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His reply is gentle. “I know.”
I drink in his handsome features, enjoying the visual not in secret like when I met him when I was sixteen and he was already a man of twenty but openly. So dark. So turbulent and wild. He reserves his soft side only for the kids and me.
“Why does Mr. Luciani tread so carefully around you?” I ask. “He always seems terrified when you’re around.”
“I may have bashed his face in once,” he says casually. “I think I broke his nose.”
“What? Angelo Russo, you’re despicable.”
He shrugs. “He deserved it.”
I don’t even want to ask why. “Be nice to him. You can try a little harder to put him at ease. He’s my friend.”
“Iamnice to him.” When I narrow my eyes, he says, “Have I broken his nose lately?”
I can only shake my head as I resume the climb to the house. “I invited Roch and Lydia for dinner.”
He grunts. “Do I have to share you?”
“You’re going to be nice and behave yourself. Lydia is scared enough of you as it is.”
He grumbles something under his breath.
Pausing, I prop my hands on my hips. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” he says, smiling his innocent smile.
He follows me into the house and up the stairs, but as always, he stops in the bedroom, giving me privacy in the bathroom. He usually sits in the armchair next to the window, working on his phone until I’m done. Sometimes, he’ll hover in the doorframe when I brush out my hair in the dressing room, chatting about his day or arrangements that concern the kids, but he’ll never walk in while I’m getting dressed.
I stop in front of the bed and face him.
I’m ready.
He’s already taking his phone from his pocket when I reach behind my back and unfasten my top. He freezes with his phone in his hand as I push the straps over my shoulders and let the top fall at my feet. When I work the bikini bottom over my hips and down my thighs, his black eyes flare.
I step out of the bottom and toe it aside. He watches me like a wolf, sliding a hungry gaze over my naked body.
“Come here,” I say.
His jaw bunches. He stares at me as if he wants to devour me, desire etched on his face, but instead of coming closer, he stays where he is. Instead of touching me, he clutches his phone in a white-knuckled grip. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I close the distance, stopping flush against him. “This is what I want.”
His resolve is like static noise that crackles in the air. It only lasts until I wrap my arms around his neck, and then it snaps. He’s on me in a wink, pulling my body against his, but despite his urgency, his actions remain gentle when he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed.
He doesn’t take his eyes off my face as he lays me down on the mattress and straightens to undress. Our gazes remain locked as he unbuttons his shirt and pulls the shirttails from his pants. I watch unabashedly, taking my fill of his broad chest and the black ink that adorns his skin. I don’t mind showing him how much I enjoy the sight. I lie back, catching my weight on my elbows when he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his zipper. He removes his shoes and socks before getting rid of the rest of his clothes, and then he stands in front of me in all his naked glory, his hard, powerful body poised at the foot-end of the bed.
It’s both familiar and new, but it’s not frightening, not even when he locks his large hands around my knees and pushes my legs apart. He fixes his gaze on the mark just above my slit, the one that’s a mirror image of the tattoo on his chest. Possession sparks in his eyes. Something like longing reflects in their depths as he drags his gaze lower. My skin is covered in salt from the sea, but I couldn’t care when he kneels at the edge of the bed and buries his head between my thighs.
The sweep of his tongue over my slit makes my hips arch. The soft kiss he plants on my clit makes me sigh. My body didn’t forget his touch or the way his tongue feels on my skin. I’m wet even before he rubs a thumb over my clit and traces the outline of his mark with his tongue.
Threading my fingers through his hair, I hold him to me as he tastes me deeper. His lips are warm and soft. His exploration is gentle. He nips my clit with the softest of bites, keeping the bud in the vise of his teeth as he teases it with the tip of his tongue. I forgot how skillful he is, and that oversight counts against me as pleasure tightens my lower body and builds too quickly.
I feel him inside me, his fingers slipping through the slickness of my arousal and filling me with a pressure that makes my toes curl. When he starts pumping, it happens too fast. I come in his mouth and on his hand, my sense of time and place crumbling like a wall that comes down.
I clench my fingers in his hair, no doubt doing damage to his scalp with my nails. “Angelo.”
He lifts his head to look at me, his eyes gleaming with both victory and vulnerability. Hooking his hands under my armpits, he shifts me to the center of the bed. Then he crawls over me, covering every inch of my skin with his.
