THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 8
Sunlight, warm and honeyed, streamed through the bulletproof glass of the penthouse bedroom, painting stripes across the rumpled silk sheets. Jessica lay curled against Scar’s chest, her ear pressed to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. Months. It had been months since the night that changed everything, months since she’d knelt in gratitude and been met with a firestorm of possession that had consumed them both. Now, the air itself hummed with the intensity of their connection, a tangible force field woven from trust, fierce protectiveness, and a love that had shocked them both with its depth.
His large hand traced lazy, possessive circles on the bare skin of her back, calloused fingers whispering over the curve of her spine. "You’re thinking too loud, my little lioness," his voice rumbled, a low vibration against her temple. He hadn’t called her anything else since that first morning.
A small smile touched Jessica’s lips. "Just… happy," she murmured, nuzzling closer. The gnawing fear for her family was a dull ache now, soothed by the knowledge they were safe in the mansion he’d given them, guarded by men whose loyalty was absolute. Her own world had shrunk and expanded simultaneously – confined within the gilded fortress of his empire for safety, yet boundless within the sanctuary of his regard.
"You should be thinking about your studies," he said, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. He’d been relentless on this point. Weeks ago, he’d presented her with a state-of-the-art laptop and a meticulously researched list of accredited online degree programs. "Law," he’d stated, not asked. "You have the mind for it. Sharp. Analytical. You understand the cost of injustice." He saw the education not as an escape from *his* world, but as armor *within* it. "Knowledge is power, Jessica. Especially here. I won’t have you vulnerable."
She’d enrolled. The discipline forged in the slums and honed juggling escort work and school served her well. Her days now held structure: intense study sessions in the morning light, often with Scar nearby, silently reading intelligence reports or conducting hushed calls; afternoons learning the intricate, often terrifying, workings of his empire – not the violence, but the strategy, the networks, the delicate balance of power he maintained. He trusted her. Explicitly. Implicitly. He introduced her to key, vetted players not as his mistress, but as *Jessica*. The respect they showed her was born of his unwavering authority and their dawning recognition of her own quiet intelligence.
"You worry I’m not focusing enough?" she teased, tracing the infamous scar that ran down his jaw with a feather-light touch. It was a gesture of intimacy only she was permitted.
His eyes, usually so hard and assessing, softened as he looked down at her. They held a warmth reserved solely for her, a stark contrast to the chilling authority he wielded elsewhere. "I worry about many things concerning you," he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his tone. "But your mind? Never. I know the steel in it." He captured her wandering hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. "I just want you to have everything. Everything you were denied. Everything you deserve."
The tenderness, the absolute conviction in his words, still had the power to steal her breath. This ruthless kingpin, feared across continents, whose name was whispered with dread, held her as if she were spun glass and tempered steel combined – precious and unbreakable.
The lazy tracing on her back became less idle, more purposeful. His gaze darkened, the familiar heat igniting. Months had done nothing to dim the explosive chemistry between them. If anything, the deep well of trust and affection had only made the physical connection more potent, more layered. He knew her body now with devastating intimacy, knew exactly how to unravel her, just as she knew the secret paths to melt his formidable control.
"Enough studying for today," he declared, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that never failed to send shivers down her spine. He rolled her gently but decisively beneath him, his weight a welcome anchor. The sunlight gilded the hard planes of his chest and shoulders as he looked down at her, his eyes burning with possessive fire. "Right now, I require your undivided attention."
Jessica laughed, a breathless, happy sound, and made a playful half-hearted attempt to wriggle away. It was a game they played. He loved the chase, even within the confines of their bed. "Demanding, aren’t you?" she teased, pushing lightly against his chest.
A predatory grin slashed across his face. He easily pinned her wrists above her head with one large hand. "Always," he growled, lowering his head to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck, sending sparks skittering through her veins. "Especially where you’re concerned." His free hand slid down her side, over her hip, igniting a trail of fire. "Now, come here, my little lioness."
He kissed her, deep and claiming, silencing her playful protests. Jessica melted into him, her body arching instinctively, meeting his hunger with her own. The world outside their sanctuary – the danger, the underworld machinations – dissolved. There was only him, the heat of his skin, the intoxicating scent of him, the overwhelming sense of belonging. His mouth moved to her collarbone, then lower, his touch both reverent and demanding. She gasped his name, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
"Scar…"
He growled in response, the vibration against her skin tightening the coil of desire low in her belly. He released her wrists, his hands moving to cup her face, holding her gaze captive as he positioned himself. The intensity in his eyes was breathtaking – love, lust, and an absolute, terrifying possessiveness.
"Say it," he commanded, his voice thick.
"Yours," Jessica breathed, the truth resonating deep in her soul. "Always yours."
He surged forward, joining them in one powerful, claiming stroke. Jessica cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. This was worship, this was possession, this was home. He moved with a rhythm that was both familiar and eternally new, building the pleasure with relentless precision. Her world narrowed to the feel of him, the sound of his ragged breaths, the sight of his face – fierce, focused, utterly consumed by her. She met his thrusts, her own cries mingling with his low groans, climbing higher and higher towards the inevitable, shattering peak.
Just as the tension coiled unbearably tight, poised to break, a sharp, urgent knock shattered the intimate cocoon.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Scar froze above her, his body rigid, every muscle locked. The tender lover vanished instantly, replaced by the chilling visage of the crime lord. A low, dangerous snarl ripped from his throat, pure fury radiating from him like heat from a furnace. The interruption wasn't just unwelcome; it was a cardinal sin against the sanctity he fiercely guarded around Jessica.
"WILLIAM!" Scar roared, the sound echoing off the walls, vibrating with barely leashed violence. "This better be a fucking war starting at my doorstep, or I swear to God, I will personally remove your head from your shoulders!"
Jessica flinched at the raw fury, the sudden shift from passionate lover to deadly predator always jarring, even now. She placed a calming hand on his sweat-slicked chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Scar," she murmured softly, trying to diffuse the atomic tension radiating off him. "Just… let him say what it is."
Scar’s jaw clenched so tight Jessica heard his teeth grind. He didn’t move off her, his body still intimately connected, his gaze fixed murderously on the door. After a tense, silent beat where Jessica half-expected the heavy wood to splinter under his glare, he finally barked, "Come in!" The command was a whip-crack.
The door opened cautiously. William, Scar’s imposing second-in-command, stood framed in the doorway. His face, usually impassive, was pale, etched with a tension Jessica had rarely seen. His eyes flickered towards the bed for a microsecond, registering the scene – his boss pinning Jessica beneath him, both flushed and clearly interrupted – before snapping back to Scar’s face with rigid discipline. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, acutely aware he was treading on lethally thin ice.
"Sir," William began, his voice strained. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "I apologize… profoundly… for the intrusion. But…"
"SPIT IT OUT, WILLIAM!" Scar snarled, his patience evaporated. The hand not braced beside Jessica’s head curled into a fist.
William flinched almost imperceptibly. He took a breath, steeling himself, his gaze locking onto Scar’s. The news he delivered was delivered in a flat, urgent tone, cutting through the charged air like a shard of ice:
"It’s Amanda, sir. She’s returned."
The effect was instantaneous and terrifying.
Scar didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The fury that had consumed him a second ago vanished, replaced by a sudden, profound stillness that was infinitely more frightening. The color drained from his face beneath his tan, leaving his scar stark and livid. The possessive fire in his eyes extinguished, replaced by a chilling, hollow shock that Jessica had never witnessed before. It was the look of a man who’d seen a ghost – a ghost capable of unraveling everything.
"What?" The word was a whisper, devoid of its usual power, rough with disbelief. He pushed himself off Jessica abruptly, sitting upright on the edge of the bed, his back rigid, facing away from her. His broad shoulders were taut as steel cables. "When? When did she leave Italy?"
William shifted his weight. "Just confirmed, sir. She landed privately an hour ago. We don’t know her destination yet, but… she’s here. In Lagos."
The silence that followed was deafening, thick with unspoken history and looming catastrophe. Jessica sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her, her own heart pounding against her ribs. She stared at Scar’s rigid back, the sudden distance yawning between them colder than any physical separation. The name hung in the air, charged with an ominous weight she couldn’t comprehend.
Amanda.
Who was she? What power did this name hold that it could fracture the invincible composure of Mr. Scar in an instant? The sanctuary of their love, so fiercely guarded just moments before, suddenly felt fragile, exposed to a storm Jessica couldn’t yet see. The trust, the safety, the future they were building – all suspended on the razor’s edge of this single, devastating name.
TO BE CONTINUED...