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The shower started and by the time I entered the room, Giulio was stepping into the small tub. The two of us would be a tight fit.
Still, I opened the curtain and slid into the steamy spray. Giulio was under the water, running his hands through his hair, wetting it. Cristo, he was sexy.
He was truly a work of art. No museum in Florence has anything remotely as beautiful as this man.
I frowned when the water stung my arm. The knife wound. I’d forgotten about it. I pinched the cut, reopening it to flush it out. Red water ran down my arm.
“Here.” He handed me the soap.
I cleaned my arm carefully, then used the soap everywhere else.
“Will it need stitches?” he asked, tilting his head toward my arm.
I almost laughed. This was nothing. I’d experienced far worse. “No.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why I find that so hot, but I do. Does anything hurt you?”
“There’s something wrong with that boy.”
Though it had been decades, my father’s voice still haunted me. If I had been a better son, maybe he would’ve stayed. Maybe my mother wouldn’t have given me away.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But there was no changing the past. Just like I couldn’t change the fact that I had just let my target fuck me into oblivion.
He reached for the shampoo and his hip brushed my stomach. “So, now what?”
“What do you mean?” I knew what he meant, but I wanted to hear his thoughts first.
“We had two options, Alessio. Kill each other or fuck each other. We obviously chose option B.”
I leaned against the tile and watched him clean his hair. “This doesn’t change anything. It only delays it.”
“Aren’t you getting tired of saying that?” He rinsed and wiped the water out of his eyes. “Stop lying to yourself and to me.”
Irritation slid along my skin like needles. “You don’t understand how the real world works, principe. You live in a bubble of privilege, where you’re protected by your father’s name and bank account.”
He froze and his eyes went glacial. Stepping closer, he crowded me into the tile. “You condescending prick. I’ve been living outside the mafia on my own for four years, on the run for my life. Anonymously. No one knows my last name. And I haven’t taken a dime from my father since I left.”
In a flash, I flipped our positions. His back slammed against the wall. Slick rough skin met mine as I pressed our lower halves together. I used my hand on his throat to keep him pinned there. “Do you think your father isn’t having you watched? That he isn’t aware of every move you made the last four years? Ma dai, Giulio.”
I saw the resentment boiling in his mind. He knew what I was saying was true. And he didn’t like it.
“Get off me,” he snarled.
“Because you don’t like to hear the truth?”
Before I could brace for it, he grabbed my wrist and twisted. At the same time he shifted his body weight, using gravity to pull me off balance. I righted myself, but not before he was behind me, shoving me face first into the tile. His hips met my ass, and I could feel him begin to thicken against me.
“You are getting hard right now?” I asked over my shoulder.
He sank his teeth into my shoulder and rocked his hips. His cock slipped through my cleft. “I can’t help it. Fighting with you gets me fucking excited, apparently.”
My dick began to respond to this, too, perking up. “You like to hold me down.”
“Fuck yes, I do.” More grinding. “Let’s stop talking. I want to make you come again.”
A tremble went through me as blood pooled in my groin. Now it was all I could think about. “I want that, too.”
