His crew.
“Thank you for trusting me,” I whispered through the sudden thickness in my throat.
He shrugged one quilted shoulder. “Elena, I trusted you before I blackmailed you into moving into my house. Do you think I would let any old lawyer into my home?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I think you forced me to live with you because you wanted in my pants.”
“Certamente,” of course, he said with an arrogant smirk. “I could have had you anyway, but this sped up the process.”
“Arrogant,” I chastised, but there was no true censure behind the word.
The truth was, if Dante hadn’t been so self-assured, so tenacious in his pursuit of my heart, I didn’t think he could have succeeded. I was so resigned to being alone the rest of my life, I was almost ludicrously determined to remain that way.
“I don’t want you to worry about my plans,” Dante surprised me by saying as we moved further inland into the rolling hills of vivid green vegetation punctuated with citrus orchards and scrolling lines of cultivated grape vines. “Ignore Rocco Abruzzi. I have no intention of marrying Mirabella Ianni and I never have. Can you imagine? She is not the kind of woman I would fuck, she’s the kind a man like me eats for breakfast.”
He startled a laugh at of me. “Little Red and the big, bad wolf.”
His grin was entirely canine, his incisors white and glistening between those ruddy lips. “Yes. And the only woman I want to eat for breakfast is you. Spread your legs.”
I blinked at him, caught off balance by his abrupt change in topic. “Excuse me?”
“Spread your legs, Elena.” It was an order wrapped in velvet, a request with the subtle implication that aggression might be implemented if I didn’t follow his heed.
“You’re driving,” I pointed out helpfully, even though a little thrill zigged down my spine at the taboo idea.
“I’ve been driving since I was thirteen, I can multitask.”
I blinked again, but before I could censure myself, my thighs were parting.
Impatient, Dante lightly slapped the inside of my left thigh, prompting me to spread them wider.
“Enough business,” he declared in that arrogant manner of a mafia Don used to getting his way at all costs. “We may be fugitives, but we won’t live like that. I know you hate it here. I know it cost you everything to come and leave your world behind. Let me remind you why you took that risk.”
“I’m still wet with your cum,” I admitted drily, even though a flush flared up my cheeks.
He chuckled, proud and aroused. “Good. Take off your underwear.”
I hesitated, but he didn’t rush me. He continued to weave the sports car in and out of traffic, his left hand on the wheel, the tendons in his wrist flexing, revealed by the rolled-up cuffs of his button up shirt. There was a large silver watch on his wrist, a Phillipe Patek he’d told me once had been a gift from his brother, Alexander, when they were younger, before they’d fallen out over their mother’s death. His body was too big for the car dwarfing the leather seat he sprawled in, his thick thighs cramped in the small space.
He was so beautiful, so masterfully crafted of dense muscles and big, roughly carved bones, I couldn’t look at him without feeling wet pool at my center.
I spread my legs even wider, the muscles straining in my thighs, the fabric of my skirt stretch too taught. I pulled the material up my legs so he could watch as I shimmied off the soaked panties I wore beneath it. Carefully, I removed the gun from my thigh holster, checked the safety, and put it in the glove compartment.
“Have you touched yourself to orgasm yet, bella?” he asked me in a low, sultry tone that hummed just louder than the engine.
Since my surgery, he meant. It still wowed me to think that two months ago, I hadn’t been able to orgasm at all. I was forever indebted to Dr. Taylor for fixing me physically and to Dante for helping me fix myself emotionally and mentally.
I shivered, biting my lip to keep from gasping at the shock of arousal his dirty talking sparked in me. “No.”
“Do it for me now,” he declared, his eyes still on the road, but his mouth tipped in a challenging grin. “I want to see you come all over the leather seat.”
“I don’t know if I can do it myself. I mean, without you touching me,” I confessed, but the cool air conditioning on my wet sex, still swollen from Dante’s fucking just an hour before, felt sinfully good.
It embarrassed me, but the more he fucked me, talked dirty to me, used me and taught me in equal measure about sex and sin, the more I longed for it. There was this overfull lockbox stuffed with sexuality I’d never allowed myself to explore until Dante fit his key in the lock and sent it spilling open. The more I explored, the more there was to mine.
“Touch yourself softly, just a fingertip drawing circles over your clit. Si, bella, like that,” he praised, daring to look over at my tentative display. “When I touch you, it’s rough and biting. You like being bent and formed in ways that please me, that suit my need to fuck you hard. But when you touch yourself, you do it like this. You tease those tight folds until they bloom open and your fingers slide into the wet warmth of your pussy.”
A stuttering sigh slipped passed my lips as I worked those feathering circles over my nub. My thighs were starting to strain and quiver. I wanted more. Harder, stronger, faster.
But I wanted him. I wanted Dante to be the one to please me.
There was something…difficult about doing it myself.
The pleasure was there, but there was a buzzing hum in the back of my mind like static on a television with poor reception.
“Relax, lottatrice. You don’t need to fight or strain to find this pleasure. Just ease into it like a warm bath. Close your eyes and listen to your capo’s voice. You’re going to make yourself cum for the both of us. Because I want to see your thighs clench. I want to hear your soft, keening little cries as your tight cunt clenches around your fingers. Then, when you’re finished, you and I are going to take turns licking the cum from your hand.”
“Dio mio, Dante,” I murmured, head lolling on the seat as heat built in my core, deep as burning coals. “Please, can I have more?”
“So sweet when you melt for me,” he murmured and then his hand was on my thigh, drawing circles on my bare knee in tandem with the ones I drew over my clit.
The dual sensation shouldn’t have been so impactful, both touches so light they were just a tease of sensation, but my entire body tightened around the lust emanating through my belly.
“Put one foot on the dash,” he ordered next.
It was so dirty, so wrong to splay myself open like that in the passenger seat of a car traveling breakneck down a swerving Italian road, but I didn’t hesitate.
I placed the heel of my black Jimmy Choo on the glove compartment, my knee falling against the door so my entire pussy was displayed to Dante’s gaze and anyone who might look through the window into our car.
A shudder rippled through me so hard, my teeth chattered.
“Bellissima,” he hissed as he shot a look over at my prone posture. “What a gorgeous cunt you have, Elena. So pink and glistening like a rose with morning dew. I want to lick all that wet up with my tongue.”
“I wish you would,” I panted softly.