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My chest tightens and my mind swirls with all the information I thought I knew about my dad, and what I’ve just recently learned about him. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
He holds me close and kisses the top of my head. “You’re welcome. Let him tell you the whole story when he comes out.”
“I will… At least I’ll try to hear his side. I just feel this bubbling need to get even some days. I know it’s ludicrous and not your fault. It just doesn’t want to go away.”
“Our families have always held onto their vendettas from generations ago. We know what the need for retribution and revenge feels like, Bella. It’s why the funeral is so important to my family,” he says.
The fact that I can write a story that helps Lorenzo get past some of what he is dealing with, having to bury those close to him, calms my soul. “The pictures from today turned out good. Once I get settled and in front of my computer, I’ll write a draft that you can look at.”
Lorenzo nods, slips out of bed, and strips out of his clothes. He takes my hand. “First a shower and have lunch. Then we work,” he says, tugging on my hand to get me from the comfy blankets. I head to the bathroom with him, which is not a hard sell by any means of the imagination.
Lorenzo starts the water in the stone shower that takes up a large corner of the oversized bathroom. A whirlpool tub sits in the opposite corner and overlooks the city of Vegas.
I swallow past the lump in my throat because everything that he says and does turns me into a puddle of goo. He takes my hand and walks me into the shower and under the spray, letting it rain down on us. He takes the loofah and begins to wash me, exploring and getting to know every single inch of me while lighting a still-burning desire.
When he’s done, he starts all over again. This time, he puts some shampoo in his hand and lathers my hair, working his way lower. He traces a finger down my arms, and then to my neck, trailing just one finger over the tip of a breast, and the plane of my stomach, only stopping when he reaches the peach fuzzed mound. He circles a finger around it. “I like that you left a little for me to play with,” he says huskily.
My hand reaches for his cock. He allows me to touch it, but when I begin to stroke, his hand covers mine. He looks down at me with those intense eyes that make my heart thrum with a mixture of emotions. “Now you learn the pleasure of anticipation, Isabella. You’ll wait until tonight, until after dinner because you won’t often get vanilla with me.”
He must see the pout of having to wait and the curiosity and arousal his comment evoked. “The anticipation will make your pleasure greater, but maybe just a little taste since your pout is so adorable,” he says, soaping the rough edges of the loofah and gently rubbing it over my mound, and then between my legs.
My eyes open wide, the grain from the loofah causing the slightest burn of discomfort while igniting my center with hot, unleashed need. “I’ve never felt anything like that,” I gasp.
His dark eyes flash. “That’s good. I would have to hunt the man down and kill him for pleasuring what now belongs to me,” he says, lifting me into the air and onto his cock, clearly having changed his mind about making me wait.
My arms and legs cling to the dark-eyed devil who has managed to permeate my very soul, clinging to him as he ravages me with a passion that takes my breath away, leaving us both clinging to the other as waves of desire peak. He kisses and strokes me through the last of the waves, slowly letting me down, and allowing my feet to touch the bottom of the stone shower floor.
I can’t help but smile. “I thought you were making me wait?”
He moves the shower to rain more warm water over me and kisses my lips before getting out. “Now I’ll have to think of some other way to torment you,” he says, smirking at me. “I’ll order something to eat while you finish up,” he says before turning back to me.
He pushes a wet strand of hair from my face. “You are more than beautiful,” he says to me, his eyes still glassy from our tryst.
It’s hard to keep my mind on the task at hand, watching through the pelting drops as he dries his body with a large bath sheet. The muscles of his back ripple as he shifts the bath towel back and forth, drying the droplets of water that remain on his broad shoulders as they make their way to his tapered waist.
He wraps the towel around him and turns, catching me ogling him from behind. His eyes rake down the length of my body. “Finish showering, Bella, before I take the heat of those eyes as an invitation to tie you up and torture you unmercifully until you beg me to stop.”
Lorenzo doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He simply smirks and walks out of the bathroom door, closing it behind him as I hear the ring of his cell phone in the other room.
I finish showering and dry off, toweling my hair dry after putting my clothes back on before walking into the living area. The room is bright with the Nevada sun shining in, and the table is set with two large salads across from each other and two glasses of wine. He’s talking on his phone and points to the table. “Be right back,” he mouths, heading to the bedroom.
I slide into a seat at the table and take a sip of the smooth red wine, looking out over the city to the mountain range ahead. The entire territory as far as I can see is in a war that the people of the city don’t even realize. Two rival crime families who will continue to fight until the death, until every corner, back alley, and street belong to them.
I’m still deep in thought when he returns, fully dressed in a fresh Armani suit and crisp white shirt. “Do you always wear a suit, or will you grace me with the sight of you in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt one day?”
He smirks, sliding into the seat across from me as I lay the white linen napkin in my lap and select a fork for the bed of crisp lettuce, laden with radicchio, tomatoes, cucumbers, pepperoncinis, and red onion, with a healthy serving of stripped salami laid around the rim of the dish. The smell of fresh basil and oregano from the homemade dressing wafts to my nostrils.
“It smells delicious. Thank you for ordering.”
Lorenzo shakes a glass containing a white cheese onto his salad. He hands it to me when he’s finished. “Try it? A combination of parmesan and Romano. It pairs nicely,” he says, before mixing his meat into his greens.
The cheese is a delicious addition. “It’s very good. I have to admit, I haven’t had a salad with salami on it since I was, oh, probably eighteen,” I tell him. “I forgot how good the ingredients are with good oil and seasonings.”
He nods. “My great-aunt used to make amazing dressings and sauces. It’s one of the things I remember the most about her, aside from her kindness,” he says.
“You lived with your great-uncle for a while?”
He takes another drink of his wine, his eyes penetrating me like they do. “It’s me asking, not the reporter,” I tell him.
