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I want every single one of her firsts, I need complete possession over her. When we return to New York, I will get the family physician to make sure she is on the pill, for a couple of months anyway. It takes every inch of my willpower not to come as I enter her, she is so goddamn tight and wet it almost sends me over the edge.
I am trying to go slow, attempting to be gentle against every being of my nature. Her nails scratching hard against my back are the only indicators I have of her pain levels. She recognizes my need to go faster and gives me a little nod to continue and I feel her gasp as I finally breach her tight walls.
Fuck, it feels so good as her legs wrap around me and I push in and out of her. I can sense she has gotten used to it as her body stops tensing and rocks against me gently as I come inside her. I could do this all night and all day. Now that I have tasted her, nothing else seems appetizing to me anymore. When she gets up, I instinctively capture her wrist so that she stays, the craving starting up again. She rides my face like the pro she is, her hands tugging through my hair as her body arches back in pleasure. Every taste of her becomes more addictive than the last, as I pull her down onto my cock watching her ride me slowly.
I watch her breasts bounce in my face until I cover them with my tongue and hand. My fingers slowly circle her asshole making her eyes brighten in a pleasure she never knew existed. I observe as her body finally brings her to climax, shuddering on top of me as she rolls over me, exhausted. With a strange realization, I know she has gotten under my skin and the thought of her not returning that feeling is more terrifying than the person who is trying to kill me.
We were meant to leave the cabin the next morning, but we don’t leave for two days after that. In fact, every time I so much as want to leave the bedroom, I feel Rocco’s strong arms pulling me back to bed. I don’t remember a time before sex with Rocco; everything else seems to fade into obscurity. Sleeping, eating, and even showering were all just obstacles keeping me away from his body.
I suddenly am in the bubble of Croccifixio De Luca. He is the last face I saw at night and the first one I saw when I woke. Not that we were sleeping much. I frequently felt Rocco’s lips on mine either late at night or early in the morning when he wanted my body.
Sometimes it was I who awoke craving him. He enjoyed when I would wake him up with my hands caressing him, showing how much, I needed him. I was almost repulsed at myself at how much willpower I had when it came to Rocco. Suddenly I had become a slave to my own desires. I was even more surprised that my appetite for sex sometimes surpassed his, and things that I would have never considered were willingly done for him.
There is no part of my body that he hadn’t made his territory, and in the short time that we spent together he made me his in every way. There was an illicit part of me that enjoyed him pulling my hair tightly as he thrusted inside of me from behind or spending hours in the jacuzzi riding every inch of his face until I could no longer come. Even though the cabin was fairly small, we had fucked in every single room. Even by the lake, which we were lucky to be the only inhabitants.
This isn’t love; I had been in love before that was innocent and pure. This, on the other hand was raw and primal, going beyond the rationale of my head or my heart. It was forbidden and it almost felt dirty how I wanted him so much. There was a part of me that was relieved to leave the cabin because I felt that if I plunged down the rabbit hole anymore, I would never come back. On the other hand, returning to New York would probably mean the return of “Don Croccifixio,” the other side of Rocco.
The flight back to New York is much more enjoyable than the one going to Capri; it is only Rocco, myself, and Franco. The other men have gone back to New York with Lucia. Rocco’s hand stayed possessively on my knee throughout the entire journey, his way of showing physical affection to me without anybody deciphering the meaning.
“There are three sides to every story. Mine, yours and the truth.”
—Joe Massino
ILEAN INTO HIM HALF-WAY THROUGH THE FLIGHT, INHALING HIS FAMILIAR MUSK.
At first, I feel him stiffen, but then he lifts his arm, allowing me to fall into the nook of it.
The newspaper he’s reading comes into focus, and I feel my body tense looking at the headline.
“What?” He asks, looking at my expression.
“You didn’t tell me New York and Chicago were on the verge of another war,” I say in a small voice.
“Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” He exhales deeply. “Your old man never told me what he did to win last time. We could really use some of that this time around. These fuckers are getting brave.” He says angrily.
“Mhmm,” I say, feeling a sickness rise inside of me.
“Don’t be afraid, it will all get straightened out one way or another,” he says, mistaking my response.
“It’s not that,” I say.
“What is it then?” He turns his head to look at me quizzically.
For a second, I consider telling him about Anton, about Illinois, about the real reason I am afraid of another war, but I don’t. Before, I was fearful of my papa’s reaction if I started telling people. Now I am afraid of the juggernaut of an impact this will have on Rocco. His one rule is not to lie to him, and I have already done that and am still doing that. If he finds out about Anton, he won’t want me. I can almost picture the disgust on his face if he ever finds out that I almost married one of his enemies, a Russian. The Bratva are responsible for the many deaths in Rocco’s territories and they are killing more men with each day that passes. He will never be able to get over it,wewill never get over it. Despite my internal protestations, I am falling for Rocco. Every step towards him is a step away from my past but the past has a funny way of pulling you back into line each time you want to run from it.
It’s funny how a week ago I was ready to wave the white flag and admit defeat, but now I can’t imagine a worser fate than being away from him. I physically feel a sear of pain run through me at the thought of not waking up to him every morning. I no longer have the Falcone name strangling the life out of me, being with Rocco has eased the burden of my past. There is already a thin line between my life before Rocco and after Rocco. Only I can notice the small differences between the girl who woke up every night in a cold sweat dreaming about bloody weddings and the almost identical girl beside her who wakes up nightmare free in the arms of her husband.
“I just don’t want there to be another war.” I avoid his gaze entirely and concentrate on the newspaper.
“They rarely touch wives and kids,” he says, still watching me.
“Rarely? So, there might be a chance I’ll be eighty-sixed,” I say dramatically. “You sure you’re not trying to kill me off so you can be single again?” I smirk.
“No, too much paperwork,” he says, returning my smile.
“Plus, I’m irreplaceable, you’d miss me too much,” I reply.
“Parts of you, for sure.” He lets his eyes drift down to my chest.
