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“Ilaria will be here later. She’ll make sure he’s okay. Let’s go.”
I shake my head and follow him to the elevator. When we reach the penthouse, he doesn’t say anything. There is no explanation for his strange behavior. I walk behind him as he heads into his bedroom and pause in the doorway.
Salvatore sits down on the bed and unties the knot on the left pant leg of his sweats. He pulls up the material and reaches for the prosthesis that’s leaning against the wall. It takes him a long time to put it on. Much longer than it should. Rolling on the liner sleeve is quite a feat with only one fully functioning hand because the fabric keeps slipping from his fingers. I wondered why he didn’t wear the prosthesis in the evening after he’s taken a shower. It’s probably too much trouble to do it up twice a day.
“Is something going on?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You insisting I let you know every time I leave the penthouse. Are you expecting that the Irish may try getting inside this building?”
“This has nothing to do with the Irish.” He curses when the liner slips from his fingers again. “And no one can get inside this building.”
“Then why? Do you think I’ll run away or something?”
He doesn’t reply but continues fumbling with the prosthesis. When he puts it on he stands up and approaches me, lifting his hand to the back of my neck.
“You can try running,” he says and tilts my head up, “but I will catch you every time, Milene.”
He’s still shirtless and being so close to him is messing with my already confused mind. The guy has a fucking eightpack. How can I keep up the pretense of being indifferent when my eyes want to wander to his stomach and count each ab again to make sure? I thought that shit was a myth.
“Can you please put on a shirt?”
“No.” He takes another step forward, making me step back. The hand that’s clutching the back of my neck slides down until it stops at the small of my back. The tiny hairs on my skin rise as goose bumps cover the length of my body.
“Tore?”
“Yes?” Another step, followed by one more, until I end up with my back against the hallway wall.
“What is it with you always cornering me?” I ask, trying to distract myself from thoughts of placing my palms flat against his chest. “Does it turn you on or something?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you check?” He takes my hand and presses it against his crotch, and I suck in air. He’s hard as a rock.
“Stop with this sexual intimidation, Salvatore,” I choke out.
“I don’t see you trying to get away.” He bends his head, watching me, then brushes his finger down my cheek. “Or letting go of my cock, for that matter.”
I gasp and quickly remove my hand.
“Tell me, Milene, if I were to put my hand down your panties right now,”—he glides his right hand along my hip toward the front, trailing his finger in a line from my navel to the waistband of my shorts—“how wet would I find you?”
I should tell him I’m dry, or turn and leave. Or ask him to stop. Instead, I bite my bottom lip and hold his gaze without blinking.
Slowly, I undo the first button of my denim cutoffs.Salvatore dips his head and presses his lips to mine, but it lasts for only a second.
“The next one, cara,” he says against my lips, and I undo one more button. This time, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and sucks it gently, driving me mad with desire.
“Next.”
I undo the last two buttons and take a deep breath, waiting to see what he’ll do. His finger trails lower, beneath the frill at the top of my panties, and presses against the wetness there.
“Soaked. You should have told me it was this bad, Milene.” He rubs his fingers fast over my clit, and my breathing quickens. “Why are you so damn stubborn?”
“I’m not stubborn,” I whisper. “I’m mad at you.”
“You can continue being mad at me. I don’t mind.” He braces his left hand next to my head. “Turn around and place your palms against the wall.”
No! Remove his hand and walk away, my brain cries.Unfortunately, my mind's ability to wield control over my body has been severed, because I find myself doing exactly as he commands. The moment I turn, he presses his body against mine, his hand slides inside my panties again, and I barely manage to keep the moan from escaping. Or maybe not, as a tiny whimper does escape through my barely parted lips.
