Ravished: A Collection Of Sin

POV: Isla

.

.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Dad.”  

I slammed the door of his study so hard the windows shook loudly. My heart was already pounding, half from rage, half from the adrenaline that always kicked in when I fought with Enzo Moretti. 

My father  

“Language, Isla,”  he said calmly, not even bothering to look up from his papers, like I was some annoying fly buzzing around his head. 

“Language?” I laughed without humour. “You’re planning to cage me, and you’re worried about my language?”

“Isla, sit down and listen to me for once.” He finally looked at me, dropped the pen, and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than they were last week. 

“Three nights ago, you almost got yourself killed.”

I remained standing, my hands curling into a fist at my sides. “So what? Mom died last year; people die, in fact, everyone dies one day. I’m twenty-one, Dad. I'm an adult, so if I want to die, leave me the hell alone!”

He narrowed his eyes at me, cold, dark, the same eyes I saw in the mirror whenever I was too stubborn to back down. 

“You are the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the state. That makes you a target. And since you insist on sneaking out to clubs and acting like you're invisible, I’m taking the choice out of your hands."

​"I have a life! I have friends!"

​"You have a death wish," he countered, eyes hard. "You’re staying in this house. And when you do leave, you won’t be alone."

​I let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really, or what? Are you going to send Uncle Marco to follow me to the mall? He’s sixty and breathes like a broken vacuum cleaner. I’ll lose him in five minutes."

​"Marco is staying with me," my father replied, leaning back. "I’ve hired someone else. Someone who doesn't care about your tantrums. Someone who won't be charmed by your innocent smiles or bought off by your credit cards."

​I crossed my arms over my chest, my silk robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. 

"I’ll make his life a living hell. Just watch me. I’ll make sure he quits within forty-eight hours. You know I can do it."

​"He’s already been paid for the month, Isla. Non-refundable."

​"Then you wasted your money. I don't need a babysitter in a fucking suit!"

​"He doesn't wear a suit," my father remarked, a smirk touching his lips. "And he has spent the last five years in places far more dangerous than you could ever think, little girl. He was in the Special Forces. He doesn't take orders from you; he takes them from me. And my order is to keep you breathing, whether you like it or not.”

“Special Forces? Wow.” ​I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt and scoffed loudly. “So he’s a bonehead with a military buzzcut who probably jerks off to his own medals at night. Really fucking great, Dad.”

I knew I was being difficult, but I was never going to let some stupid shit head act as my babysitter.

“I don't know why you have to be so vulgar and sarcastic, Isla. Anyway, his name is Oliver Kane. He is thirty years old and the best in the business.” He pressed a button on his desk phone. “Send him in.”  

The door opened behind me, and heavy footsteps sounded across the floor, stopping a few feet away. 

“Mr. Moretti,” a deep, clipped voice said. 

I turned.  

Holy. Fuck.  

I take it back, he was definitely not a bonehead; he was a… masterpiece.

Oliver Kane was not what I expected. He filled the doorway like he owned it, tall, easily six-three, with broad shoulders straining against the maroon-coloured shirt he wore. The top buttons were open, revealing the head of a black snake tattoo curling at the base of his thick neck. His jaw was sharp, covered in light stubble, and those icy blue eyes locked on my father like I wasn’t even in the room. 

But I was in the room, and every inch of my body noticed. An insistent throb pulsed between my thighs as I dragged my gaze down his powerful arms, his wide chest, and the obvious strength in his thighs. He looked like he could snap a neck or pin a girl against a wall without breaking a sweat.  

God, I needed to get laid.

“Oliver,” my father said. “This is my daughter, Isla. She can be… difficult. Your job is to keep her alive, no matter how hard she tries to make that impossible. You answer to me. Not her. Understood?”

Oliver’s gaze finally moved to me, sliding over my body, from my messy hair, down the loose robe barely covering my tits, to my bare thighs, then back up. Not lingering or leering. Just… assessing. Like I was a threat to secure, not a woman.  

It pissed me off, and turned me on at the same time. 

“Understood, sir,” he said flatly, not a single crack in his voice.  

My father reached for his phone on the table. “I have a call to make. Secure her suite.” He waved us off with a flick of his hand, like we were hired help he’d grown tired of. “Keep her close, Kane. She is slippery.”

The door closed behind him, and for the first time, it was just us.  

Oliver didn’t move or speak. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for me to lead the way.

I stepped closer, letting my robe slip even more, revealing the curve of my breast and the edge of my pink lace bra, feeling my nipples hardening under his gaze.

“So you’re my new shadow,” I purred, tilting my head. “Tell me, Oliver… are you going to follow me everywhere? Even when I’m in the shower? When I’m sliding my fingers between my legs at night because I’m bored and horny?”

His eyes darkened, but his voice stayed controlled. “My job is your safety, Miss Moretti. Nothing else.”

I smiled wickedly and moved even closer, close enough to smell his clean, masculine scent. My pussy was getting wet just from standing near him as I let my eyes drop blatantly to his crotch, then back up. 

“That’s a shame. Because I can be a very bad girl, Oliver. And bad girls need to be handled… firmly.”

For a split second, his gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, lingering on the way my robe was barely holding my boobs in place. That tiny slip in his control sent a rush of arousal through me.

Turning slowly, I made sure he got a good view of my ass as the silk robe clung to my curves.

“Coming, soldier?” I called over my shoulder, my voice dripping with suggestion.

He followed right behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him at my back. With every step up the stairs, I swayed my hips more than necessary, knowing the short robe was riding up, flashing him teasing glimpses of my ass and the bottom of my panties.

When we reached my bedroom door, I paused and looked back at him, biting my lip, and rolling my hair with my fingers.

“Are you really gonna stand outside while I shower?” I asked softly, letting my robe slip off one shoulder completely. “Listening to the water run down my naked body? Knowing I’m in there touching myself… thinking about how big and strong you look?”

His jaw clenched hard this time. His hands flexed at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab me or push me away.

“Miss Moretti,” he said, voice sounding a bit strained, “you need to be careful.”

My lips curved upwards into a slow, wicked smile.  

“Oh, Oliver… I don’t want to be careful.”

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving it wide open behind me.

Game on, Oliver Kane.  

I was going to break you.  

And God knows, I was going to enjoy every filthy second doing it.