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“Babe. Breakfast’s over.” He grabs the tray and puts it on the floor, then he turns to me, his eyes dark and hungry. Energy sizzles between us as he reaches for the comforter and pushes it to the side. “I hope you’ve recovered, because I need you so fucking much right now.”
I scoot away, part real apprehension, part tease. “I’m sore all over. I don’t think I can go again.”
Christian pulls me to him so fast I can’t even blink. Straddling me, he pushes my arms over my head.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “You let me in your life, in your house, in your bed. You gave yourself to me and I’m taking everything.”
A shudder runs through me at his words. I’m about to object, because what he says frightens me, but then my mind turns to mush as his hand finds its way between my legs, as his mouth catches one of my nipples.
Arching into him, needing more, and more, and more of this man, I know he’s won. Again.
Eight
Christian
Itremble as I step out into the early San Francisco morning. The city, as always, unapologetically covered in a pink fog, getting its soft hue from the rising sun.
All I feel is Kerry, on me, around me, her scent, her warm skin, her delicious fear, her even more delicious trust. All I see is glowing red tousled hair, huge green eyes that sometimes shift to hazel, a naked face with too many emotions. She is so vulnerable, and I’m a monster.
The regret is already eating away at my heart, a dull ache in my chest. I shouldn’t have gone to her last night. I shouldn’t have taken her. Why do I have such a strong urge to get close when my mission is to kill her?
As I drive off, I realize something fundamental has changed. There isn’t a fiber in my body that can harm this woman. I nearly double over in an unexpected stab of pain. Convincing Salvatore is going to be a nightmare. I don’t know how I can fucking do that; I have no idea what to say to make him change his mind.
If I’m a monster, he’s the devil himself, making the fallen angel Lucifer pale in comparison.
Fuck!
It’s too early to go there, so I go home, my house suddenly so empty and cold. I catch myself wondering if Kerry would like it. I have an even better view of her beloved bridge, I have too many rooms that I don’t use. I wonder what she’d do to it if I told her to knock herself out decorating it. Her home has warm colors, plants, curtains, lots of pillows and throw blankets. I like it there.
Pacing my living room back and forth, a cup of espresso in my hand, that turns into a second, and a third, I’m vibrating with life and a growing anxiety. How can I protect her?
My restless energy finally gets the better of me and I change into running gear. Plugging headphones in my ears, I put on Slipknot to drown out the images of sex and violence that run on repeat before my eyes, lock up and leave. I’m going to run until my mind is clear, until all thoughts, all worry and all my mounting fury is cleansed.
“Is he in?”
Ivan steps to the side. “He’s having breakfast.”
I pass him and enter the hallway, the spectacular hallway, made to impress and intimidate. “Is he alone?”
“Yes. It’s him and the news.”
My uncle and boss, Luciano Salvatore, sits in the kitchen. A TV is blaring out the last shootings and accidents, political crap, and the stock market. The news is nothing but snippets of info that today’s fractured minds can process. He looks up as I enter, his cup stopping halfway between table and mouth.
“Christiano. What brings me the honor?”
I step up to the screen and turn off the noise.
“Got more where that came from?” I nod toward his cup.
He gestures toward the kitchen counter. “Help yourself.”
Pouring myself a cup by the long, impeccably clean, dark gray marble counter, I then sit opposite my uncle. He wears a striped dark blue and beige thick robe, his hair messy. He looks like he just woke.
“Rough night?”
He barks out a laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Can she walk?”
