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He releases me gradually like he doesn’t want to, and I resume my cleaning. Once I have his arm washed, I refill his glass and hand it to him before reaching for the suture kit. Alessio swallows his drink and sets it aside while I prepare by re-sanitizing my hands and opening each sterilized pack carefully. His gaze never wavers from me, even as I apply the tissue forceps and drive the needle through his skin.
“It’s not the mafia.”
I glance up at him in question.
“You said the mafia,” he explains. “It’s not. The mafia is child’s play, Natalia. You should know that before you get any ideas in your head about betraying my trust.”
I shake my head to say I wouldn’t.
“We make our own rules. We have our own government. We’re everywhere. Politicians, law enforcement, federal bureaus. There’s no escaping us.”
I let that sink in, but I didn’t need him to tell me that. I learned it the hard way already.
“I can keep you safe,” he continues. “As long as you don’t cross me.”
I finish suturing the wound and set the tools aside before I write my response.
I understand.
He’s looking at me like I don’t, like I’m too calm. Am I too at ease with this entire situation? I suppose that’s something I didn’t consider. The old me would have panicked. She would have cried and felt helpless, but I’m not her anymore. That girl died a long time ago.
I grab another alcohol wipe and lean up to clean his neck. As I do, the warmth of his body penetrates mine. Somehow, even covered in blood, he still smells good. When I finish with his neck, I start to dab at the cut on his forehead, but he reaches up to stop me.
Our eyes clash, and my pulse quickens when I notice him staring at my lace-covered breasts.
“You never told me why you were in here,” he murmurs.
I don’t have a good answer for that. He’ll know I’m lying if I try to make an excuse now. The only thing to do is go for it. This was my plan all along, but it feels different now. It feels less like I’m manipulating him and more like it’s happening naturally.
My gaze flicks to his lips, and I lean forward between his parted legs, feeling the length of his erection stabbing against my body. He sucks in a sharp breath, and his grip on my hand loosens as I slowly crawl up onto his lap, hitching up my nightgown so I can straddle him.
He’s staring at me like he doesn’t know whether to toss me off or kiss me. I choose for him, grabbing his face between my palms and bringing my lips to his. His initial reaction is to freeze, which isn’t what I’d expect, but I kiss him anyway because I’ve already come this far. A soft groan rumbles from his throat when I force his head back, sliding my fingers through his hair.
The tension in his body begins to dissipate as his lips move against mine. It’s cautious at first, perhaps uncertain, but after just a few moments, his appetite is unleashed. He deepens the kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth with a growl as his hands start to grope my body. It starts at my breasts, pawing and squeezing before he dips his palm beneath the material to graze my nipple. I startle at the jolt of electricity it produces, leaning into his touch to beg for more. He rewards me with another animalistic sound, using his other hand to grab my hip and roll my pelvis against his cock. It’s hot and huge beneath me, and the nerves I thought I might feel are absent. In their place is a need I’ve never felt before. A need for connection. A need for him inside of me.
Alessio picks me up and carries me to the bed with little effort, his lips breaking away from mine as he lays me down on his pillow. For a second, he stares down at me, a vein pulsing in his neck, eyes dark and hot. I think maybe he’s reconsidering, but then he slides his palms up my thighs, spreading me apart for him to see.
I’m vulnerable like this, and my first instinct is to close my legs, but I don’t. When I notice the expression on his face … the undeniable thirst, I know I’ve got him exactly where I want him. He reaches down and touches me like he can’t stop himself. He feels the ungodly amount of wetness there, and his eyes snap to mine, and all bets are off.
“Fucking Christ,” he mutters on a ragged breath.
His fingers slide through my arousal, and I arch into him, squirming against the bed as he slips one inside of me. For a few long moments, he just watches my reaction to him, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible to hide, and I couldn’t pretend to respond any differently right now even if I wanted to. My chest heaves with every breath, drawing his eyes to the hard nipples scraping against the chemise. I’m aching, desperate for more when he leans over me and drags down the silk covering my breast, exposing me to him. For a full minute, he just stares at me, his eyes moving over the sensitive, swollen flesh like he’s memorizing the way I look in this moment. I can tell he’s at war with himself in his mind, even as his finger moves inside of me. He wants more, but something is holding him back.
