4. Leo
4
LEO
I f I’d known Rafael Ricci’s daughter was a witch, I’d have been a bit more hesitant before making her mine.
Sorcery is the only possible logic behind why her kiss leaves me breathless—that her lips hold a deep, sinister magic within, capable of beguiling even the most detached and heartless of men.
She’s tentative at first, as if her bravado from moments before was a simple facade. Her lips don’t open, though her fingers hold tight to my suit jacket and refuse to let me move back even an inch.
I don’t try to pull away, shifting and sliding my dominant hand into the hair at the nape of her neck. That earns a tiny, almost-imperceptible grunt, which unlocks some bestial part of me. My other hand clutches at her waist, at her dress, as I desperately try to press closer.
A humming sound reverberates in the back of my throat as I discover she’s just as soft and pliable as she looks. Her flesh, hidden beneath the hideous gown, molds under my fingers like it’s been waiting all this time for my touch.
Even though I can’t feel her skin, I know she must be the epitome of every wet dream I’ve ever had.
How many times have I imagined this very moment? I don’t know if I can even admit to myself yet how long I’ve desired this woman.
Tugging on the roots of her hair, I angle her head and pry her lips open. She resists at first, her body twisting as she attempts to flee my grasp.
But I’m stronger and far more determined. One chaste taste isn’t close to being enough, and I push through the seam of her mouth, stealing the gasp that puffs out of her.
She tastes like mint and a hint of blueberry.
My tongue flicks out, tracking and tracing, and my grip on her hip becomes ironclad with my sudden, brutal desire. She trembles, fitting herself tightly against me as I commit her feels, flavors, and sounds to memory.
Something bumps against my lip; at first, I assume it’s her teeth. Upon further inspection, I realize it’s some sort of object, and for a moment, my mind snaps back to our situation. I don’t break the kiss, but I do wait, seeing what happens—if she’s losing herself the way I am or if she’s intent on some other goal.
All she does is squirm closer, grinding into me, so I simply slide the object into my mouth and tuck it away before diving back in.
I’m spiraling fast, losing my hold on reality as our lips mash and teeth clash; we’re somehow battling for dominance even though we both know there will be only one victor.
A strangled noise vibrates in her chest, and I swallow it, wishing I could feel it in mine. Then she’s pushing, flattening her hands against my pecs, and shoving, trying to break this spell twining between us.
I release her hip and grab beneath her chin, not caring if it’s the bite of my fingertips that makes her jolt or the way our kiss deepens exponentially. My dick aches in my slacks, and if we didn’t have an audience, I’d be seeking immediate relief.
As if she can read my mind, she reaches between us with one hand and palms my length. I startle at the contact, then groan in my throat, nodding as if this entire situation is completely normal.
Her fingers are gentle at first, and it strikes me as odd how comfortable she seems groping me in front of her own father. But then she’s curling those digits in, squeezing, and she doesn’t stop.
She fists my cock as much as she can through the material of my pants, and a flash of pain shoots up the shaft. My nostrils flare, and I break our kiss with as much force as I put into prolonging it.
Our mouths are slick with saliva, our faces hot, and our breaths heavy. I keep my hands where they are, and she doesn’t move hers. Inside my chest, my heart beats an irregular rhythm, and I take several deep breaths to steady it.
Shock pulses a sharp path through my central nervous system as my tongue re-situates in my mouth. Immediately, I let go of Stella, and she stumbles without the support.
“Well?” Rafael snaps from over my shoulder. He’s standing with his arms crossed, glaring at his daughter. “Are we finished here then?”
I turn my head back toward Stella. She’s holding her hand to her lips, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think the glassy look in her russet gaze was from our apparent sizzling chemistry.
Everyone, the priest included, seems to be waiting for me to say something. Clearing my throat, I push my tongue to the corner of my mouth and then run my palms over my lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles made by my new wife.
My wife.
A surge of something bright and unfamiliar washes over me, though I quickly squash it.
“We’re finished,” I tell Rafael.
Hardly a minute passes before I hear him shuffle away, and then the front doors to Saint Paul’s creak open. When they slam shut, it echoes through the nave, rattling the stainedglass windows lining the walls.
Still, I keep my eyes on Stella. I’m not sure if I’m waiting for something or simply trying to put off the inevitable meeting with my father, but the reality of our situation slams into me like a broken brick.
I married the last Ricci daughter.
Now I just have to figure out what to do with her.