Page 28 of Devil Among Men

“I know.” She smiles against my mouth before finally pulling back. “I told you I was good at my job.”

I kiss her harder, backing her toward the bedroom door, adrenaline and want tangled too close to separate anymore. She fumbles the handle behind her, and the second it gives way we’re stumbling through it together, clothes coming off in a rush of impatient hands and half-caught fabric.

I get her jeans down her legs and mine off entirely before we hit the mattress, both of us bare and desperate, nothing left in either of us for anything slower than this. She pulls me down against her, skin against skin, legs wrapping around my hips, grinding up against me until I have to grip her waist just to keep from finishing before I’ve even started.

I flip her onto her stomach, and she pushes up onto her knees immediately, back arched, glancing over her shoulder at me with an expression that finishes off whatever restraint I had left. I drag my hands slowly up the backs of her thighs first, over the curve of her hips, memorizing every inch of her exposed like this before I finally settle behind her. We grown as I push into her, then I don’t hold back at all.

I set a hard, punishing rhythm from the first thrust, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. She meets me stroke for stroke, back arching deeper, her moans coming sharp and unrestrained, muffled against the sheets every time I drive into her. The headboard knocks against the wall. The bed frame creaks under the force of it.

I lean over her, chest pressed flush to her back, teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder, and she rocks back to meet every thrust like she can’t get close enough, deep enough, fast enough. Her skin is slick with sweat under my palm as I drag one hand up her spine, fisting her hair again, tilting her head back until I can catch her mouth in an awkward, hungry kiss over her shoulder. She whimpers into it, the sound vibrating against my lips. Her pussy tightens around me even before I pick the pace back up.

I straighten, both hands returning to her hips, watching the place where our bodies meet with every thrust, the sight of it nearly undoing me on its own. Her spine curves deeper, chest dropping toward the mattress while her hips stay lifted, angling herself to take me deeper still, and the change in position drags a broken sound out of both of us at once.

I slide one hand around to find her clit, working it in rough, insistent circles that match the punishing pace of my hips.

She instantly arches against me, thighs trembling and breath breaking into short, ragged gasps. Her fingers dig into the sheets. She’s spiraling fast, feel every muscle in her body coiling with each thrust. I chase it with her, hips snapping harder, one hand still working her clit, the other gripping her hip to keep her exactly where I want her.

She shatters first, a sharp cry tearing out of her as her body seizes up. My strokes continue through it, drawing every last aftershock out of her.

Her pussy clenching around me forces my own release crashing through almost instantly. I bury my cock deep one final time, groaning against the back of her neck and let go. My release rushes me and I come inside Portia.

We collapse together, my chest pressed to her back, both of us gasping, hearts hammering out of sync against each other’s ribs. Sweat cools against overheated skin. Her thighs are still trembling faintly against mine, aftershocks rippling through her every time I shift my weight, and I press one last, unhurried kiss between her shoulder blades before finally rolling us both onto our sides, pulling her flush against my chest, still catching my own breath.

She twists in my arms, tangling our legs together under the sheets, already half asleep before her breathing fully evens out.

14

PORTIA

Rafael’s restless through the night. His brow’s furrowed even in sleep, muscles tense under the sheets.

“No,” he mutters. “Don’t you fucking do it!”

“Rafael, what’s wrong?” I press a gentle hand against his shoulder, careful not to startle him too hard. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

His eyes snap open, chest heaving, disoriented for seconds to come. Recognition gradually settles in and eases his tensed features.

“Portia, was I speaking in my sleep?”

“You started to. Bad dream?”

“Loaded question. I can’t tell if they’re dreams so much as they’re flashbacks.”

“Do you want to share? Maybe recalling it out loud will help make it clearer.”

He hesitates, silently debating if he truly wants to open up and share what’s on his mind. Though he’s gotten better in recent weeks, Rafael can still be an enigma.

“Not tonight,” he says finally. “We’ll go over everything eventually. But things aren’t clear enough right now.”

“Relax and let yourself fall back asleep.”

I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, deciding to drop the subject. I have faith Rafael will share whatever it is that’s on his mind eventually.

If it’s unclear right now, it could still be from the fractured pieces Il Diavolo left behind.

His arms wrap around me, our bodies curled close. We drift off only moments later, finally falling back asleep.

The next morning, Jayla’s laughing at a video on her phone when I settle onto the sofa beside her. The late-morning sun highlights the thin scar still visible at her hairline. Battle wounds from the fire the Bellucci’s set to our villa.