“There’s no point, Ma,” she told her mother. “I have been his secret for so long, he maybe forgot what bringing me to light would do. Especially now, with him taking over, he’ll need to marry someone with power, who can stabilize the Outfit. Bringing me into the picture will only make him look weak. And I can’t be his secret anymore, Ma. And I won’t let my child be. So, it’s better if he never knows about it.”
“I understand, baby. I did the same for you. But Dante is different. I still think you should tell him, Amara,” her mother tried to convince her, using her given name to sound firm. Amara knew the tactic well. “He loves you. And with Mr. Maroni gone, he could give you and my grandchild what you need.”
Amara was tempted, so, so tempted.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it,” her mother beseeched her. “He… he’s changed since he’s come back, Mumu. He’s darker. I can’t explain it. I’m worried about him.”
Her heart started to pound, her hand gripping the phone tight as the need to find him, comfort him, let him share his demons with her, washed over her. She tamped it down.
“I promise I’ll consider it,” Amara told her mother. They chat for a few minutes about other things, before Amara cut the call and stared at Lulu eating.
“You think I should tell him too, don’t you?”
Lulu looked at her, then kept eating.
“Of course you do. You love him, you little traitor.”
Nom nom nom.
“But he really behaved like a dick, you know.”
Cronch.
“You and I and the baby are going to be happy here, Lulu.”
A doubtful look.
“Don’t give me that face. I’m not entirely mad at him. This is for the best.”
Lulu ignored her.
Amara sighed and started preparing her dinner.
He settled between her legs. God, she loved when he did that. She writhed against him, feeling his shoulders spread her thighs open, his mouth descending on her mound.
He spread soft kisses on her waxed skin, his scruff rasping against her sensitive flesh.
Wait, why did he have a scruff?
“I’m so fucking pissed at you, dirty girl,” he growled, still kissing her mound, not going where she needed his lips.
Why was he pissed at her? She was the one angry at him.
“This pussy knows me even in sleep, doesn’t she, baby?”
Oh yeah. She was getting so wet, anticipating the pleasure she knew he would bring her. She flexed her hips, trying to get him to hurry. Ah, she missed him, missed his touch, missed that dirty-talking mouth. And she loved this dream.
A finger swiped through her folds and she felt her hips come off the bed. It felt so real.
“You’re coming home with me, baby,” he told her. She’d love that. She missed the compound, the woods, the hills, the people. It had been so long since she’d seen it. She wanted to go home.
“Wake up, Amara,” he commanded her.
No, if she woke up she’d lose him. She didn’t want to wake up, not just yet.
His tongue licked at her folds once. God, it felt so good. Too good.
Amara blinked her eyes open, staring up the ceiling fan moving at full speed, aware of the wind caressing her hardened, exposed nipples, feeling wet between her naked thighs. It took her a second to process everything – the black silk baby doll she’d worn to bed thrown to the side, Lulu napping on the floor near the door, the room dark with the street light from outside filtering her window, and a very angry, gloriously shirtless, slightly bearded Dante Maroni between her legs.
What the hell?
Heart racing, she suddenly grappled with the sheets and tried to scatter backward, only to be stopped by his strong grip around her thighs.
“What are you- oh shit,” her words ended on a moan as he pulled her forward, pushing her thighs back, and dove in.
Amara gripped his hair with one hand, the other going to the sheets beside her, her breath coming out too fast as his tongue pushed into her. Dear gods of cunnilingus had blessed this man with a mouth he knew how to use so good.
She bit her lip, pulling his head closer, mindless as she felt a wave of pleasure crest inside her.
“Yes,” she panted. “God, Dante, please.”
He built her up higher and higher, his thumb stroking her clit slowly, oh so slowly, bringing her right to the edge before suddenly, he stopped.
“I swear to god, D-”
His hand suddenly came over her mouth, quieting her, and he shook his head once. Heart pounding, Amara watched with wide eyes as he stayed still over her, his head tilted to the side, a vein in his neck throbbing as he listened.
Amara couldn’t hear anything but she looked to the door, to see Lulu was perked up too, her ears twitching.
A clock ticked in the house. A dog barked somewhere outside. Critters spoke in their nightly ritual. But they were all usual sounds, nothing to alert both the feline and the man.
Lulu padded out the door to investigate and Dante moved off her, putting his fingers to his lips to warn her to stay silent, throwing his blue shirt towards her. Amara nodded, quickly buttoning up the shirt, glad for Dante’s height once again because it fell almost to her knees, and grabbed her discarded panties, pulling them on.
She saw Dante bend down to scoop up his jacket, pulling out a gun.
Lulu meowed from outside. Dante went to the door, his form quiet as he waited, almost unmoving, alert. Amara watched, the silence suffocating, a knot of anxiety tightening in her gut. She pressed her palm to her stomach, willing her heartbeat to calm down, to keep breathing normally. This was not the time to panic.
Swallowing, she tiptoed to the side of the bed, taking out the taser she kept in her drawer, feeling better about arming herself. Though she could have had a gun, Amara didn’t like them. She didn’t like death, as necessary as it was in their world, and she didn’t want to take a life. But it was probably something she should think about, arming herself, now that she was more vulnerable.
Her eyes traced her man, the two tattoos on his back flexing as he moved. It had always fascinated her, those tattoos of his – a giant black dragon taking up the entire left side of his spine, its tail curled and head turned back, watching as a flock of ravens emerged from its wings and flew away diagonally to the right. Knowing him and his artistry, Amara knew it had some significance to him, but he’d never told her.
She saw as he went out into the dark living room, heard a gunshot, heard a scuffle and masculine grunts. Blood rushing in her ears, Amara tried to keep her breathing contained and her arm ready for anyone who came through the door.
They came through the window, and before she could make a sound, everything blacked out.
She came to with the sound of her name being called.
Blinking her eyes open, she shook her head to clear the grogginess, unable to move. Looking down, she realized why. Her hands were tied to the arms of a chair, the roped binding her wrists to the wood right over her scars.
Her stomach sank.
No.
No.
She started to struggle to get free, chafing her wrists against the rope, her breathing escalating. This couldn’t be happening again. She couldn’t survive it again.
God, please. No.
“Amara!”
The loud, masculine voice calling her name had her looking up.