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“I don’t fucking care,” he said with a hint of anger. I knew he wasn’t mad at me. He was mad at his own body for failing him. He hated to show signs of weakness. I understood because I was the same way.
But he didn’t have to pretend with me. He didn’t have to hide. I wanted him well and healed. I wouldn’t let him do something foolish just because we were acting like a couple of horny teenagers.
I pulled back.
“I won’t hurt you. Not after what you’ve done for me.”
“Don’t you dare move,” he warned, giving me less than a split second before I found myself on my back. Vincent was above me, kissing and touching me with a fervor I had never experienced before.
“Your stitches!”
“Fuck my stitches,” he said in between ravaging my lips and moving to my neck. “I need you. Now, dammit.”
“Yes . . .” I sighed, giving in. There was no stopping him. And after almost losing him, I wanted so much more. “I need you, too.”
I felt him shift his weight, recklessly shoving me higher in the bed as he dragged himself down my body. He was going to tear his stitches for sure. But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop him.
I had a feeling that nothing would.
He dove headfirst between my thighs, licking and kissing me with abandon. I cried out, my hands gripping his head. It was so intense that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pull him closer or push him away.
I nearly screamed as he pulled my clit into his hot mouth, flicking his tongue against it rapidly until I arched off the bed, calling his name.
His hand clamped over my mouth to stifle the noises as he doubled down, using his fingers and wicked mouth to bring me to orgasm again.
And again.
And again.
“Stop,” I begged, tearing my mouth away from his hand as he continued to feast on me.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, instantly concerned, his body shifting as he stared down at me.
“No. But it’s too much . . . and I need more. I need you.”
I needed him inside me. I needed the pressure, the release we could only achieve together. Being with Vincent in those moments was unlike anything else.
I wanted him. Now.
“Don’t make me wait,” I breathed. His face took on a dark look of utter concentration and desire as he reached down and undid his pants. I groaned as he notched his tip inside me. He stared into my eyes as he pushed forward.
The feeling of completion was surreal. I felt whole. It was as if I had achieved some sort of balance that I had never known before. The pleasure was beyond anything I had experienced, but so was the feeling of coming home.
Of safety.
I needed that. I needed it more than anything, I realized. And I knew Vincent would protect me. Always.
He would protect us.
Light filled me as his body continued to move inside me. Above me, his face darkened even more as a curse tore from his mouth. He froze and then started thrashing, his hips jerking as he lost control of himself and the pace became wild, erratic.
I felt him swell inside me until he exploded, his heat filling me up and spilling into my womb.
I could barely think, barely process what we had just done. The raw passion of our lovemaking took my breath away. We were like animals together. Animals or angels, I wasn’t sure which.
He kissed me tenderly and rolled to the side, taking me with him. He seemed unwilling to break contact with me. He flung an arm over me, making sure I didn’t try and sneak away.
As if I could.
We lay there like that for the longest time as our breathing slowed and the sheen of sweat dried on our skin.
I realized that I had never been happier. Not once. Not since I was a little girl.
Vincent was alive. He was here. And he was mine.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Vincent
“Woman,” I murmured into my woman’s gorgeous little ear, “wake up.”
It was early. Too early for civilized humans to be up and about. But I wasn’t civilized. I wanted 'Cesca now, before she had to start her day as a mother and a businesswoman.
As the head of the Feluciano crime syndicate.
I wanted her at least twice before the sun even peeked its head over the horizon.
No. Three times before breakfast. That was entirely reasonable, right?
“Hmm?” She curled her body into a ball and sighed, not opening her eyes. I chuckled at how childlike she looked. She was adorable.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” I whispered, pulling the covers down so I could admire the lines of her utterly feminine body. “Or don’t. Just give me your consent, and I will wake you up . . . slowly. With a smile.”
“Hmm . . . yes, Vincent,” she said. I wasn’t totally sure she was awake, so I decided to start with some PG touching, just to give her a chance to tell me to go to hell.
