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And even the brilliance of being right isn’t enough to settle the upset in my stomach. The low and gurgling sensation that’s grown and stayed since last night.
Only last night?
The club and the glory hole seem miles away, though, even as I lift my fingers to my mouth and slip them inside. Tasting Isabella’s desire. I lick my fingers clean while holding eye contact and watching the way her chest catches when I slide them from between my lips.
“You taste so goddamn good,” I manage to get out. My cock is hard enough to cut through diamonds to the point of physical pain.
I want to bury myself inside of her until I’ve imprinted her insides with the shape of me. I want to taste her on my lips for the rest of my life.
I slide my tongue between my fingers while she watches me, the brown in her eyes overtaking the green and making her look younger somehow. More innocent even as she leans against the wall breathless, coming down from her orgasm.
The woman should always wear red.
“I got the distinct impression you were done with me after last time,” she mutters under her breath. The hallway around us is quiet; the din contained the massive dining room downstairs and the people waiting for us there.
All the better to sneak off, as she’s said, and find her alone. To have these stolen moments with her made all the sweeter because I told myself I was going to stay away. I had every good intention of following through on my word.
I made a liar of myself.
Told myself it’s absolutely important for me to maintain my distance because every time I touch her, taste her, I get a little closer to stepping over the line in the sand I’ve drawn. Look what I’d done?
The one I’ve had to respect in order to do what I have to do for myself, for my family. For my dreams. All of those things hinge on my control and staying away from the woman I’m not allowed to want. Except here we are, and I taste her on my tongue. I see the way her body shakes as she comes down.
I take a step back because I need the distance and watch her readjust her dress, pulling the skirt down and smoothing the material like it will somehow be able to hide what we’d done.
“We’re going to have to talk soon,” I tell her, surprised when my voice remains steady. “Not now. We’re out of time now.”
“No, now we’re both going to be ripped new assholes for being late to dinner.” Isabella turns her back on me and saunters back down the hallway toward the stairs, her ass wiggling with each step. Damn me. I’m absolutely sunk. “You’ve wasted everyone's time again, Ricardo.”
I should hurry to catch up with her, but I refuse. “You consider it a waste? A good orgasm is never a waste.”
“You haven’t done anything better with your hands than what I’ve done with my vibrator,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Fucking ouch.”
Except we both have to reel it back in on our way to the dining room, the noise level growing with each step in that direction.
Carter Vittorio and Edward Balestra both stand to attention when we enter the room, the latter’s gaze softening as he opens his arms for his middle daughter. Isabella dutifully moves into his embrace.
The daughter, according to Mia, who is the apple of the father’s eye and the pride of his life. She’s said it multiple times with no amount of bitterness, and I’ve always wondered how long it’s taken Mia to reconcile. The oldest child of the Balestra line is about to take control of the entire business and has multiple gifts of her own, gifts Edward recognizes and respects.
But while Mia is the gun pointed at the competitor’s head, Isabella is the rose in the garden, blossoming under the sun’s rays. Enjoyed and cherished.
Lucia, on the other hand…I spare a glance at the youngest daughter, her curves still soft with youth. She keeps her gaze on her plate while the others make their rounds of greeting, and I hold out a hand for shakes that are unnecessary at this point.
Loved, but an afterthought.
Given a club of her own at a young age as if it was some kind of test for her to prove her skill, and although she has, it’s never been enough to have her either rise in the family or be left out entirely. An odd sort of limbo where each sister has been slated for something different.
According to Carter, Mia is thrilled with her place, even if her marriage to him had been arranged. A love match, after all.
Lucia’s comfort level is a mystery to me. And Isabella would rather claw her way out of the garden using her thorns than continue to be admired from afar.
I wonder how much of that is true or if Edward simply moves his three children around on a chessboard, seeing what use they might be to him or what annoyance they might be to each other. His wife as well. They are assets for him, but they are also amusements.
Those are the kinds of observations I keep to myself.
I drop down into the empty seat at the opposite side of the table from Edward. Carter has chosen to sit beside his wife rather than at the head position, leaving me to claim the honor and Isabella to take the empty chair to my right.
