No, Lili. Don’t. He already looks like he wants to throw me out. He smiles. How are you coping with him? He adds with a wry smile.
I smile, but don’t answer. I turn and make my way to Giovanni. Tomasso steps aside with a knowing grin, giving us room.
Giovanni stares down at me, and suddenly, I feel too small. I sign. Can Dario stay the night?
Giovanni’s answer is a flat, cold. “No.”
My anger flares, and my hands fly through the air. Why not?
He crosses his arms. “We’ve established that I don’t trust your family.”
The speed of my hand movements increases. I told you. Dario’s different. You have to respect him. He's the only family I love.
Giovanni’s eyes flash. “Hell will freeze over first.”
Tomasso, who'd been subtly listening in, interjects, his voice light. “Honour her, Gio. Let him stay.”
Giovanni snaps, “Fuck off, Tomasso.”
Tomasso laughs, clearly unbothered. Liliana, handle him. I’ll get a maid to show Dario a room.
“Dio cane,” he swears as he storms off.
His shoulders are tense, and his movements are clipped as he stalks forward. I march after him, fury propelling me down the hall after him. If I could get a word past my voice box, I'd scream his head off. He doesn't turn or slow down. I’m almost jogging now to catch up with him. My breath is short, and my heart is wild in my chest.
Damn him.
He stops abruptly, turning, and I collide into his chest, hard. His hands reach out to grab my arm in a steadying grip. Instantly, alarm bells go off in my head. My brain shuts off, and the only thing I'm painfully aware of is his hand on my arm. Every one of my nerve ending boots to live.
His touch singes my arm, searing through the thin arm of my dress. My breath catches. Suddenly, I'm all too aware of him. Of his distinctive male scent that floods my senses. Of the way his fingers curl lightly around my skin, sending shooting spikes through me like a fever.
My eyes dart to his mouth. That mouth that worshipped every inch of me that night. Full, firm, and currently pressed in a tight, frustrated line. His eyes are gray flecks of hunger and desire. Suddenly, it feels like eons since he touched me. I want him to kiss me. I want him to brand me with his touch. I want him to silence the warring thoughts in my head. More than that, I want him to own me.
Dio, I'm drowning in him.
“You won’t look at me. Won’t talk to me for days. But the moment it’s about your beloved cousin, suddenly you have something to say?” His voice is loud enough that it vibrates against my skin.
But I barely hear him, even though my aid is on. I’m too far gone, watching the way his mouth moves, the way I want him to fit it against mine.
Driven by a surge of raw hunger, I rise to my toes, heart leaping. My hands grip the front of his shirt. I pull him down, and my mouth crashes into his.
He doesn't hesitate. His lips part on a groan, and he drinks me in like he’s starved. His arms wrap around me, one hand fisting into my hair. He backs me into the nearest wall with a growl that sends heat flooding through me.
My back hits cool plaster, but I barely feel it. All I feel is him—his mouth devouring mine, his tongue slick and hot as it tangles with mine. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s raw and feral and perfect. I've wanted this ever since that night. This very moment has haunted my sleep.
I arch into him, pressing closer, wanting more. His hands roam over my sides, my hips, anchoring me, claiming me. My own hands slide up his chest, familiarizing myself with the shape of him again, the broad lines, the hard strength. He kisses me like he’s angry at me. Like I’m the answer to a question he hates himself for asking. And I let him. Of course, I let him.
He rocks his hip against mine, and I gasp, breaking the kiss. But he doesn't stop. He trails kisses down my jaw, my throat, and I tilt my head back, eyes fluttering shut. It’s too much and not enough. His mouth returns to mine, demanding again, and I lose myself in it, in him, in everything we’ve been holding back. My legs feel weak. My body trembles. The world narrows to nothing but this heat and this hunger.
His hand cups my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the fabric, teasing it to a tight peak. Delicious tremors run through my body. I arch into him, needing to completely meld into his very essence. His other hand grips my thigh. He hitches it around his waist, and I feel the hard length of him, straining against his trousers. It presses hard into me.
His mouth is bruising and insistent against mine. His tongue does a madness in my mouth, demanding and coaxing at the same time. He lowers his hand to my butt and I relax into his touch. He squeezes, and I make a sound in my throat.
God. I want this man.
But something sharp pierces through the haze. A tiny sliver of logic. And suddenly, I’m not breathing. I’m drowning, not in him, but in my foolishness.
I break the kiss, stumbling back like the heat of him has burned me. My lips feel raw, my breath shudders in and out of me. His hand lingers at my waist, but it’s no longer pulling, it’s still, suspended, as if even he doesn’t know what to do next.
