I made it home a lot later than I'd have liked. I was trying to have a better work-life balance ever since Luciu had told me that a promotion was never going to be on the cards when my boss could use me, but tonight, I'd had to resolve a couple of issues with a new client's paperwork as I set up a tax haven for him in the Cayman Islands.
The local government didn't appreciate the fact he went by only one name.
I had no idea how his legal documents even allowed that, but Martinez was the only name on the contracts and the licenses and the birth certificate.
I knew wealth allowed for a lot of crazy shit to happen. Palms could be greased, and doors could be opened and banged close, but I'd never seen anything like this.
Neither had the Cayman Islands.
It was going to take a lot of capital to make them look the other way—capital, i.e., bribes— and I'd spent half the night trying to find out how much it would cost to get them to green light the documentation.
Wasted time.
I was tired and stressed and aggravated by Aidan’s visit and, I'd admit, horny.
I was never horny.
Ever.
I knew I was using sex as a distraction but seeing Luciu before lunch hadn’t helped.
Damn, why did he have to be so hot?
And generous.
So goddamn generous.
I placed the red envelope he'd left at my desk today beside the others. Each one housed a gift that I'd have given a tit for before, but I wasn't sure of his game.
There were no notes, no messages to indicate that he was trying to wheedle his way into my life.
Much like with the credit card, he simply gave with no parameters.
Which meant he was either generous or crazy.
As I stared at the six envelopes I'd propped up on my tiny kitchen table, trying to decide which it was, my cell buzzed.
When I saw 'Mom' make an appearance on the caller ID, I groaned under my breath.
I swore, the woman had a sixth sense for when I was rolling in it.
She never got in touch unless she wanted something, and she had the luck that I usually felt bad enough to give into her because I had it.
A part of me wondered if she had me watched, but she was poorer than me and had a fucker of a pimp who labeled himself her boyfriend—as if they’d waste the time of day on me.
It rang a few times, but unlike Luciu, she gave up faster. Until she rang again.
When Mr. Yardley banged on the wall, I rolled my eyes because it was on vibrate.
For a guy who was approaching a century, he had a sixth sense where technology was concerned. Either that or super sensitive hearing aids.
Because I didn't want to deal with her tonight, I switched off my phone. It wouldn't be the last I heard of her, but I’d hit my bullshit limit for the day.
I headed for the tiny bathroom, got undressed, and showered before I wandered back into the main room.
As I picked up my dinner—a banana—I moved over to the red envelopes, feeling them call me over like they were enchanted or something.
Opening each one up, I let the contents fall onto the table and stared at them.
Some were expensive, some weren't.
I picked up the small pieces, trying not to be charmed.
There was the earring from today, a ‘68’ in diamonds, a Times Square ball, a tiny champagne bottle, then a bright blue nazar—an evil eye—and, finally, a little mask that I'd had to Google. A Moorish head. A woman with a crown topped with fruits that were picked out in gemstones.
This was beyond generous—this had thoughtfulness behind it.
And that was even more dangerous.
Intoxicating too.
Hot and sweet?
Annihilate my heart now.
I swallowed as I grabbed a thin necklace from the small box I had that housed the minimal jewelry I owned, and pulled out a simple chain.
I wasn’t sure why tonight was the night I threaded them onto a necklace, but I did then placed it around my neck before I headed over to the bed.
As I slipped between the sheets, I set an alarm on the bedside clock seeing as I wasn't about to switch on my cell for anyone—a clock I only owned for the times when my mother called—and I turned out the light to stare up at the ceiling.
The city was noisy, the apartment building was too. My mind whirred, work chasing after thoughts of Savannah, of my biological father and, of course, Luciu.
Agitated and fitful, a good half-hour passed as I tossed and turned.
Eventually, I gave up and did the dumb thing—reached for my cell phone, turning it on again when I should have been sleeping.
Then I did something I hadn’t done all week—I checked my messages.
He hadn’t sent anything, not even an acknowledgement of the gifts he’d left, and I hadn’t thanked him. Not because I was ungrateful but because I didn’t know what to say.
As I lay in my lonely bed, in my shitty apartment, I thought about the glorious grandeur of his rooms. I thought about the scent of incense in the air and the rich silks that felt so good against my skin.
That would feel even better when he was on top of me, creating friction as he thrust into me.
Closing my eyes at the thought, I sucked in a breath then did something stupid.
Crazy.
Reckless.
Exhilarating.
Me: Send a car to my place.
His reply was pretty much instantaneous.
Luciu: It will be there in fifteen minutes.
Like any sane woman, I darted out of bed and pretty much dove into the bathroom. Only, as I stared in the mirror, I didn’t feel like putting on a full face of make-up. It was eleven thirty, I was tired, but I wanted… God, I just wanted.
Maybe it was the strange side of my nature that Luciu brought out in me, an odd type of rebellion that made me act like a teenager, but I decided I wouldn’t dress up.
If he wanted me as much as the insanely expensive gifts indicated he did, then he could take me as he found me.
It didn’t stop me from using one of my goodies though—a lubricating suppository that came complete with a luscious dose of CBD oil.
Once inserted, I knew that by the time the car showed up, my butt would be ready to par-tay.
Shaking said butt once I’d put my contacts in, I pretty much danced over to the closet and found myself presented with my first major problem.
Dressing down wasn’t something I did.
How could I?
My appearance was my best asset.
Pissed at the foiled plan, I grabbed a pair of jeans and a workout hoodie. The jeans might have cost four hundred dollars, but the workout hoodie said athleisure… Would that confound him enough?
I tugged at the sweater, wishing it weren’t Dior, but I looked sort of dressed down. Expensive, but definitely not the kind of outfit I’d ordinarily wear for a booty call.
Certainly nothing like the first time we’d fucked at any rate.
I dragged off the charm necklace and laid it down on my nightstand, then just as my butt started to feel the intended effects of the CBD oil, and things started to get interesting down below, the buzzer sounded.
"On my way," I declared into the intercom.
The only sneakers I had were a pair I worked out in, so I wasn’t going to wear those. Instead, I pulled on some boots. Ready now, I grabbed my cell phone, dragged my arms into my winter coat, and was out of the door when a thought occurred to me.
I’d enjoyed sleeping with him. Not the fucking. The sleeping.
I’d more than enjoyed the fucking, but the actual closing my eyes and lying in that big bed with him, feeling safe—how stupid was that?—I’d enjoyed it.
And it was late… Maybe he’d be okay with me spending the night?
Before I could second guess myself, I darted over to the closet and selected a simple black dress that I quickly rolled so it wouldn’t need ironing in the morning, a red jacket that I folded as best as I could and tucked them both into a larger purse with my wallet.
I’d feel underdressed in the morning, but that was that. At least I’d be ready for work if I spent the night.
As I locked my door, the anticipation in my blood was hard to ignore. It had nothing to do with being horny, nothing to do with the CBD, and everything to do with the one massive rush to the head that was Luciu Valentini.
I knew he was dangerous. I knew he was a lion just waiting to maul me, but if I made it out alive at the end of it, I got the feeling I’d like the mauling.
Jeez, what those lips could do…
Smirking to myself, I left my building, saw the car waiting, the driver huddled in his coat standing by the backseat door.
As I rushed over to him, I apologized, "I’m so sorry for making you wait."
His brows lifted in surprise at the apology, but he ducked his chin and opened the door for me.
Was I disappointed that Luciu wasn’t there waiting on me?
Yes. I’d admit it.
But as I placed my things on the seat at my side, I decided not to hold it against him.
He owned a nightclub. Nightclub owners tended to work, ya know, at night. That meant he was at Russu, but he was going to leave it for me.
Or maybe he wasn’t.
Maybe he was going to have me dropped off there for another fuck in his office before he had the same driver return me to my apartment.
I studied the roads, trying to see if they mimicked the route we’d taken on New Year’s Day. When we did, the relief that hit me told me a lot more than I was comfortable handling.
I didn’t want to catch feelings for a mobster, but maybe it was already too late for that.
Maybe they’d been caught.
With every weird thing he did, maybe he ensnared me more in his net.
Which, to be frank, made me like those fools who owned lions and tigers and let them roam around their mansions…
I wasn’t just waiting to be mauled, I was asking to have my arm ripped off.
Or, in this case, my heart broken.
I reached for my phone to see if he’d messaged, but he hadn’t. Instead, I started to compose a text to my mom, telling her to stop calling me because I was having financial issues of my own and had an upcoming lawsuit to deal with—she didn’t need to know that the defendant was dead.
Nobody knew that yet, as far as I was aware.
When we rolled up to his building, I’d deleted and restarted the message to her four times. Angry with myself, I shoved my phone back in my purse, wishing I were capable of avoiding her manipulation but knowing it was a lost cause.
I was pathetic where she was concerned.
I knew it, owned it.
That I had cash to spare when she was fucking shady guys to make rent twisted me up inside, but that wasn’t on me.
I was relieved to get out of my headspace when the car came to a halt, to get into the swanky elevator that took me up to the top floor of the mega-skyscraper, where anticipation flooded me.
Maybe it was a little more desperate than before, but I’d take that over feeling anguish about my mom’s current situation.
When the doors opened up, he was there, waiting for me. A stillness about his body that made me think all that power was coiled and charged, just ready to snap.
Something had happened.
I caught that in his expression.
Something bad.
A few drops of blood dotted the forearms that were exposed as he’d raised his cuffs to his elbows. The white silk shirt gleamed against his olive skin, but there was a micro spray of blood there too.
Had he killed someone?
Or had he just cut someone?
Just .
Christ.
I knew I was getting in over my head, but when I looked at him, and he registered my fear, he did the damnedest thing.
He crooned, "Come to me, cara mia ."
Fuck.
Fuck.
I was so screwed.
Licking my lips, I took a hesitant step into his foyer, but as I did, his scent seemed to hit me, eradicating the ocean smell from whatever they pumped into the elevators. The second it did, I was more than a goner.
I launched myself at him. Bag dumped to the ground, phone falling forgotten to the tiles, mom pushed aside, worries about coming across as too eager shoved away.
All that mattered was getting my hands on him.
He caught me.
Of course, he did.
I knew he would.
I knew that, for as long as we were together, he always would.
His hands cupped my ass, and I snagged my thighs around his lean hips and though his fingers dipped into the curves, his focus was on my mouth—catching it with his own, thrusting his tongue between my parted lips.
A shaky sigh escaped me as I slipped my arms around his neck, holding him close, needing more, wanting to climb into his fucking skin.
I felt him start to walk, but I didn’t give a damn, just groaned and moaned into his mouth as his tongue played with mine, supping from me, tasting and tempting, eating me up like I was a piece of cake he wanted to finish.
My hips bucked, rocking into him, and when I felt his hard-on against the thick denim gusset, I nearly moaned in disappointment, needing more contact but aware that my winter gear wasn’t about to allow for it.
He pulled back to nip at my bottom lip, then rumbled something in Sicilian that was pretty much a stroke of his tongue to my clit. I had no idea what the hell he said, but I didn’t care.
At that moment, I knew Luciu was a miracle on two legs.
He could talk me off.
I knew it.
I just fucking knew it.
I tightened my thighs about his hips, shoved up against him, and rasped, "I want you to fuck me."
He grunted in Sicilian, which made me wonder if he even knew he wasn’t speaking English.
And wasn’t that even hotter?
I reached up and tried to snag his mouth with mine, tugging him in for another kiss, but he angled his head to the side, then dragged his cheek along mine. I could feel the faint bumps that came from the shadow of a beard, but when I felt the slick glide of his tongue along the line of my jaw, my arms tightened around his neck as I arched my back, my head falling too, his lips drifting down to my throat where he supped at the tender, exposed flesh.
As he nipped and sucked, he seemed to trip every single nerve ending I had there. I knew it would leave a mark, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have it in me to care. It felt too good.
It was so me-centric.
So focused on me.
I didn’t have to entice or tease or turn on.
He was turned on.
He was ready.
Luciu knew what he wanted, even more, he was sensual. Inherently sexual. Leaving me feeling like I didn’t have to stroke his ego like I would with my exes, coo over the size of his mediocre cock, or tell him that I’d orgasmed even though a kindergartner had more finesse with an eraser than he did with his hand down my pants.
This was sex.
Not a transaction.
That felt better than I could imagine.
I squirmed against him, then groaned when his teeth gripped a sliver of skin between them. Hard enough to hurt. To mark. I could pretty much feel blood pulsing up there, starting to stain the flesh a rosy red.
Whimpering, I felt myself being lowered, and I tensed before I realized we’d made it to the bedroom.
When he pulled away, I reached for him, not wanting him to go, but he shushed me, straightened up, and then began stripping. When I started to as well, he grabbed my hand, shook his head, then said something else.
You guessed it—in Sicilian.
I blinked at him, feeling the rumbles of that oddly aggressive accent in my pussy, and watched him drag off his tie. I studied his hands as he unfastened the buttons on the beautiful piece of silk that was his shirt, found myself enthralled by the sound of the zipper lowering, and was entranced as each item seamlessly disappeared to the floor.
In a room full of beautiful artifacts, he was the most beautiful thing of all.
Coiled power, seething anger, tender touches—that particular combination didn’t make sense, but in him, it did.
He stood there for a bare second, reminding me of a conqueror of old, before his hands went to me. Carefully, he tossed off my winter coat, then surprise lined his expression when he saw my hoodie, but he didn’t say anything, just helped me out of it—because I really needed the help—then growled when he saw I wasn’t wearing a bra or anything underneath.
I cast his cock a glance, licking my lips when I saw how he’d been hard before, but now he was dripping precum.
Groaning, I was eager to taste for myself, but he didn’t let me. His hands snapped out, the fingers diving for the button on my fly before he dragged my jeans off.
I almost grinned when he grunted at my forgotten boots, but shortly after, I was bare on the sheets—the silken sheets on his sinful bed, surrounded by luxurious cushions that made me feel like a dragon queen sitting among a treasure hoard of jewels.
And he looked at me that way.
Like I was something to be worshiped.
When he loomed over me, I half expected him to dive in for another kiss.
I wasn’t wrong.
Just… the area of my lips and the kiss was.
In a smooth move, he snapped my legs apart, wide enough for the tendons to strain with the action, and then he was between them.
The noises he made, dear God.
Head tipping back, I screamed, "Oh fuck!" as he went at me like an animal. Lips and teeth and tongue, all of them working against me, working to please me, to grant me what few men had even cared about.
He played my clit like he was a virtuoso, supping and licking, suckling and teasing. It shot through me, ricocheting with all the kickback of a dozen bullets through my system, prompting me to dig my heels into the bed then surging up onto them so I could shove my cunt harder against his mouth.
That was when his eyes flashed open and ours collided.
That bolt of lightning bounded between us once again, echoing back and forth, but with each pass getting stronger, stronger, never weaker. Instead of gradually disappearing, it flared to life, booming into being so that every particle in the air around us was turbocharged. A roaring tsunami intent on laying devastation in its wake.
All the while, he feasted on me.
Wet, slick noises came from that area that should have made my cheeks tinge with pink, but I felt no shame. I didn’t worry about having to please him—no, this was for me.
And he loved it.
I saw it on his face.
He devoured me, insisting on my pleasure, wanting to own it and me.
I was there for that. All in.
His tongue slipped down, thrusting into my slit, and I jerked in surprise when he rubbed his nose against my clit. Fuck, he was a beast, and I wanted to be ravaged.
My back arched as his relentless pace had pleasure growing wings inside me, and when I came, it was a transcendental moment.
So glorious and beautiful because it was for me.
At that moment, I recognized this was better than the solitaire earring.
Better than the credit card.
Sure, it didn’t have a monetary value, but value came in different forms, and attention and focus and care were three such forms that were, I recognized, priceless .
In the madness that was this man, I was at the eye of his storm.
I froze, each muscle locking, each limb tensing up as my orgasm soared through me like the best of adrenaline highs. I rode those waves like the boss ass bitch I was, then when I sank back down, he was there, on top of me.
His mouth was wet.
I had one rule in the bedroom—no vaginal sex. Everything else was open season, but no one had just eaten me out to the extent that he had. His lips and jaw and chin gleamed with my juices. I should have been repulsed; instead, his ferocity drove me wild.
I tipped my head forward and much as he’d done in the hallway, let my tongue drag along his jaw. I used the flat of my tongue though, not the tip, going so far as to travel around his mouth, nipping the pad of his chin too.
His dick was hot against my pussy, and he rocked his hips as I cleaned him up. The growls and grunts that escaped him made him sound like the animal I’d just compared him to, and I was here for that as well.
The bestial noises had my pussy clenching down, the gnawing emptiness deep inside an ache I couldn’t ignore.
When our mouths finally collided, he arched so that he could thrust a finger into my pussy. I yelped because he’d moved fast and his finger was thick, and because I needed to nip this in the bud, I pushed forward, surging upward so that I could twist us around so that I was on top.
A little surprised when he let me, I straddled him then grabbed his hands and placed them on my tits.
"Mia ," he rasped under his breath, making me shiver with need.
I grabbed his cock and slipped it through my folds, going down, and down, pressing the tip to my asshole.
He stared up at me, something in his eyes, a mixture of confusion and need—but he didn’t ask or argue—as I did what I was used to, let him sink into my ass.
I’d grown used to it over the years, so much so that I enjoyed it. Even if I didn’t always get off, I liked how tight it was, I loved how each thrust was hard won, and I loved that it usually had men climaxing faster and harder, meaning they’d stop pawing at me sooner. Plus, the CBD worked wonders for relaxing me.
But this was so different. Like all the other times had taken place in the dark of night and this was the light of day.
As my body accepted his into mine, I didn’t stop until my asscheeks were resting against the tops of his thighs.
When I looked down at him, I had to admit that I’d missed out on so much when he’d fucked me from behind and fully dressed.
"Damn, you’re hot."
"I think I’m the one who is looking at fire, duci ," he rasped, and Fionnabhair ‘Jen’ MacNeill blushed.
I’d say it was an impossible phenomenon, but was it that when it had happened before with him?
Pressing my hands to his chest, I made a circling motion with my ass before I arched up, beginning to ride him at a crazy slow pace.
His pupils turned to pinpricks, his nostrils flared, and his hands dug into me where they settled, biting into my hips, urging me to move faster, but I wouldn’t.
Couldn’t .
All the while, my hair fell around us in messy waves, my tits ached for the feel of his mouth or hands, but equally, I liked his fingers where they were. It wasn’t like he was grounding me , but himself.
I felt his control snapping at the edges.
Felt it quivering like the beast I knew he housed in his soul, and though I knew it was madness, I wanted that to rain down on me.
I loomed over him, dragging my tits against his chest, savoring the hardness of his muscles, the strength of a man who used his body for labor and didn’t just work out in a gym, and I hovered my mouth above his before I parted mine and quickly nipped his bottom lip.
A storm raged in his eyes.
"Cara mia ," he intoned grimly, darkly. Ferociously.
I loved it.
And what sealed the deal?
He rasped something else in Sicilian, the tone just as grim and as dark. He could have been telling me he was about to cut me up into a million tiny pieces, but I didn’t think so.
Not when he looked at me that way.
"This makes no sense," I whispered.
"The best things in life never do," was his husky retort, and then he helped me.
He urged me into moving, using brute strength to shift me on his lap, while he arched his hips up and fucked me even though I was in the position of control.
A guttural groan slipped from my lips as I pushed my forehead into his, and I savored the sensation of him taking over, of him doing all the damn work, but the lack of friction against my clit was a massive problem.
I surged upward so I could drop one hand to the nub and the other went to my nipple. As I caressed them both, I felt how wet I was, and that rare wetness had everything to do with this man and what he did to me.
"Are you going to come for me, Fionnabhair?"
I gulped at the sound of my hated name slipping from his sinful lips, but, nostrils flaring, I nodded and focused on my release as he pounded into me from below.
I wished I’d let him take over, wished that I hadn’t tried to control this scene because I wanted to feel his weight on me, covering me, holding me down.
Moaning, I let my head fall back as I rubbed my clit, but he had me whimpering by slipping a finger into my pussy again. The thick digit rubbed against his cock as he pressed backward.
He grabbed ahold of my hand, and I let him, thinking he was moving it aside so he could caress my breasts, but he didn’t—he dragged it to his face and then he sucked one finger into his mouth.
I mewled. The sound was pathetic, but what that one touch did to me packed more of a punch than when I rubbed my clit.
He sucked it between his lips, added extra suction, before pulling back and, with another growl, biting down on the pad. How that triggered me, I had no idea, but it worked. The pleasure from his cock and his heat and his thickness combined with the mischief my hands were up to had me shooting higher than before.
I screamed.
Long, loud, pained and delirious, overwhelmed and needy.
It seemed to sink into the walls, a fitting place for the cries of a woman who had always been a slave to men for their wallets, but in here, felt more like a sheikha with a pleasure slave of her own.
But what made everything so much better was when a groan escaped him too, and when, rather than using me like I was an overlarge Fleshlight, instead, he rolled up, grabbed the back of my neck and hauled our foreheads together once again so that his cries and mine, our breaths, our pleasure-loaded gasps were mingled and entangled.
I knew then, at that moment, I’d never felt closer to another human being, and if I wasn’t going through the orgasm of my life, that would have scared the living crap out of me.
Instead, I was happy.
Happy when I knew happiness wasn’t meant for people like me.