breathless. The kitchen clears, and in the sudden silence I realize I’m not just leaning against the counter, I’m using it to brace myself. My palms are sweaty, frictionless against the marble.
Angelo glances at me.
“So, now you’re stuck with another old man.”
“I guess I am.”
His gaze flashes. “I’m old enough to be your father. How does that make you feel?”
Heart thumping, I feign boredom. Look up at him through my lashes. “Does that mean I can call you daddy now?”
Dark amusement graces his features. He gives a small shake of his head. “Come here.”
Oh, swan.
I feel like we’re back in the dark hallway of Alberto’s mansion, on the night he pulled Vittoria’s pearl necklace from my bra. I had an awful impulse to run away from him then, and I feel that same instinct now, even under the bright kitchen lights. Even though he’s rescued me from the worst fate possible. Even though he’s seen me naked and vulnerable already, in every way possible.
With my heart struggling to find a natural rhythm, I round the island and step into the lion’s den. As soon as I’m within arm’s-length, his hand shoots out and snakes around the back of my neck; his thick fingers twisting into my braid. He buries his face into my throat and makes a delicious, animalistic noise I feel wholeheartedly between my thighs. Touching. Real, darn, touching. I melt into him, my breasts grazing against his shirt. My nipples tighten in anticipation, and I’m practically delirious at the thought of him touching skin.
He runs the bridge of his nose down the side of my neck, as though breathing in my scent. His groan vibrates against my pulse. “Fuck, baby. I’ve waited too fucking long for this.”
With one hand around my throat, he wraps the other around my waist and hoists me onto the counter. The backs of my bare thighs brush against the cold marble, sending a lightning bolt down my spine. It’s a stark contrast to the warmth of his hips as he pushes himself between them.
I’m coming apart like a cheap suit; every time he presses his warm mouth to my throat feels like he’s unpicking another stitch. I tilt my head to give him more access, because the desire to have those lips on every inch of my body is maddening.
His hands are rough and desperate as they run down my ribs to my hips and come back up underneath my sweater, trailing a scorching path against my bare skin. Under his sweater, one that I found in a laundry basket in the basement. For a whole tense hour, I thought the ghost of his scent on the collar would be the last time I got to smell him, and yet here I am, drinking his masculine scent right from the source.
I grip the sides of the counter and buck my hips, my body begging to get closer to him. His erection presses on the inside of my thigh, making my eyelids flutter. It’s oh-so-close, but not close enough. I’m sick of the teasing; that’s all I’ve ever known with him. The graze of leather against my backside; his hot breath deliriously close to my clit. Never touching, never feeling. Not really. So I shift forward an inch, until his bulge is right where I need it, pressing against the damp spot on my panties. Suddenly, his hands grip me tighter around my waist, holding me in place. We lock eyes, his flashing dark with irritation, and it’s at this moment I realize he wants it his way. Me, his way.
His gaze drops to my breasts, making me shiver.
“Take it off.”
“You take it off,” I bite back, for the sheer sake of being petty. Despite everything he’s done for me, a part of me is still bitter about him leaving without a word. He can’t just storm back into my life and demand I get naked for him.
His gaze thins. I flinch when he takes a step back. My fingers twitch to hook onto his belt loop and drag him back to me. But he yanks open a drawer and returns with kitchen scissors and a crazed look in his eyes.
Before a gasp can even escape my lips, he pulls the fabric and runs the scissors up the middle of the sweater, from the hem to the neckline. It falls off around my shoulders and pools on the island behind me.
I stare at him in shock, a new, frantic pulse thumping in my clit. “I liked that sweater.”
“You can have all my sweaters.”
His stare is intense, electrifying my stomach and cleavage as it rakes every inch of my exposed flesh. I’m in nothing but a white thong and a matching bra, and without thinking, I unhook it and let it fall to the floor.
His face remains indifferent, but the way his hands curl into fists gives me a tiny insight into what he’s thinking. He licks his lips, reaches for his whiskey. Takes a long, slow sip, still eyeing my body over the rim.
I feel drunk on his attention, and it’s the most exciting thrill I’ve ever experienced. Better than any sin I’ve ever committed, better than standing on the edge of the cliff.
He takes a step forward, grips my jaw and tilts my face to his. “Open your legs for me.” His command is callous and rough, grating up my spine like sandpaper.
But I’ve learned what happens when I don’t comply.
I spread my thighs and his hands run a rugged path up to my seam, where the lace of my gusset meets my inner leg. He grips me there, hard, his fingertips disappearing into my flesh. Oh, swan. The tension is palpable, and I drop back on my elbows to bask under its rays. His rough thumb pad finds my clit through the lace, and he brushes over it, sending static crackling through my veins. My moan melts into a whisper as his hot mouth clamps over my nipple, his tongue hard and wet as it flicks over the nub.
Holy crow. I’ve never felt so hot, so darn alive. So free. I don’t care that the noises escaping my throat are embarrassingly guttural, I don’t care about anything but feeling him on me. With a low growl, he hooks my thong and yanks it down my thigh, like the sight of it pisses him off. I spread my legs further, cold air grazing over my lips, reminding me how wet I am.
He breathes long and heavy breaths. When he swears, it comes out in a thick, strangled rasp that hits me deep in the pit of my stomach. Hands back on my thighs, he yanks me closer, and sinks to his knees. My heart stills in anticipation, but I don’t have long to wait until his hot, hard tongue meets my clit. I shudder, adrenaline rolling through me like a wave. My muscles clench with every slow, soft lick he gives from my entrance to my clit.
“Good girl,” he growls into my lips as I grasp his hair.
Good girl. What he’s doing to me now is a stark contrast to the sharp whip of his belt; a reward, rather than a punishment. But if this is what good girls get, then maybe I won’t be bad anymore.
A hard, angry slap against my pussy dissolves that thought immediately. Holy crow. The sting fizzes in my blood like shaken-up champagne. Maybe I can be both.
Christ, I’ll be whatever Angelo Visconti wants me to be.
A finger slips inside of me, thick and rough. I’ve wondered how it’d feel inside of me ever since I imagined him fingering me in the sea, and my imagination did not come close to reality. I rock against him, desperate for more length and girth, but his grip on my hip is vise-like. I’m clamped to the marble counter, and I have no choice but to lie back at his mercy.
He takes his time, driving his finger in and out of me. Then he slips another in and sucks on my clit. The feeling of his beard grazing me down there makes me feel like I might explode. Pressure builds and builds in my lower core until I’m a whimpering, shivering mess. Fire to his ice, crazed to his calm. So much pressure, so much electricity. It feels dangerous, and a strange part of me feels panicked, overwhelmed, like I need to press pause and catch my breath.
But when pressure explodes in my clit like a raging inferno, all of my hesitation dissipates into clouds of smoke and dust.
I melt into the counter like warmed butter, struggling to catch my breath. Between my thighs, Angelo slowly pulls his finger from inside me and carves a wet, sloppy trail down my seam with his finger, and then kisses along the same path.
Even though I feel exposed and vulnerable—I’m spread on the kitchen counter stark naked, while he didn’t even shed his tie, for flamingo’s sake—the silence filling the air is comfortable. It feels calm, like the peace that rolls in after a big storm.
Angelo rises from his knees and places a hand on either side of me. He stares down with something like admiration settled comfortably on his face. The blade of his silk tie dips between my breasts.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs in fascination, brushing a stray curl away from my cheek. He cocks his head, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Starting a war with my family was worth that alone.”
His gaze drops to my heaving chest, rising and falls. He shakes his head in disbelief, mutters a curse under his breath, and then strides out of the kitchen.
I sit up and curl my arms around myself, feeling awkward. Where has he gone? He is coming back? And are there, uh, still men lurking around the house? The thought makes me panic, and my eyes dart to my panties on the floor. Just as I hop off the island to tug them back to claw back at least some shred of modesty, Angelo comes back into the kitchen, a bath towel in hand.
He holds it out. “Come here.”
I walk toward him and he catches me in it, wrapping me up in the soft fabric and pulling me into his warmth. “I’m running you a bath,” he murmurs into my crown.
I freeze. “Why?”
A hot huff fans my scalp. “Would you prefer a shower?”
“N-no, I just…”
“Shut up then,” he growls, low and sultry, punctuating it with a nip on the shell of my ear.
He leads me to the bathroom and leans against the doorway, staring at me in mild amusement as I take it in. Bubbles spill out over the roll-top tub, and candles cast flickering orange shadows up the walls.
Emotion clogs my throat, and I clench my jaw to stop it from spilling from my lips. Instead, I suck in air and steady myself against the bathtub.
“Thank you, Angelo.”
“Mhmm.”
“Are you going to join me?”
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then his gaze darts toward the window. “Wish I could, Magpie. I’ve got to some shit to do.” He jerks his chin toward the towel wrapped around me. “I’ll watch you get in, though.”
I huff out a laugh, my cheeks flaming. But the weight of his lustful gaze feels so delicious against my skin that I drop my towel with hesitation, making a show of bending over as I get into the bath.
A guttural moan escapes him. He smooths down his tie. “I stick by what I said,” he mutters.
“And what was that?” I rasp back, sinking into the warmth of the bath.
“You’re worth starting a war for.”
With a wink that shoots me between the thighs like a bullet, he clicks the door shut, and I hear his footsteps disappear on the other side. I sigh, roll my shoulders back, and melt under the bubbles.
Holy crow. It’s crazy how quickly life changes. Only this morning I was hell-bent on vengeance, ready to throw Alberto off the side of a cliff in desperation. My heart beats double-time for a moment—I wonder what he’s doing now? What Angelo said, or did, to get him to let me go so easily? He was gone less than an hour, and came back without so much as a scratch on him.
He’s either the smoothest talker, or the scariest man alive.
I submerge myself completely, unable to stop the dark smile from forming on my lips.
I like the idea of the latter. It excites me.
Fumbling around in the half-lit bathroom, I find shower gel and shampoo, both marketed to men who know nothing about skincare. I laugh, lathering myself up with Angelo’s scent. When I get out of the bath, I wrap the towel around myself and absentmindedly peer out the window. It looks out onto the backyard, and at the far corner of it, a raging fire reaches high against the navy sky. Squinting, I realize the dark figure next to it is Angelo, and the lump of charred white poking out of the flames is my wedding dress.
Something warm and satisfying pools in my lower stomach. I lean against the window and watch him for a moment. He’s glaring into the flames, sipping from a whiskey tumbler.
Christ, I think I love him.
I shake the thought off as quickly as it comes, because it’s utterly ridiculous. I’ve never been in love, but even I know, it’s way too early to have the word so close to the tip of my tongue. Despite everything that’s happened, I’ve only known Angelo a handful of weeks, and for a good chunk of them, he hated my guts. I’d like to say we hated each other, but really, I know I only disliked him because he held the key to all of my secrets and sins. Now though, I know I’d give them all to him willingly, without hesitation.
Scanning the room for something to put on, I realize there’s a small pile of clothes set on a dresser. A pair of Nike sweatpants and a hoodie, both of which have the ghost of Angelo’s laundry detergent woven into the fabric. Even though they are comically big on me, I slip them on and pad out to the hall and down the stairs. Angelo is waiting for me at the bottom of them.
“Nice bath?”
I nod. “Nice view.”
He laughs, the type of laugh that’ll turn me into an addict. As I reach the bottom step, something over his shoulder catches my eye. A shadow, distorted by the frosted glass in the door.
And then the doorbell rings.
The cry that leaves my lips reflects the sheer panic I feel in my chest. Angelo’s eyes flash with concern, then anger, and he pulls me into his chest. “Relax,” he soothes, stroking my hair. “It’s pizza. Just pizza.”
When he comes back into the foyer holding a stack of pizza boxes, I’m still getting my breath back. Raking a cautious gaze over me, he balances the pizzas on his forearm and grips my hand possessively, pulling me into a room I haven’t been in yet. A living room. Like the rest of the house it’s crisp and minimal, like a blank canvas. The walls still smell faintly of paint.
Angelo drops the boxes on the coffee table and sinks onto the sofa. “Come here,” he rasps, patting his lap.
I don’t hesitate crawling onto him. He wraps a strong hand around my waist and sets the other on my thigh. “Look at me, Rory.”
I do, meeting the storm raging in his green irises. “No one is going to come for you, and if they do, they’ll have to get through a whole fucking army, and then through me. Alberto’s gone.” He smooths his tie. “I killed him.” He says this so matter-of-factly, it’s hard to believe he was ever anything but a capo. Studying my features carefully, he grips my waist a little tighter and waits for my reaction.
His words throb at my temples for a moment, but then a weight lifts off my shoulders.
I swallow. Palm his chest. There are a million questions bubbling on my tongue, like how, how did you do it? Did he beg you for mercy, did he put up a fight? Was it slow, painful, or did he not even see it coming? And what about the rest of the family? I can’t imagine Dante taking it lying down. And it’s at this moment, I know he lied to me when he walked through that front door.
It’s not over.
But none of that emerges from my throat. Instead, I muster two simple words.
“Thank you.”
Amusement tugs the corners of his lips. “You’re welcome. Now, you need to eat.” He drags his gaze from mine and nods to the coffee table. “I don’t know what you like yet, so I just got everything.”
I laugh into his chest; he smells like bonfire smoke and warm whiskey. “Ham and pineapple, please.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Fucking hell. Is it too late to give you back?” Despite his disdain, he flips open a few pizza boxes until he finds the Hawaiian.
“Way too late. You stole me, remember?”
His smirk is dark and delicious. “And so I did.” He picks up a slice and brings it to my lips. “Eat.” I pause for a moment, then reach up for the slice, but he pulls it out of my reach. He wants to feed me? Heat rises in my cheeks, but also between my thighs. It’s only pizza, for goodness sake, but something about him feeding me feels so…intimate.
I take a bite, eyes never leaving his. Underneath me, his cock stirs in his slacks, and it’s instinctive to roll my thighs against it.
“Bad girl,” he growls. “Eat first. You’ll need your energy for later.”
My pulse quickens, and although it sounds more like a threat than a promise, I find that I can’t wait for whatever later is. I take another big bite, wanting to get through the pizza and to this enigmatic later.
“So, uh. What exactly does stealing me entail?”
Angelo’s mouth twitches. “I’m not too sure. I’m kinda new to this whole capo thing.”
“Oh. So I’m your first captive, then?”
“Mhmm,” he murmurs, watching me with dark amusement.
I squirm again, this time, rolling along the length of his erection. The way his jaw ticks and his eyes shut briefly makes me feel like I have all the power in the world. His hand clamps down harder on my hip, and he lets out a small hiss.
“I don’t think you’re meant to be so gentle with your captives.”
He clamps his tongue between his teeth. “No?”
I take another bite. “No,” I mumble through chunks of crust. “Don’t think so.”
He watches me finish off the slice and feeds me another in crackling silence. When I finished that, his eyes trail the length of me, his jaw ticking in thought.
“You know, I think you’re right.”
“About?”
“The whole being too gentle thing.” He grabs the waistband of my sweatpants and lifts me up. The pizza box overturns onto the floor as he flings me over his shoulder and storms out of the living room. “What are you doing?!” I squeal, playfully beating my fists against his back.
“Chaining you to my bed,” he snarls, giving my ass a hard slap. “That seems more appropriate, right?”
White hot delirium rushes through me. The threat of later now sounds like a dark promise, and I can almost taste it. He bursts into a room on the top floor and throws me onto a bed. A quick glance at the suitcase in the corner of the room is all I get before Angelo consumes me, pinning me to the bed with his weight.
An animalistic growl in his chest vibrates against mine, making my nipples tighten. “You look so hot in my clothes it pisses me off,” he barks, in frustration, tugging at the hoodie. “Maybe I won’t buy you a new wardrobe, I’ll just force you to wear my shit all the time.”
I laugh into the planes of his shoulder, but it melts into a moan when he forces my thighs apart and flicks my clit, hard. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”
My muscles tense. I’m surprised with how in tune he is with me already, because he stills too. Props himself up on his hands and pins me with a blistering glare. “What?” he snaps. My mouth opens, closes again. His expression hardens. “Say it.”
Nerves skittering under the surface of my skin, I realize the time has come to tell Angelo my final sin.
My mouth is dry, but I swallow anyway. “I, uh. I’ve only done this once.”
He scowls. Tugs at my waistband. “Yeah, right.”
I slam my hand against his chest and reluctantly he stops. He looks up, irritated.
“I’m being serious, Angelo. I didn’t have sex with those guys…it’s just a rumor.”
He sits up and stares at me. There’s something in my expression he doesn’t like. I know because his eyes soften, and he reaches for a pillow to prop my head up. “Talk to me.”
“I had to study for the final aviation exam at the Devil’s Coast Academy. It was an after-school thing, once a week. I dreaded every class I had, because it was just five guys and all of them were such creeps.” Even after all this time, anger heats my blood up a few degrees at the mere thought of them. Christ, they were the reasons all of my sins started. “Always slapping my ass, or trying to take pictures up my skirt.”
Angelo hisses bitterly, his chest tensing under my hand.
“The class before the exam, something felt different. It was like there was a big joke going on and I wasn’t part of it. So, once the professor had left, I tried to leave too, but one of the boys locked the door.” I shift my attention to the ceiling, uncomfortable with the slow-burning fury that’s starting to seep from Angelo’s pores. But I’ve started, and I need to get it off my chest. It’s the only thing about me he doesn’t know, and I want him to have the entire puzzle.
“It was the ringleader, Spencer. He and his crew were like the gods of the school—they could do no wrong. He informed me that they’d been talking, and they all wanted to know what a Devil’s Dip girl looked like naked…” I trail off, the insinuation dangling in the air. But still, it’s not enough, I need to say it. “They tried to rape me,” I announce, with as steady of a voice as I can muster. “They tried to pin me to a desk and rape me.”
The silence is blistering. I steal a look at Angelo, and the indifferent expression on his face scares me. I flinch when he suddenly jumps to his feet and grabs his cell and car keys off the bedside table.
I bolt upright. “Where are you going?”
“Give. Me. Names.”
“Angelo—”
“Names, Rory.” His voice is rough and strangled, like he’s trying—and failing—to suppress his rage. “And addresses. Now.”
Rolling onto my knees, I tug the back of his jacket and he stills, hard and tense, at my touch. “Please,” I beg.
He pauses, then drops to his haunches next to me and grabs my nape. “I have killed every man on this coast that has touched you inappropriately. From Max to my own fucking uncle. These kids are next, and if anybody besides me puts so much of a finger on you from now on, they’ll be killed too.”
A shiver runs down my spine, loaded with equal parts fear and excitement. But the thought of having him leave me here again makes me sick to my stomach. “Tomorrow,” I whisper, trailing my hand down his hard chest. It’s crazy that I still haven’t seen what’s under there. “But tonight, I just want to spend it with you. Please.”
His stomach softens and I know I have him. In one swift motion, he pulls me onto his lap and grips my jaw. “Tomorrow, first thing. Write me a list right now.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “If it makes you feel any better—”
“Nothing you say is going to make me feel better about this, Rory.”
“Well, uh. I bit one guy’s ear off.” He stills. “So, he should be quite easy to find.”
A few beats pass, then a dark chuckle rolls over the top of my head. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. And one of the other guys, I pressed my thumbs so hard into his eyes that he’s now blind in one of them.”
His strong, warm hand rubs my back. “How’d it feel?”
I smile into his neck. “Exhilarating.”
He pushes me away and looks down at me. Only now, do I realize my words have done nothing to calm his fire, despite his chuckle. “You said you’ve fucked once before. I want his name, too.”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. He’s got nothing to do with anything. He was a nice guy, just some kid from school.”
Angelo’s jaw ticks. “I don’t like that answer. Did you love him?”
“No! Truth is, after that incident, I just wanted to get the deed done and over with. I hated the idea that I had something men wanted, and that they could take it from me so easily.”
“Like Alberto thought he could.”
“Exactly.”
His nostrils flare, but he gives me a curt nod. “No sex,” he suddenly announces. “Not tonight.”
“What—?”
He pushes me onto the bed and gets up, disappearing into the closet. Disappointment beats in my chest, but when he comes back with a large bag, my curiosity is piqued. “I’ve got something better than sex.”
“I doubt it,” I mutter.
Laughing, he tips the bag and a mountain of candy falls onto the bed.
I rake it through my fingers, picking up different bars and boxes, confused. There’s nothing I recognize. “What’s all this?”
“British candy. Picked it up for you when I was tying up my loose ends in London. Thought you might like to try some things you can’t find in the local Walmart.”
He slides himself behind me, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me back so I’m flush against his chest. “Have you tried Wine Gums?” He lunges over and picks up a red roll. “Don’t know why they are called that, they’ve got no alcohol in them, but they are fucking great.”
Without warning, he pops one in my mouth and runs a possessive hand over my stomach.
“Do you like it?”
Numb, I nod in agreement, but I’m not thinking about the darn candy, I’m thinking about him. Us. This.
Bad things happen to bad people. So how the hell did I end up getting so lucky?
