Xalvador Armani

Fate is a bitch, forcing Xalvador to face the one person he loathed—and craved—the most.

A past lover turned sworn enemy, she was an unhealed wound, an itch he couldn’t scratch. No matter the mission or target, she was always there, bound by rivalry and a shared history that refused to fade. Their clashes weren’t just about blades and bullets; it was the tension—the lingering heat of a past that refused to burn away.

And that’s what made Xalvador hate her even more.

Because despite every ounce of rage, every reminder of her betrayal, of the way she disappeared like a ghost in the night, he still craved her.

And that? That was unacceptable.

This time, their war had a new battlefield—a jewel embedded with a chip worth billions, a prize both of their families desperately wanted. A silent heist turned into an all-too-familiar game of cat and mouse. And of course, just as Xalvador had his fingers brushing against the velvet case, a quiet, amused voice ghosted from the shadows.

A sudden blur of silver cut through the air—a knife, whistling past his cheek, so close it left a thin, stinging line in its wake. His jaw tightened, fingers curling around his gun as he turned. And there she was, standing opposite him like a beautiful omen of bad luck, gun cocked, lips curled in a smirk that made his blood heat.

Xalvador let out a low chuckle. "You missed."

Wiping the thin trail of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. "Still feisty as ever, I see. Though, if you're trying to impress me, you'll have to do better than a love tap." His smirk widened, sharp as a blade.

Before she could react, he pinned her against the tabletop, hands trapped in a bruising grip. His weight caged her in, his arousal pressing against her as he drew his gun, the cold barrel nestled between her legs.

"Look at you," he taunted, nodding toward the jewel just out of reach. "So close, yet entirely at my mercy." His chuckle was dark, his grip tightening. "Maybe if you beg—or better yet, give me a kiss—I’ll reconsider sharing."

He traced the gun slowly between her legs up to her cunt, pressing teasing circles right on her clit, his voice dark with amusement and something far more wicked. “I can feel you trembling,” he murmured, pressing just enough to tease, never to satisfy. His breath ghosted over her ear, a low chuckle vibrating against her skin.

“Go on, moan for me. Let me hear how much you hate this.”

Before he could push her further, a sharp, blaring noise shattered the tension between them. The room was suddenly bathed in flashing red light as the high-pitched wail of security alarms screeched through the building, drowning out even the ragged breaths between them.

Xalvador froze, his grip tightening instinctively before he let out a sharp hiss of irritation, yanking the gun away from her trembling form. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

His jaw clenched as heavy boots echoed through the hall. Of course this had to happen now—just when he had her right where he wanted. His fun? Ruined. His prize? Delayed. And now he had to deal with a pack of overpaid grunts who actually thought they could catch him.

With a rough tug, he yanked her upright, fingers curling around her wrist in a bruising grip. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” he sneered, voice edged with venom as he dragged her toward the nearest exit. “Your terrible fucking timing just cost us both the damn prize.”

With footsteps closing in and radios buzzing, Xalvador clenched his jaw. Frustration burned, but instinct took over—he shoved her into a corridor, his body shielding hers despite it all. A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, a voice barking orders just as Xalvador turned to her with a sharp, knowing smirk.

“Hope you’re ready to run, because I’m not getting arrested tonight.”

The jewel was gone—slipped into the shadows while he had been too distracted—but if he couldn't claim his prize, then he'd settle for something else.

If I can’t have the damn jewel, then at least I’ll do something right tonight.

And that was ruining her.

Xalvador yanked her through the dim corridors, alarms flashing red as footsteps pounded behind them. Frustration burned hotter than the chase.

His night had already been interrupted, his victory stolen—but he’d be damned if he left without leaving his mark. Just before escaping, he pinned her against the wall, grip firm on her chin, eyes burning with a mix of rage and hunger.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and sharp as a blade. “All out of breath, running right into my hands. Almost poetic, don’t you think?” His thumb brushed over her lips, a mockery of tenderness before his fingers tightened. “You cost me a fortune tonight. The least you could do is make it up to me.”

The footsteps were getting closer, but Xalvador didn’t move, didn’t let up. His body caged her in, every inch of him radiating a promise—a threat.

“You can run all you want, sweetheart,” he whispered, dragging his lips dangerously close to hers, “but you will answer to me. If not tonight... then soon.”

Then, just as the first shadow passed the hallway, he grabbed her wrist once more and ran, dragging her into the night—one hand gripping his gun, the other securing his real prize.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Tires screeched against the asphalt as Xalvador gripped the wheel, his patience wearing thin. The flashing red and blue lights painted the night in chaotic streaks, sirens wailing as they closed in. This night had already spiraled far beyond what he anticipated, and now, the chase was becoming a nuisance.

With one hand on the wheel, he grabbed his phone, voice sharp as he barked, “Release the decoys. Now.”

A brief silence, then confirmation. Moments later, multiple identical black cars emerged from side streets, splitting off in different directions. As expected, the police followed the fakes, their pursuit scattering.

Xalvador exhaled, maneuvering through the narrow streets, his grip finally easing as the flashing lights faded from his rearview mirror.

His gaze flickered to his passenger—his prize. Trapped in his car, caught in the middle of a game she never had a chance of winning.

He chuckled darkly. "Here’s the deal, sweetheart. You either let the cops get you... or you let me get you." His smirk deepened, voice velvet and venom. "Between a jail cell and my bedroom? My bed’s a hell lot more comfortable."

Silence. Thick, suffocating.

A sharp turn. A secluded road. His villa looming ahead.

The moment they arrived, he didn’t waste time.

Car door slammed. A sharp yelp.

He hoisted her over his shoulder like stolen goods. His stolen goods.

“You’re lucky I have plans for you,” he muttered, carrying her inside, straight to his bedroom.

Then, with a swift motion, he threw her onto the plush mattress, watching with a sharp, predatory gaze as she landed.

Before she could even think of escaping, he was on her, restraining her wrists and ankles with practiced ease. Leather straps secured her in place, preventing any attempts at resistance.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before his fingers went to the buttons of his own shirt, peeling it off with deliberate slowness. His smirk deepened as his gaze roamed over her, fully taking in the sight of her—helpless, caught in the trap he so carefully set.

“This,” he murmured, reaching for the first clasp of her clothing, “is where the fun really begins.”

Xalvador trailed his fingers along her bound form, the ghost of his touch igniting a tension between them that was impossible to ignore. He took his time, savoring the moment—her helplessness, his control. “We’re not leaving this bed until you're covered with my cum.”