul her closer to him.

Unlike her, he remained fully clothed. Over his trousers, she gave his cock a firm tug with her hand.

He sucked in a harsh breath, rasping in Italian, "Mi stai facendo morire."

From there, chaos seemed to unleash within Mr. Massera as he kissed her back with a wild, wicked desperation that left Rosa feeling both lightheaded and breathless.

His teeth grazed her lower lip as his tongue slid inside her mouth. The erotic push and pull of their mouths and tongues felt addictive and lush. So fucking lush. Their kiss deepened, sweetened, bewitching them both as, together, they descended into a state of mindless, heated passion.

In time, his hands rose from her waist and started palming her tits. Happily, he caressed the generous swells while rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Heat washed over her body. Pleasure flowed from the tips of her breasts down to the core of her sex. Rosa panted and throbbed with want even while her mind fought against the euphoric lure. She became a creature of contradiction: The way he made her feel frightened her to the core, yet, she didn't want this, this, this to ever end.

This—yearning for a man she barely knew.

This—madness he inspired in her.

This—sweet, sinful perfection between them.

Suddenly, he pulled away by a fraction, moaning against her mouth, "Sei bellissima, così perfetta. Vorrei, vorrei..."

"What?" she gasped, not understanding his words.

"Nothing," Mr. Massera muttered with a grimace.

Then, his grimace fell away as a sobering look settled over his handsome face. He leaned away from her some more. Rosa frowned and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, wanting to be closer as she moved to kiss him again.

To Rosa's shock, though, he turned his face away from her.

He growled sternly, "No more."

Rosa's face fell as she gasped a second time, "What? Why?"

Even through his pants, she could feel his eager cock, hard and ready to go, probing between her thighs.

This goddamn hypocrite!

He clearly wanted to fuck her.

Why was he rejecting her yet again?

Rosa eyed him with a scowl.

Did he think she handed out thank-you-sex to just anyone?

Undeterred, he insisted, "Because you are not in the right state of mind—"

A sudden flare of aggravation shot through Rosa, blocking out her earlier distress.

Who did this bastard think he was?

To judge and preside over her state of mind?

Irritated beyond measure, she interjected, "The state of my mind is doing just fine, thank you very much!"

"—for what I want to do to you."

Mr. Massera's low, husky tone made her jaw drop. Her aggravation with the man faded instantly. Curiosity and excitement tingled through her body. Against her better judgment, she found herself desiring to goad him on, to encourage this naughty side of him.

Her face flushed as she murmured, "Whatever are you talking about, mon beau? You will have to be more... explicite."

Explicit.

Without breaking eye contact, his hand reached over to cup her face, caressing her cheek beneath his thumb.

Slyly, the bastard chose to reply in Italian, "Voglio adorarti come una regina. Ogni fottuto giorno. E usarti come la mia piccola troia. Ogni cazzo di notte. Insieme, possiamo dare fuoco al mondo. Solo per guardare i nostri nemici bruciare. Ricorda le mie parole, il loro inferno sarà forgiato nel tuo paradiso. Is that... explicite... enough for you?"

Explicite, her ass!

She could barely comprehend a single word of his Italian, and he knew it.

Annoyed with him again, Rosa tried to scramble away from Mr. Massera, but his hands locked around her waist once more. He held her firmly in his lap.

"Stay," he commanded.

Rosa muttered with a sulky expression, "Why? It is not like you want to kiss me anymore, let alone fuck me."

"You are right," Mr. Massera agreed, "we are not going to fuck any time soon, but, maybe, I simply wish to hold you for a while."

Slowly, his strong arms closed around her smaller frame, enveloping her whole body in a warm, snug embrace. Her head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck. His skin felt hot against her cheek. He smelled citrusy, woodsy, fresh. Like his cologne. The urge to snuggle even closer grew strong.

She resisted it.

Looking up at him, her amber eyes rounded out with confusion. "Why are you doing this?"

Mr. Massera brushed his lips along her temple, but he didn't answer her.

"Well?" Rosa prompted.

"Because," he answered with a grudging sigh, "you looked as though you were about to break when I walked in."

At this, her body stiffened in his arms.

Of course he would notice.

He noticed every-fucking-thing.

Still, Rosa tried to refute his observation, "What are you talking about? I already told you. I feel good. Fine. Absolutely fine. I admit, I was a little... worried... when Mesrine showed up, but nothing happened. You intervened. Moulin is dead. I escaped. All is well."

"In that case," he remarked quietly, "let me hold you—for my sake."

"For your sake?" she echoed.

Her stupid heart fluttered. Just a little.

"Earlier, today, when I learned Mesrine had followed Moulin back to the hotel, there was a moment when I was afraid that," Mr. Massera paused with a guarded look, "I might never see you again."

The bastard's face remained emotionless, but his words kept doing funny things to her heart.

She drew a soft intake of breath. "You talk as though we are lovers."

His eyes went wide.

Her words seemed to catch him by surprise.

Then, a slight disapproving frown weighed down the corners of his mouth.

"You and I are definitely not lovers," he responded with a decidedly more reserved and less open demeanor, "but, in the short time we have known each other, I realized something about you."

"What might that be?"

"You are a troublesome woman."

Rosa blinked stupidly.

What?

He was giving her whiplash with this abrupt shift in mood and tone.

"You claimed that I was 'remarkable' earlier," she reminded him.

Mr. Massera shrugged. "I changed my mind."

Rosa pouted and snapped, "Has anyone told you that you are terrible at sweet talking a woman?"

"Am I?"

"Oui."

In contrast to her sharp, affected tone, he returned with a calm, unbothered voice, "But I am not trying to sweet talk you."

"Why not?"

"Because you are exactly the kind of woman I should avoid right now. I do not need distractions."

Rosa huffed, "It is not my fault that you have the attention span of a gnat! Like most men."

"I am not 'most men,'" Mr. Massera protested.

She snorted in disagreement, "As far as I can tell, you are hot one minute and cold the next. Moody. Mercuriel. Like most men."

"Spiacente, I am not trying to be difficult," grunted Mr. Massera. "All I know is—"

"What?"

"You certainly know how to keep a man on his toes. I struggle to keep up with you."

Rosa made a face at him.

He released a low chuckle and reached over to give her nipple a playful, punishing tweak. "Do you have any idea how fuckable you are right this moment? Sitting naked and willing in my arms?"

Rosa's traitorous nipple longed for him to touch her once more.

She arched an eyebrow at him.

He pressed on, "Admit it. 'Most men' would not be able to resist you. But I am resisting you even though my cock hates me for it. Does this not make me, as you said, 'a fucking unicorn' of a man?"

Damn it. He had a point.

She resented him for it. "Hmph!"

"I do not mean to make you mad, Miss Lenoir," Mr. Massera urged as his fingers began tracing soothing patterns up and down her back, "I am here to be your friend. Not your enemy. Believe it or not, I care about your well-being, and I know we have potential to achieve great things together."

Ah, back to business so soon?

How predictable of him.

Rosa sulked, "You only wish to help me—to help yourself."

The selfish bastard didn't deny her claim. "That is because our motives are the same."

Rosa's brow creased slightly.

Their motives were aligned?

What did he know about her motives?

As of late, she possessed little motivation other than to live out the rest of her days—short and numbered though they may be—in relative ease and comfort. Yet, this was the closest Mr. Massera had come to shedding light on his true intentions, even if it was only a glimpse into a much deeper, darker scheme.

She watched him with trepidation. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Massera looked her dead in the eye when he revealed, "I can help you kill Mesrine—when the time is right."

Her heart dropped upon hearing the blue-eyed monster's name.

Rosa realized, then, that, even though she denied her ties to Mesrine, she might have given herself away to Mr. Massera simply through her familiarity with using Mesrine's name when they had been discussing him earlier.

Mesrine was not supposed to be with Moulin today.

You have been keeping tabs on Mesrine's movements?

I... was worried about you. Earlier. Today.

Because of... Mesrine?

She should've feigned more confusion.

She should've peppered him with more questions about Mesrine's identity and background.

In not doing so, she had fucked up for the second time today.

Grimly, Rosa wondered how much Mr. Massera already knew about her existence before she became 'Rosa Lenoir.'

I know you used to be one of Mesrine's girls.

Had he labeled her as such from an assumption?

Or concrete knowledge?

Mumbling, she made another half-hearted attempt to deny her past with Mesrine, almost inviting Mr. Massera to prove her wrong, "What... makes you think I want him... dead? Mesrine means nothing to me."

Without addressing her point directly, he retorted, "I know more about Mesrine than most people."

"Oh?"

A strained look passed over his face. "I know, at one point in his life, he was very attached to a young girl from Morocco."

Rosa's heart started hammering away in her chest.

Thud.

Did he know?

Thud.

Did he know?

Echoes of dread pounded through her entire body.

Rosa could barely bring herself to look at him when she asked, "What was her name?"

"I believe," Mr. Massera's dark gaze was transfixed on her face as he whispered hoarsely, "her name was... Inés."

❧

Ahhhh! Shizzles are getting a bit intense for our killer lovebirds, no? I feel like I have one more chapter in me before I'm ready to move on from Rosa and Mr. Massera. Get your tissues ready for the next one!

Also, the song I included with this chapter, "Achilles Come Down," by Gangs of Youth really speaks to Mr. Massera's backstory and character arc. Read the lyrics if you want some insight into what the heck is going on in his brain. ;)

Don't forget to vote and comment! Fanks! I LUB YOU ALL! <3

❧

Mi stai facendo morire.

You are killing me.

Sei bellissima, così perfetta. Vorrei, vorrei...

You are beautiful, so perfect. I wish, I wish...

Voglio adorarti come una regina. Ogni fottuto giorno. E usarti come la mia piccola troia. Ogni cazzo di notte. Insieme, possiamo dare fuoco al mondo. Solo per guardare i nostri nemici bruciare. Ricorda le mie parole, il loro inferno sarà forgiato nel tuo paradiso.

I want to worship you like a queen. Every fucking day. And use you like my little slut. Every fucking night. Together, we can set the world on fire. Just to watch our enemies burn. Mark my words, their inferno will be forged into your paradise.