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I don’t want to say anything. Don’t want her to pull away.
“You wouldn’t get it,” she tells me.
I wouldn’t get it. As if she’d have a fucking clue.
“Try me?” I ask, wishing it sounded like more of a demand.
I want to know how her mind works.
Without warning, Giana turns toward me, tucks her knees up to her chest, and folds her arms over her kneecaps. She’s gorgeous in a way that’s timeless. High cheekbones, sharp angles, piercing eyes. There’s nothing soft about the woman in front of me.
“My life isn’t mine. Not really. My parents… They’ve had everything planned out for as long as I can remember. Probably since before I was born. So the gilded cage? It’s real, no matter how fictional it seems. Yeah, maybe I have four walls and anything I could ask for, but it feels so…suffocating. Like each day, those walls close in a little more. My life becomes less mine, if that’s even possible.” Her voice shakes, and I pull her into me, an urge to tell her I fully understand what she’s saying.
I may be an “old man”—un signore anziano—to her, but I was in my early twenties once, too. Our lives sound parallel in a strange way.
But I can’t deny that being a man has allowed me more options and a greater say than the women in my family. I can only imagine, if her father truly is as old-school as she says, just how little of a say she probably really does have.
“Why does it feel like you’re the female version of me?” The words fucking fall from my lips like she actually has put a spell on me, and I curse myself for allowing this woman to become a weapon against me.
She shouldn’t be privy to any of these thoughts. No one should. So why am I letting her into my mind?
“Maybe I am?” She smiles as she adjusts her mask. “Much prettier. Probably smarter. Definitely wiser.”
I chuckle and pull her closer to me. Turning toward her, I sit with my legs open and yank her close to my chest. “I’ll give you prettier. By a long shot. But I’m an old man, remember? I’ve been around much longer, and I guarantee you I’ve seen more than you ever will.”
Our faces are inches apart when she finally touches me. Her palms lay flat against my thighs, burning holes into the fabric of my pants. Her touch is like a flame.
“Women mature years beyond men. But this isn’t a competition. Plus, there’s no fair judge, is there?”
I can’t control myself for a second longer. I bring my hand up to her cheek and cup it before sliding it down to her chin, taking it between my fingers and tilting it up until she can see the warmth in my eyes. My need boils over, spills out of every single pore as I claim her mouth.
I was wrong before. Her lips are the softest thing I’ve ever touched. I hungrily slip my tongue inside her mouth, each nerve ending in my body tingling with need. Want. Desire.
She moans into my mouth, and I groan in return, picking up the intensity of the kiss. She climbs into my lap as I tangle my fingers in her hair, wrapping it around my bruised and swollen knuckles and holding her at the nape of her neck.
Fucking cherries and mints and wine.
She tastes like a heaven I’ve never known.
Giana tries to take control as she bucks against me, and I’m fucking worthless against her touch. My cock springs to life, and I don’t even attempt to control it. I want her to feel what she’s doing to me. Need her to feel the effect she’s having.
“God, Dante…” she pants out, and my name sounds purely sinful from those perfect, pouty lips of hers.
How can heaven and sin pair so well together?
If I didn’t give a shit about Giana, I’d take off this belt and have my way with her right here. I’d claim every single inch of her perfect pussy. Drive my hard cock inside her until she’s screaming that she can’t take it anymore.
And most of the time, I’m not the better man.
But for her, right now, I’m going to be. I’ll pretend to be a good man for her. Because something tells me she deserves good and right and pure. Three things I’ll never hold up to, but I can do my best to try until I’ve given her what she wants from me. If her life really is as similar to mine as it seems, giving the girl a memorable first time is something I can do. Regardless of if I’m a fucking monster, a failure, a fucking terrible, no-good excuse for a man.
You’re a good man, Dante.
What the fuck?!
Julissa’s voice is inside my fucking head. I pull away from Giana as I try to make sense of what just happened.
Because what the fuck just happened?
