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With a heavy sigh, I pick up my empty cup and get up from the bench. Heading to the kitchen, I boil water to make myself tea.
Please, let him be okay.
I’ve loved the past three days, getting to know where everything is in the apartment and visiting with Mrs. De Santis, who I really have to start thinking of as mamma, and Zia Giada, who’s coming out of her shell.
I explored a nearby square and had an expresso at a café. I saw a seagull steal a pastry right out of a woman’s hand. It was funny, and when laughter bubbled from me, I was shocked.
Before that moment, I can’t remember when I last laughed.
Picking up the cup of tea, I turn around. A startled shriek escapes me when I see Armani standing in the doorway. The cup falls to the floor, shattering at my feet, the warm liquid splashing over my bare feet.
My God.
He’s dressed in the same clothes he left in, only there’s blood. So much blood.
Intense worry pours through my body, but the dark and murderous expression on his face keeps me rooted to the spot.
“Why is the door open?” the words rumble from him like thunder.
Crap.
Seeing Armani covered in blood, looking at me like I’m his next victim, fear tightens my muscles and sends a tremble through me.
Jesus, he’s a terrifying sight.
There’s a tremor in my voice as I say, “I was waiting for you in the courtyard. I wanted to welcome you home.”
His hands fist at his sides as he takes a calculating step toward me.
There’s no sign of the man I got to know. No calm and patient expression. No tenderness.
“I’m sorry,” the words rush from me. “I won’t–”
My sentence is cut off when he growls again. Intense fear paralyzes me as he stalks toward me, his large steps eating up the short distance.
Armani lifts his arm, and my heart shrivels as I recoil, turning my face away and bracing for the pain.
Instead of hitting me, his fingers grip my chin right before his mouth crashes against mine.
My mind and panic come to a screeching halt.
I hear the pieces of the mug being crushed beneath his shoes, then he presses his body to mine, tilts his head, and thrusts his tongue into my mouth.
He licks the inside of my mouth and bites my lips, the kiss filled with so much passion I can’t catch my breath.
My hands grip hold of his biceps, and I feel his muscles strain as if it’s taking all his strength to keep from devouring me.
The fear fades and is quickly replaced with desire for this man who’s both a saint and a monster.
His mouth frees mine, only to set my skin on fire with scorching kisses as he works his way down my neck.
“You’re mine.” The words are rough and demanding.
He’s completed the job, and I’m his prize.
“I’m yours,” I breathe, my eyes drifting shut when he sucks on the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
Sweet Jesus, that feels good.
My abdomen clenches hard, and a shudder ripples through me.
Suddenly Armani’s strong arm wraps around me, and I’m lifted against his body as if I weigh nothing to him. I’m carried into the hallway, where he presses my back to a wall.
Grabbing hold of my dress, he yanks the fabric up and pulls it over my head.
Instantly I feel shy, and when I try to cross my arms over my naked breasts, he takes hold of my wrists and pins them to the wall, leaving me exposed to his eyes that are nothing more than dark pools of lust.
He lets go of my arms, and a gasp rushes over my lips when his knuckles skim over my right nipple.
“I can’t wait.” His voice is strained with need.
“I’m yours,” I repeat what I said in the kitchen.
His palm covers my breasts, and he squeezes hard, making tingles erupt over my skin. “That’s right, tesoro mia. Saying our vows won’t change a damn thing. You’re mine for life, and only death will part us.”
I nod, my tongue darting out to wet my lips.
Armani lowers his body, and kneeling before me, he says, “Your virgin pussy deserves to be worshiped before I claim you.” The words sound dark and filthy, filled with promises of ecstasy, which I’ve never experienced.
Still stunned by Armani being home and him looking like a murderous mafioso, I don’t realize what his words mean until he grips my panties and tears them from me.
Okay, this is happening. Don’t be awkward.
My left leg is yanked over his shoulder, and before I can gasp, he buries his face between my thighs and sucks my clit so hard it rips a cry from me.
Oh, Jesus.
My hands slap down on his shoulders, my mouth drops open, and my eyes slam shut.
The pleasure is instant and overwhelming as Armani licks and sucks me like a starved man.
