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I wrapped my trembling arms around him, welcoming his weight as we sank into the monstrous afterglow together, and I drowned in the vast pool of bliss I had never even known existed…

CHAPTER NINE

Dante

I eased out of Eva, my cock still rigid despite the shattering climax, my body shaking with the intensity of it. My mind blown.

I’d had a lot of sex in my life, but never anything like this.

I collapsed onto the bed beside her and covered my eyes, the wintry morning sunlight through the bedroom window too bright, the thunder of my heartbeat too loud, the feel of her beside me too much. Even though the storm had passed before we reached Cala Verde, it felt as if it was still inside me as I struggled to adjust to the aftermath.

How could she have made me lose all control when she was a naïve girl, untried? Nothing more than a captive to be used. I had not intended to return to the bedroom after the party, determined not to succumb to the yearning look in her eyes when I had escorted her here last night. But as other women had approached me, hoping to become my bed partner for the night, all I had been able to think of was her, in that tight red dress, her bright blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, her full breasts all but spilling out, and the embarrassment in her voice as she had tried to convince a woman I had slept with, but whose name I could not even remember, that she was not mine.

And I had not been able to control the urge to return to my suite. And claim her.

But I had been shattered when I climbed into the bed, my side aching where the drugs had worn off, the need to appear strong and invulnerable in front of my men having taken its toll. I had been incapable of doing more than dragging her into my arms, her soft curves cradling my cock as I tumbled into exhausted oblivion.

But that damn intoxicating scent—roses and sultry feminine spice—had beckoned me from dreams. And her instant and instinctive response to my touch had made me hard for her again.

The shot of possessiveness that had accosted me when I had felt her tight sheath struggling to adjust to my cock—and I realised I was the first man ever to fuck her—had not been welcome.

Where had that even come from? I did not get emotionally attached to the women I slept with. And I had certainly never prized virginity.

Why should I care who a woman had before me? As long as she gave me what I needed in those fleeting moments before boredom set in.

How could she be the best sex I had ever had and have no experience? How could she make me want her so much—when she had no knowledge of what turned men on?

Why was she still untouched? Were the men in England fools?

My own father had taken my mother to his bed when she was only sixteen, and he had never been exclusive, to my knowledge. I remembered the other women who had come and gone, and made my mother anxious and sad… Until he had finally discarded her.

I had seen what that betrayal had done to her. The drug use, the depression, the used-up husk of a woman she had become, who had eventually been passed around the men she clung to for support like a toy past its prime. She had disgusted me on one level, as I had sought to build an empire. I had been relieved when she’d died just before my seventeenth birthday, after taking too many of the pills she used to cope. But when I had taken control of the Malvini gang, my first decision had been to close down the brothels that were their main source of income… Because of her.

I had very few scruples when it came to business, but the women and boys trapped inside those places had reminded me of my mother, their hollow expressions and empty eyes haunting me.

Eva shifted beside me, breaking me out of the unhappy thoughts. I lifted my arm from my eyes and watched her gather the sheet to her breasts and inch off the bed.

My cock stirred again.

How could the hunger for her not have died? I should be ready to discard her—but I knew I was not… I did not welcome that thought either.

Reaching out, I grasped her arm, the need to prevent her from leaving new and unwanted, too. Especially when she glanced over her shoulder and I saw shame back in her eyes.

The question broke from my lips in English before I could prevent it. ‘How are you still a virgin? How old are you?’

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, her skin heating to scarlet. ‘You… You speak English?’ she said, so tentatively it only angered me more.

‘Prego,’ I murmured, releasing my grip, annoyed by the unfamiliar prickle of guilt at the shock on her face.

Why should I have any qualms about using my ability to understand every word she said to my advantage? I owed her nothing, not loyalty, certainly not affection.

But the guilt remained as I saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

‘Why would I speak to you in your language when you do not speak to me in mine?’ I replied and then felt even more angry. Because I never explained myself to anyone. ‘You have not answered my question. How old are you?’

‘I’m twenty,’ she said, the flush on her collarbone rising into her cheeks. ‘Why are you angry about my virginity?’ she asked, far too perceptively, as she clutched the sheet to cover her nakedness.

My gaze glided over her skin. The surge of hunger was joined by the brutal surge of possessiveness, of connection, again. I bit off the bitter retort.