I nod, even though the devil on my shoulder whispers I’m only here because I’ve fled my family and he was the only one I had to turn to. The only person I know who doesn’t owe my brother favors.
“I’m here for you.” It’s still the truth. “All the other times I was, too. Even under duress I can make clear choices.”
“Be sure, Layla. I’m playing for keeps.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of this?”
“Never.” His eyes glaze with lust, his nostrils flaring slightly before his mouth steals mine again.
It’s a frenzy of lips and tongues and teeth. A wild dance of my snatching fingers at his collared shirt and his strong hands on my heated skin.
“It feels like a fucking lifetime since I had you naked.” He reaches around the back of my dress, finding my zipper to drag it down. “I’m going to burn all your clothes.”
He grabs the heaped material at my thighs and helps to pull the dress over my stomach, my shoulders, my head. “On second thought…” He leans back to take in my fire-red lingerie, a lone finger reaching out to trail along the tiny strap of silk circling my waist that holds up the even tinier V of lace at my crotch. “You can keep these… at least temporarily.”
“You like?”
“That’s a fucking understatement,” he growls. “They look brand new. Tell me you bought them for me.”
“I bought them for you,” I whisper.
“Jesus.” The oath is groaned. “You’re so goddamn obedient. Such a fucking treasure.” He pushes farther between my legs, the hardness behind his zipper a mere inch from where I want it to be. “After all the things I’ve fantasized about doing to you, you’d think I’d know where to start.” His fingers creep higher and higher until they’re at the crotch of my panties.
I jolt at the briefest swipe of his thumb over my pussy as his lips approach mine.
“You missed me.” He holds my gaze, staring deep into my eyes. “You’re already soaked.”
I bite my lip. Nod.
“What did you miss most?” He strokes his thumbs back and forth along the lace V, sending a mass of tingles through my clit.
I close my eyes and nuzzle his nose, working my fingers down his buttons, popping them one by one. “I missed the empowerment I feel when I’m around you. You increase my confidence.”
“And you feel confident now?” he asks against my lips.
“Yeah. I do.”
He kisses me, soft and gentle. Teasing and slow. “Okay then, amore mio. Show me.”
18
Matthew
She isn’t startled by my request, yet something lingers on the edges of her expression, spitting in the face of the confidence she claims to have.
I step back, readjusting the stiffness in my pants. “Strip for me.”
Her chin lifts, as if in defense, but she holds my gaze and snakes her arms around her back, unclasping the see-through bra in silence. The straps loosen at her shoulders as she cups her breasts, guiding the material into her hands, then dropping it to the tile floor.
“Slow and steady doesn’t always win the race, amore mio.” I’m not sure she’s aware of how much she’s teasing me. But I’m dying here. The anticipation of sinking home between her thighs is fucking killing me.
“Do you use that endearment with everyone?” she purrs. “It means my love in Italian, right?”
“Right.” I fight against the need to claim those perfect tits with my hands, my mouth, my cock. I want to cover them with my seed. Mark her like a fucking beast. “Would you prefer tesoro mio?” My treasure. “Or bella mia?” My beauty.
Her lips curve. “I’d prefer an honest endearment. One without the player charm.”
“Then hear this, sei tutto per me.” You are my everything.
She blinks back at me, lost for a moment, her hands gripping the edge of the marble counter.
“Want me to translate?” I lick my lower lip, itching to taste her, to plant my head between those thighs.
“No.” Her response is breathy as she grabs my jacket and yanks me forward. “It’s best if you keep quiet. You undo me in both languages, and I need to keep my wits about me.”
I snicker as she drags me in for a kiss, one arm curling around my neck, the other working on her underwear as she jostles from side to side.
I help her, yanking the string of material down her smooth legs, letting it fall to my feet. She’s exposed, her thighs spread, yet she holds me close, not allowing me the freedom to look my fill.
This attraction has a life of its own.
I was consumed by it from the first night we met when I’d been watching her from the restaurant kitchen, her expression filled with determination and strength as she spied on the Costa family dinner. Then, in a split-second, Bishop scared the confidence from her features, and the frail panic triggered regrets from my past.
She needed saving. And unlike those I failed in my youth, I refused to let her suffer.
“Ho un debole per te.” I’m weak for you.
Completely powerless.
I would fall to my knees for her. In lust. In protection. For no other reason than this maddening chemistry between us.
“Shh.” She presses her mouth harder to mine, demanding silence as our chests brush.
I snicker, dragging my palm to the apex of her thighs, sliding my fingers over her mound as our tongues tangle. I’m worked up. Hard as stone. Determined as hell. “Nessuno potrà mai confrontare.”
She gasps. “Stop it. You’re killing me.”
“And not being inside you is killing me.”
She whimpers and holds me tighter to her lips.
I glide my fingertips to her slit, finding her wet, making her hips roll. The growl of gratitude that vibrates in my throat is uncontainable.
I’d hoped she’d be like this—utterly perfect—and prayed she wouldn’t be in the same breath. There’s no withstanding her. Not now. Maybe never.
I sink my fingers inside her, the walls of her pussy clamping down on me while she shudders.
“Matthew.” Her voice is nothing more than a breathy plea. “You make me crazy.”
She grinds into the curl of my fingers, kissing me harder, gripping tighter on my neck.
I need a fucking drink.
A time-out.
Something… anything to keep this from ending too fast. One blink and it will all be over.
“You have the same effect on me.” I reluctantly remove my fingers from her heat, needing to savor this, and clench my fist as I pull back. Her juices dampen my palm, the exquisite texture tempting me to lick my own damn skin.
She stiffens with my retreat, panting, her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
I don’t just want to fuck her—I want to watch her. See her. Know her.
I raise my knuckles to the underside of her chin, tilting her face flush with mine. The scent of her sex lingers between us, the heady perfume filling my lungs.
Does it drug her the way it does me?
Is she drowning in lust, barely functional due to her need?
Those deep blue depths staring my way keep me grounded.