The cook was sliding enormous trays of lasagna onto the counter, cheese bubbling and stretching obscenely. Steam rose like an offering to some dark god.
Marco sat at the long table with a glass of red wine. And Santino… Santino was already watching me.
The moment I stepped into the room, his dark gaze locked onto me like I was the only thing that existed. Heat crawled up my neck and spread lower, remembering how that same mouth had licked my blood and cum from his fingers like it was sacred.
“Stop that,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.
His eyebrow lifted slowly. “Stop what?”
“That.” I pointed at him, lowering my voice. “The way you’re looking at me. Like you still taste me.”
A slow, dangerously sexy smile curved his lips. “Because I do.”
Matteo groaned loudly from the island. “Oh my God, you two are disgusting.”
Marco took a slow sip of his wine, amusement flickering in his eyes. “He’s not wrong.”
My face burned. Santino’s gaze drifted down my body with lazy possession, lingering on my hips and thighs like he could see the faint marks he’d left on me. My pulse raced. I hated how easily my body responded to him now.
Thunder rumbled through the house, vibrating the marble beneath my feet. Santino crossed the room with that predatorygrace, pulling out the chair beside him for me. His hand brushed the small of my back as I sat, the touch sending sparks straight between my legs.
The first bite of lasagna nearly made me moan out loud. The rich meat sauce, the perfectly cooked pasta, the stretchy cheese, it tasted like Sunday dinners from a life I thought I’d lost. I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
Santino noticed, of course. He noticed everything.
“You like it,” he said, voice low and rough, his thigh pressing deliberately against mine under the table.
I took another defiant bite. “No.”
“You’re lying, troublemaker.” His fingers brushed my knee, sliding just high enough to make me clench. “I can still taste how honest you get when you stop pretending.”
He lowered his voice to whisper in my ear. “How sweetly your virgin pussy bled for me earlier.”
I nearly dropped my fork. The filthy words, spoken so casually at the dinner table, made fresh heat pool between my thighs. I pressed them together, but he noticed that too. His smirk deepened.
Matteo made a gagging sound. “Can you two not eye-fuck over the lasagna? I’m trying to eat here.”
Marco rubbed his temple. “I miss silence.”
“No, you don’t,” Santino replied, never taking his eyes off me.
We ate while the storm raged outside, but the real storm was the tension crackling between Santino and me. Every time I shifted in my seat, I felt the lingering ache from his fingers stretching me open, from the way he’d licked my blood like a man claiming his prize.
“You all act like a family,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
The table fell into heavy silence.
Matteo stared at his plate. Marco studied his wine. And Santino… Santino looked at me with something raw and dangerous flickering behind his eyes. Something softer than possession. Something far more terrifying.
Because this place and these people were starting to feel like home. And homes could be ripped away. I knew that better than anyone.
Santino leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear so only I could hear.
“You’re right. And you’re part of it now, Aurora. My bed. My table. My protection.” His fingers tightened on my thigh under the table, and he leaned closer, whispering in my ear again. “After dinner, you’re coming upstairs with me. I’m going to lay you out on my sheets and remind that pretty, freshly claimed virgin pussy exactly who owns it now.”
A shiver ran down my spine. My breath caught.
The storm howled outside, lightning illuminating his dark, possessive expression. But the real danger wasn’t the thunder.
