Epilogue #5
“You’ll have one when you stop using my toothbrush,” he retorts.
Ugh! He could give me a wad of chewed gum, and I’d love it. But I can’t use his toothbrush?
“You’re the worst. Kiss rescinded!” I dress up and walk back into the bedroom. Luca suddenly blocks my path, giving me a severe look.
“You need to put on a pair of jeans.”
“My shorts are made of jeans.”
“Long jeans,” he growls.
“It’s hot outside,” I insist, not understanding his insistence. “I have smooth legs like butter, why would I cover them?” I snort.
He groans angrily. I’d like to tell him to change too, but he looks delicious in his dark gray jacket, anthracite shirt, and black jeans. And his hair tied back, locks falling on his temples? God, why is he so handsome?
“I don’t want people staring at them,” he snaps.
His jealousy makes me feel so wanted and sexy and loved. Wrong and unhealthy—again, don’t give a fuck.
“What people?” I look around, fucking with him.
A large hand wraps around my throat and pulls my body against his.
Oh, yes! I almost melt, feeling his other hand sliding over my thigh and into my shorts.
The movement is slow and purposely sensual.
My sated dick seems to like it a bit too much.
That won’t do since we have a place to go.
But when his thumb moves under my panties and brushes my wet hole, I forget about everything.
“Cover them up, or I’ll tie you to the bed again and leave you here until I come back.”
My eyes pop open as I process his words. “Don’t you dare! I’m the guest of honor.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Then you know what you need to do.”
Seriously? Are we still on that? He stares, and I scoff.
Stubborn ox. I pull on his chest hair—or try to through the shirt. “You don’t give up do you? You always have to get your own way or the highway.”
“You should know that by now. I got you.” He smirks, staring at me in a whole new way now. A soft, proud-of-himself, predatory way. It gets me every time, and the wacko knows it. Why do I love even this scheming part of him?
“You proved your point, now you can move your hand.” I tap on it inside my shorts.
“Why? Do you feel…uneasy?” he whispers teasingly.
I wish. “Should I?” I counter with a pout.
I know his dick wants in again, but I’m too sore. Plus we. Need. To. Go.
“Never,” he drops the word on my lips before kissing me deep.
A long minute passes before he lets me go. I walk back into the closet and grab a pair of leggings, a tie and pocket square for him. “Speaking of clothes, what happened to my groom pants? I can’t find them anywhere.” I love those.
“I threw them away,” he states with a shrug, taking the accessories from my hands.
“What? Why?” I clip accusingly.
“Fucking hate the sight of them. When you marry someone, it will be me. You’ll get bride pants, got it?” he says nonchalantly, finishing the knot on his tie with deft fingers.
My mouth turns slack and my heart jumps inside my chest as if I’ve just driven over a speed bump.
Bride?
Luca
“Bride? How about…how about me being an Enzino? I mean becoming part of the Leone family…isn’t that bad?” His soft whispers make me look down at him.
He seems surprised and…scared.
I squeeze his shoulders. “I did wish you weren’t born an Enzino in the past, but I probably wouldn’t have met you if you weren’t.”
“I would have found a way,” he boldly states. “I still hate it, though.”
“How about Nero?” I ask, taking his left hand in mine and kissing his ring finger.
“What about it?”
“Do you hate it?”
“It’s your surname, why would I?” He looks sincere and confused.
I know he means that. And fuck, I would love to say the same about him, but I can’t. I can do something else, though.
“And if I make it yours, too?”
“You… Do you mean it?” Those big light blue eyes are filled with hope and a hint of wariness.
A vulnerable Art is impossible to resist. My defenses drop every time, and I wrap myself around him.
“Always,” I rumble, sliding my hands to cup his face. “Even when I say you are a pain in the ass and I need to reciprocate with my cock.”
A couple of happy tears fall down his cheeks as he chuckles. “That’s not fair, your dick is huge in mine.”
“You love it,” I growl, pulling him against me. “And will have it for as long as we shall live.”
“You’re terrible at this.” His words don’t agree with the big-as-fuck grin on his face. “A proposal usually comes with a ring and a crafted speech about love and commitment, full of compliments and food, a lot of food would be nice. And what about going down on one knee?”
“Art, sole mio, I hate-love you more than anything in this fucking world, but I kneel for no man.”
He pouts again, crossing his arms in front of his chest like the brat he is. I grab his ass and lift him up, forcing his arms and legs to wrap around me and pressing our chests together.
“Don’t ever leave me or else you’ll feel my wrath,” he whispers brokenly on my lips.
“I wouldn’t want to be hit with an ashtray,” I murmur, making him shake his head.
“Does it mean you will adopt Nacho, too?” he suddenly asks me.
I look down at the horny beast having his way with one of my boots.
“The humping machine?” I point at the dog’s rocking pelvis.
“I saw you cooing at him before you left for Boston.” He raises a challenging brow at me.
“I was ordering him to stay away from my stuff.”
“You let him lick your chin,” he insists.
I glare at him, just like I glared at that satanic dog after he used his tongue on me.
“Nacho is just like me, you’ll hate-love him soon enough.” He gives me his best patronizing eyes.
Exasperation urges me to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before I look back at his face again. “Are you serious? I’m telling you to marry me, and all you’re talking about is the humping creature.”
“No, I’m thinking about your big balls, too. I’ll legally own them if we get married.” He tries to grab them, but the koala position doesn’t allow it, so after a few seconds, he gives up.
If we get married? Jesus fucking Christ! My blood is suddenly pumping too fast while I glower at him.
“We will get married. Who owns whom here, you little brat?” I bark.
“Wow, and the proposal gets better by the minute.”
“How about this? You owe me a wish,” I remind him of the time we were in the warehouse and he promised me a wish for my birthday. “I wish you’ll say yes to my marriage proposal.”
“Wha…? Honey keeps dripping from your lips,” he snaps sarcastically, sinking his teeth into my chin.
I hiss at the sting.
I’m driving myself off the cliff of insanity. Willingly. With a big fucking smile on my face.
Seb lights the joint and takes a drag, holding it in for a second before letting the smoke out.
“Is this the shit you do when you come to work?” Art asks, looking cautiously outside the window of Seb’s office.
“When there’s a new batch of weed, we sample it,” Seb explains, passing the blunt to Marco. He’s sitting behind his desk as usual, while we are on the armchairs on the other side. Two chairs have been added for Fly and Art.
It’s still sort of weird to see Seb in this office, behind Don Massimo’s desk, maybe because he didn’t change anything. It still looks like his father left it. Everything in this house does.
“Nice. Let me partake, I’m well acquainted with Mary Jane.” Art ignores his chair and drops his ass on my lap as Marco gives me the joint.
He goes for it, but I don’t let him take it from my fingers.
I grab his chin, take a puff without moving my eyes from his, and blow it into his mouth.
Fly giggles and Marco huffs. Seb doesn’t say anything, but he must feel uneasy about the lip touching.
I pay no attention to anyone else but Art and his lust-filled expression.
“This is first-grade weed,” Art says. “I could clean my ass with the crap my…Jack Enzino deals.”
Seb nods. “I invested in the development of a new breed, and this is the result.”
The two college kids who created it are now living the high life in Barbados, sending him postcards now and then.
“Great investment. You have a knack for…profitable deals.” Art’s compliment has a hint of challenge to it. My feisty brat enjoys engaging in ambiguous word duels with Seb every time they meet.
“And you as well. Your clubs seem…prosperous,” Il capo counters.
“I feel like I’m missing something,” Fly states.
“The fuck cares?” Marco moves his arm around his fiancé’s shoulder as he waves us off.
Rude asshole. Art flips him off before I can—too conspicuously. That’s my imp, I pat his hip encouragingly.
“I invited you here today to welcome Arturo into the family,” Seb says, ignoring our antics and pouring red wine into five stemmed glasses.
“Oh, thank you.” He wiggles his peachy ass over my lap, looking taken aback by Seb’s words.
“I also have something for you,” Seb adds.
Art interrupts him. “Your gift can’t beat the humongous one Luca’ gave me this morning.” He points down at my dick. His smile is slow and teasing. “Twice.”
“I wasn’t referring to that,” Seb deadpans, not at all affected by his joke. He places the wine glasses in front of us.
Marco, on the other hand, sounds annoyed. “Do you ever talk about something else?”
“Food,” Art quickly replies, hooking his hands behind my head.
“His stomach is a black hole,” Fly states, grabbing two glasses and handing one to Marco.
“Do you chew on people at Thanksgiving?” Marco taunts him, swirling the wine in his glass—something about waking it up to help oxygen mix. He’s such a stuck-up bitch when it comes to wine.
“You should come for Christmas, can be part of my massacre.” Art narrows his eyes at him.
I take a pack of Cheetos out of my suit and dangle it in front of his face to end the nonsense. He grabs it with both hands and tears it open like a starved little demon. He does remember to kiss my cheek before starting—the massacre.
My eyes are caught by a black box that Seb is placing in front of us. He signals for Art to open it. This must be the something he was talking about before. Art puts the chips between his legs to follow Seb’s instructions. He stops halfway.