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“What does this say?” My finger trails over the elaborate lettering.
When he hesitates, scowling, I roll my eyes and murmur sleepily. “Italian is not a secret cult language, you know. I can always find out.”
“Sangue dentro. Sangue fuori.” He grits out. “Blood in. Blood out. And don’t ask me what that means.”
“Duh. Simple. It’s a much more boring version of ‘pinky swear,’” I yawn, letting my head drop onto his chest. “I like the Druids’s version better, though. It makes it sound like a fun secret club where they share cookies and candy floss.”
I think I hear his rumbling laughter against my cheek, but it might be in my dreams because that has to be the only place where blood oaths and sugar rushes collide.
Chapter Fifteen
Nico
The morning sun shines in through the slats in the blinds and casts a warm glow across Sophie’s bare back. She’s lying on her side, and I can see a tiny starburst-like scar on her shoulder. I stand at the side of the bed, fully dressed and tracing my fingers over the pearly flesh, wondering where it came from.
She makes a quiet, contented sound, but her eyes remain closed as I work my way from her shoulder down the outer curve of her breast and across her abdomen to where her tattoo disappears beneath the sheet hiding her hip.
I’ve never done this—never watched a woman sleep, never wondered about her scars or the meaning behind her tattoos. Or lingered around after sex. I should be at the docks— I check my watch—in thirty minutes. My men would already be waiting by now. But first, I need to get a proper look at her tattoo.
It’s an elaborate thick vine dotted with tiny moonflowers that stretch from the generous curve of her left hip across her flat belly and stops just short of her breasts.
I trace the vine back up over her ribs, grazing the outer curve of her breast, and she stirs. And when I cup her breast in my hand and catch her nipple lightly between my fingers, she moans quietly and shifts more, but still, her eyes remain closed.
Driven by an insane need to see all of her, I move to the end of the bed and lean over, slowly sliding my hands up her thighs and taking the bedsheet with me as I go. She’s silky soft beneath my fingers, her muscles relaxed and pliant.
She moans, a quiet, breathy sound, and her plump lips part.
“Buongiorno, fiammetta,” I say as my fingers reach the apex of her thighs, and I spread them open. She’s smooth and dusky pink, and her scent makes my mouth water.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs. She hasn’t opened her eyes, but her fingers are clasping the bedsheet beneath her lightly.
“I’m looking at you.” I close the distance between us and drag my tongue along her slit.
She lets out a breathy moan, “Nico, that’s way more than looking.”
“Is it?” I tongue her again, this time sliding all the way up to her clit.
Her body jerks like she’s gotten a shock, but the look on her face is anything but pained.
“How about now?” I ask with a wicked grin, then return to my task, lapping at her clit with featherlight strokes.
She only shakes her head, and her hips start to writhe, fingers gripping the bedsheet tighter.
I force her thighs open wider and slide two fingers inside her while I keep up my gentle assault on her sensitive bundle of nerves. She’s so tight, and her walls are already slick, ready for me.
She reaches for me, running her pink-tipped fingers over my shoulders and up the back of my neck. And then her hands move higher, sliding over her own abdomen up to her tits. She cups them in her hands, catching her nipples between her fingers just like I’d done.
Christ, what a sight.
I suck her clit into my mouth as my fingers pump into her wet heat. Her breathy moans grow louder as I use my free hand to force her thighs wide open, stretching her further until every bit of tension orbits around her core.
My tongue flutters against her clit harder and faster, turning her moans into garbled cries of my name and her thighs quivering with the need to orgasm. I finger-fuck her harder, scraping against the swollen patch on her front walls that drives her insane. Without warning, her pussy clamps down around my fingers and her back arches clear off the bed in a sudden and explosive climax. Her scream fills the room, feeding my own arousal.
She moans contentedly as her orgasm subsides, and she drops her hands to her sides like they’ve become heavy weights. I withdraw my fingers from her, and her already flushed cheeks turn red when I slowly lick my fingers clean.
“Nico,” she whispers, trying and failing to look away from the sight. The way she bites her lips almost makes me free my raging hard cock and feed it to her.
“Yes, fiammetta?” I remove my handkerchief from my jacket and wipe my hand and face dry, feeling like a fucking deity.
