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“My mother was a saint. The perfect, typical housewife. She followed my father around like a lost puppy dog, and in many ways, she was. She was sheltered, like you, when she married my father. Normally, mafia women are sheltered before marriage. Men within our circles prefer pure women. She didn’t have much of a backbone, but she didn’t really need one. Father never bossed her around. He guided her, and she followed, but he was never abusive to her. He never shouted. He never hurt her. He only ever showed her love. Every day until the day they died.”
How did they die?
“Car accident. Some asshole ran into them, killed them both instantly. They never stood a chance.” His voice is mellow, but there’s a tinge of sadness there. Bittersweet. “And just like that, I became the ruler of the Santoro mafia and parent to my sisters. They were just kids when it happened. Eight years old. I was an immature twenty-year-old who had the world placed on my shoulders in a matter of minutes. I had to grow up quickly. Fortunately, all my father’s lessons came in handy.”
That’s amazing that you managed all of that on your own.
“Thank you. Looking back on it, it’s almost surreal. It’s been ten years, and I still miss them, but every day gets easier without them.”
I still miss my mom,I admit.
“Yeah?”
I nod.
“How did she die? I’ve only heard the rumors that she disappeared one day. No one else knew anything.”
I lift my hands to sign—to tell him the truth—but I stop myself. I want to say that my father murdered her and I was the one to see it happen, but I can’t. I want to. I just can’t.
She died when I was eight, too,I sign instead.
“I saw what my sisters had to go through, so I understand how tough that can be. I’m sorry you had to go through that, Pia. I wish I was there to protect you.”
You’re here now.
“Yeah, I am.”
I tilt my head back and catch his gaze. His strong, dark gaze. I’m tired of thinking about my mother. I’m tired of worrying about my father and when he’s going to attack and if he’ll get his hands on me again. I’m just tired of being afraid.
So I do the one thing I’m desperate to do.
I sit up and kiss Dario. He responds immediately, quick to show me that he wants to kiss me as badly as I do him. Dario makes me feel so special, so desired. It’s a feeling I want to cling to forever.
He grips the back of my head and deepens our kiss, our tongues pressing together, our lips moving in harmony. It’s so effortless with him. That’s why it frustrates me that I can’t seem to trust him with this last bit of information about myself.
Pushing that thought aside, I dive into the kiss. Dario growls as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer. Now that I’m facing him, I can feel his growing erection brush against my outer thigh. He wants me.
And all I want is him.
He brings a hand between us and brushes it over my breast. I gasp into his mouth. The feeling of his warm soapy hand against my body is a heady combination. We kiss as he traces his hand down my body and cups me between my legs. I open my legs as wide as I can within the confines of the bathtub and let him rub me there.
God, it feels so good, the way his fingers slip between the folds of my body and his thumb brushes that nub full of pleasure. I grip his shoulders tight as I rock my hips into his hand, needing more, always more.
I was deprived of human touch for years, and now, I’ve grown addicted to Dario’s touch in a matter of days.
His index finger probes my entrance before slipping inside me. My inner walls clench down on him as his thumb continues to brush my bundle of nerves, sending me closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm. I didn’t know what it was a first. Dario had to explain it to me after the first time we had sex. But once I knew the word for it, I was desperate to feel it again. And Dario hasn’t faulted in giving me orgasms since then.
My legs clench around his hand as my release hits me. He growls into my mouth, pressing his hand harder against me, letting me grind onto it, seeking that friction as I ride out my orgasm. I wish I could cry out and say his name. He likes to say my name when he orgasms, and I want to return the favor.
But I have to settle for kissing him harder to show my appreciation. Dario continues to cup me between my legs, still rubbing me. He has a habit of drawing out the last bit of pleasure inside me, and I can’t say I’m complaining.
Finally, he removes his hand. It’s my turn to give him pleasure. I reach down and touch his erection. The first time I saw it, I was intimidated, but now that I’ve grown accustomed to his body, I know not to fear it.
“I need to be inside you. Now,” he growls against my lips.
He angles my body, so I’m straddling his lap. We’ve never done it in this position. So far, he’s only been on top of me, the one in control. I can feel his length resting against my inner thigh, so close to my opening.
Dario must sense my hesitation because he strokes my hip and says, “You got this, Pia.”
