“You’re making me break my rules, Natalia.” His tone is accusatory, as if I were the one to break whatever rule he’s referring to.
Nausea swirls in my stomach as he circles me, as if he were a shark, ready to attack. I bite into my lip, trembling, awaiting and dreading his next move. I gasp when he suddenly stops in front of me, curls his hands around my waist, and squeezes me so tight that I’m sure there will be bruises in the morning.
“Cristian,” I whisper.
His frame towers over me, blocking me from moving or looking around him. When he tips his head down to look at me, his face is darkened with frustration, his eyes burning with sin.
He bares his teeth. “Making me do things I normally don’t.”
I stare down at the floor. “Then, stop doing them.”
A cold laugh escapes him, and he jerks me closer.
My chest to his.
My breathing mixed with his.
Mine frantic.
His controlled.
He reaches down, edging his hand between us, and knots the hem of my dress in his fist. In one swift motion, he whips the dress over my head and tosses it across the room. The dress lands on top of the whiskey mess.
Even though he’s seen me naked, I cross my arms to cover myself.
The last time he saw me this exposed was different.
It was intense, but nothing like this.
Cristian grabs my elbows, tugging them away from each other, and pins my arms to my sides. “Don’t move them.”
I whimper when he releases them, only to slip a hand up my stomach. He slides a finger beneath my bra strap, tracing it back and forth before snapping it back. As soon as it hits my skin, he skillfully unhooks it. The bra drops to our feet, and he kicks it away. He takes a step back, and his gaze hardens while traveling down my body. Goose bumps crawl over my skin when he reaches out and rubs his palms over my breasts. I blush, my skin warming as he smooths his hands over them, his thumbs brushing my nipples.
But his touch doesn’t linger.
His hand splays over my collarbone, and he snarls as his finger grazes a scratch on my skin from when he tackled me.
“It’s just a scratch,” I whisper, wincing. “I’ll be fine.”
He curves a hand around my throat, his grasp loose, and circles behind me. I shiver when he pushes my hair away with his knuckles and explores my skin. He presses his lips to the back of my shoulder when he finds another scratch.
“Cristian,” I say.
“Shut up.”
The tiny gentleness he had evaporates when he scrapes his teeth into my neck. Shivers trickle down my spine when he drops my hair and lowers his touch down the contour of my back, and then he studies my body for any more harm done. My skin is on fire at his touch.
Then, Cristian lowers himself to one knee, places a single kiss on each one of my ass cheeks, and smooths his hands down the backs of my thighs.
“Turn,” he demands.
I turn, and he guides me to where he wants.
Where his face is only inches from my thighs.
“Why did you save me, Cristian?” I stare down at him, seeing only his hair, and wish I could run my hand through it. I don’t have the guts to, though.
He doesn’t reply, only continues to touch—to inspect—every inch of my body.
Those rough, crime-stained hands caress my skin in a way I never thought possible. And when he’s finished, I expect him to stand.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he settles himself on both knees. My heart races, and my throat dries as I wait for his next move. Groaning, he winds the strings of my panties between his fingers before slowly sliding them down my legs. As if on instinct, I kick them off and slide out of my sandals.
My legs tremble, and I moan when he licks the inside of my thigh.
Oh my freaking God.
My heart races so fast that I can feel my pulse in my neck.
“Fuck,” he hisses, pushing my legs farther apart, giving him more room to make himself comfortable.
I gasp when he separates my folds and slides his finger through my wetness.
I’m soaked for him.
He lowers his head and dips his tongue between my slit. My knees wobble, and I struggle to hold myself up. He pauses to rest one of my legs over his shoulder to balance me and then settles his hand on my stomach to keep me in place.
Then, he pleasures me in ways I never thought possible from his position.
His fingers thrust in and out of me.
So good, so perfect.
His tongue sucks on my clit.
Slides through my folds.
His sharp teeth bite into my thigh.
I stare down, watching this powerful man at my feet.
My striking soon-to-be husband.
It’s intoxicating, as if I’d been the one drinking the whiskey.
A high only Cristian can give.
He doesn’t slow until my body shakes above him, my back arching, and I moan, “Cristian … fuck … Cristian … I’m almost there. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
I ride his face, nearly suffocating him.
Anything to get closer.
“Let go, sweet Natalia.”
And just like always, I do what he said.
I moan, my body shaking, and fall limp. He catches me, gathers me into his arms, and walks me to bed. My head spins as he settles me in bed and throws the comforter over my naked body. I’m catching my breath when the door opens, and he leaves the room.
CHAPTER 18
CRISTIAN
A man like me doesn’t have weaknesses.
But today, I showed one—Natalia.
I should’ve handed her over to the Lombardis.
Had I done that, I’d have a clearer head.
She was disposable, nothing to me, but then I had to go and touch her.
I wouldn’t be thinking about how she tasted or how good it felt when her plump lips were wrapped around my cock.
I walk downstairs, licking the sweet taste of Natalia on my lips, and find Benny and Rocky waiting for me. Benny is pacing the foyer like he’s a man who impregnated his mistress, his shoes creating an ear-grating squeak that echoes through the house.
Rocky is perched against the wall, his back stiff and his hands shoved in his pockets.
Benny stops when he sees me. “What the fuck happened?”
“We were shot at.” I stretch my tense neck from side to side. “Not the first time it’s happened, and unless our enemies fall off the face of the earth, which would make life tragically boring, it won’t be the last.”
I won’t die of old age or cancer.
None of us do.
It’ll be murder.
My grandfather was the victim of a blown-up car.
My father, a gunshot, execution-style.
I snap my fingers and gesture to my office. They follow me inside. Benny shuts the door and clicks the lock. No one mutters a word as I walk to the bar cart and pour myself a glass of Pappy Van Winkle. I drain it in one swig, which unfortunately washes down the taste of Natalia, and refill the glass. The liquor tastes nowhere as delicious as Natalia’s pussy.
Fuck.
My daughter’s best friend has consumed me.
She’s fucking tormenting me.
Her information has been close to useless.
She’s getting my men—getting me—shot at.
She isn’t worth the trouble, but giving her up is becoming harder.