Chapter Twenty-Seven Larissa #2
With that permission, he slowly lowers to the foot of the pile.
Keeping intoxicating eye contact, he snakes his arms through my thighs to pin me, enclosing me in his grip.
Slowly dipping, he keeps me hostage while taking another long pull of my clit.
My back bows at the feel as he starts to feast, smoothly licking me from center to clit and back again.
Over and over, he does this as I writhe under his tongue.
But when I cry out his name, he stills, as if it pains him somehow.
Arms tensing, he pauses for a heartrending beat before resuming his fevered licks. The movement of his tongue so fast it’s nearly imperceptible as my hips start to buck.
Eager for more, I grip his head, lightly raking my nails along his scalp.
Though this is nowhere near as frenzied, this encounter seems just as intense.
Ferocious in his mission, it’s when he presses his fingers into me, alternating between licking and sucking, that I’m brought straight to the brink.
Thighs shaking, I tighten my fingers in his wet hair as I begin to coil, pleasure replacing lingering pain.
The noise of us, though filthy, combined with the soft lust-crazed look in his eyes as he feeds, has me calling his name once more.
Again, he freezes briefly as if pained before driving a targeted finger into me.
At the feel of it, my body seizes as I start to unravel beneath his mouth.
“Oh, G-God, oh … fucking, o-oh,” I sputter, unable to handle so much sensation as I free-fall into a wave of euphoria. Floating on the pleasure, an adrift feather, it washes over me before I finally start to zig-zag back into myself.
A raspy moan leaves me as I start to shake with need.
Aching for the feel of him and the connection we created.
But when I reach for him, he stills and grips my hands before flattening his tongue against me.
Drawing upon my core once more, he groans as he swallows, seeming to savor my taste before pressing a closed-lipped kiss to the top of my pussy.
“No,” I voice immediately. “No,” I repeat as his wary gaze meets mine.
“We’re not taking this further,” he starts.
“The fuck we aren’t. Finish what you started.”
“I just did,” he counters.
“I told you that you’re safe with me. I’ve only slept with one other.”
When he stills at my admission, I roll my eyes. “Trust me, it’s not like I didn’t want to, but I have no interest in being with a made man, and that’s all there ever was around. Not to mention, eyes fucking everywhere.”
With that confession, he drops his forehead to rest between my legs, his harsh breaths coming out as I do my best to summon him. Gripping his hair and palming his shoulders until he pulls back. His penny eyes pinning mine as I watch his guard slowly rise as his resignation sets in.
“Enemy or not,” he says, voice coated with lust, “what happens between a man and woman—”
“The hell?” I croak. “You know damn well that was consensual.”
“Look at you. You’re covered in—”
“Afterglow?” I groan at his idiocy. “Have you seen the other guy?” I ask, noting the scratches on his jaw, the puncture on his lip from my bite. The black circle beneath his eye from my punch.
He shakes his head, though I swear a smile threatens before his mask settles back.
“I can handle a lot, Larissa, but this situation is too much even for me. You shouldn’t have fucking thanked me for that shower.
” Warning coats his next delivery. “And you should have pulled that fucking trigger last night.”
“We both opted out and are in a ceasefire now, doing something far less boring.” I lift, licking along his lower lip. He instantly turns his head to deny me.
“Jesus, just fucking let go,” I tell him. “Forget who we are,” I whisper, my ache growing unbearably, “and just … feel me.”
“I haven’t forgotten who you are, and won’t,” he grants. “Ever. It ends here.”
“You confuse me, truly,” I sigh. “You’re so fucking brilliant while being so predictably stupid. I know you want it.”
“Desire is obviously not the fucking problem,” he states. “We’re not doing this again with who we are.”
“And who are we?” I ask.
“Not going to be a we,” he relays, pushing my wet hair away from my shoulder and gently brushing the pad of his finger over a bruise before flicking his gaze up with his next bite.
“Fucking you doesn’t mean I’m wrong about you, but taking you the way I did, it’s not fucking okay,” he admits roughly.
His eyes briefly roam my face as heat flickers in his eyes.
It’s clear he’s fighting it, but I refuse to beg.
“Oh fuck the look on your face, Marine. I wanted it, and I know you loved giving it to me while it was happening, so don’t fucking apologize, especially if you’re not man enough to own that we both wanted it.”
“This is me owning it,” he snaps, his eyes blazing a hot trail down my body. “And this is me stopping it … though when I look at you, all I seem to do is fucking want. Physically,” he admonishes before giving an adamant shake of his head. “Mentally and emotionally, I’ve been there.”
He runs an exasperated hand through his cropped hair.
“I’ve already lusted after a woman who was toxic for me, battled her snake, and tasted the forbidden fruit.
” This admission comes out harshly, and I glimpse a vulnerability I know he doesn’t want me to as he continues his confession.
“I walked through hellfire for it after to win the unlovable woman with daddy issues who blamed men for everything. Because she was”—he cuts himself off before pinning me again—“she was lovable in a way that can’t be duplicated, ever.
” He stamps this out unmistakably and unapologetically.
“And because she was, I dealt with the pieces they all left her in. Helped her sort them and put them together before she died in my fucking arms … which is why I have absolutely no interest in repeating any part of that experience.”
His expression hardens, his voice becoming more muted in emotion with each word. “So, while I do own that I want you, Larissa—I don’t and won’t ever want you in the way you want me to.”
“I’m delusional? Don’t confuse me with her!” I roar.
“Trust me, I couldn’t,” he counters instantly, “and God how I wish you fucking were her, because at least this argument would be worth it.”
Feeling slapped, I go to do just that, but he grips the hand meant to strike him and kisses it softly. I watch him, confused by his gentle reception as he presses in a soft kiss a second time. A sad, ironic smile gracing his own lips before he speaks.
“Hurt, didn’t it? Because whether I want it or not, whether you think you feel something or not, this started the second we met. But here’s the truth one more time: I don’t want this or you.”
“You flatter yourself assuming your place with me, fool,” I snap. “You credit yourself with meaning far too much to me. Your insult warranted the slap, not my fucking feelings.”
“Jesus”—he blows out a harsh breath—“the cosmos are probably having a good fucking laugh at this one,” he muses without humor. “Apparently, I have a type.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Speaking of familiar,” he bites out, gripping me lightning-fast before consuming my lips with a blistering kiss.
What little fight I have physically, I use to reject it, but he refuses to allow me to back away.
Plastering me to him, he thoroughly fucks my mouth with his tongue as I claw at his arms, pushing at his chest as he relentlessly kisses me until I buckle and dive.
Closing our kiss, he pulls back, keeping my gaze as he licks his lower lip.
“You want to know how good you fucking taste, little mobster?” He runs his tongue along the whole of my lower lip, and my eyelashes flutter at the feel.
“So fucking good, so addicting that I could and would feast on your pussy until I have no breath in my fucking body.” He grips my hand and brings it to the bulge in his jeans.
“If we weren’t who we are. So while this wants you …
” He runs his nose along my jaw as he covers my hand, grinding his rock-hard length into my palm.
“I promise you, you don’t want to become its new bad habit.
You won’t fucking survive it,” he rasps out in a heated whisper.
“Because I’ll only stop to watch you break”—he licks at the seam of my parted lips—“before I break you again.”
“Fuck—”
He slams his mouth over mine, cutting off every protest as he kisses me to within an inch of my fucking life.
Overpowering my will, a moan slips from me just before I run my tongue along his.
Our hands begin tracing, searching, blurring into motion a second before he rips himself away, both our breaths labored as he speaks.
“The sooner this is over, the sooner this ceases to be an issue for us both.”
I jerk away from his reach, abhorring myself for giving in.
“Presuntuoso del cazzo.” Arrogant prick.
“The feeling is mutual, Marine. Jesus, you’re so warped that you mistake a little warmth for love itself.
I’ve never catered to a man enough to demean my fucking worth, which isn’t decided by you or my place with you.
So, don’t insult me by apologizing again, unless that includes making me come without pointless conversation.
And need I remind you, the clock’s ticking, and day one is almost over. ”
Just as I declare it, the wind kicks up, shaking the tent as the flaps burst open with a gust. At the intrusion, Tyler glances back before visibly stiffening. Seeing his reaction, I tilt my head, catching sight of nothing but snow flurries as they slowly swirl toward the ground.
Tyler follows their movement closely for several seconds, becoming lost in their descent to the point I feel his own. When I softly call his name, his devoid eyes slowly slide back to mine. Already a thousand miles away when he finally speaks. “Sleep. We’ll talk when you wake up.”
It’s the vacancy in his voice and utter lack of presence that leave no room for more conversation before he stalks out of the tent. Despite my aggravated state and the rumble in my belly, it only takes me a few restless minutes to slip away.
* * *
One of the advantages of being a don’s kid is having a keen peripheral sense.
The ability to detect something amiss due to a distinct stillness in the air.
Something I’ve used more than once to get out of sticky situations.
That sense, now heightened, has me popping my eyes open to spot a plate of food and my clothes lying next to it.
Plucking them up, I dress quickly as I recall my first months in Barga.
Thighs screaming from endless trips on the ladder, I spend long minutes submerged in the steaming tub, fingers bleeding and dry from stripping never-ending rows of olives.
Stamina my nemesis, preached as gospel by Tula after months of books and chores with little payback.
Harvesting the olives as if I’m just another hand on the grove.
Growing more frustrated with each day that I came for an education but seem to be just another employee.
Knowing another grueling day awaits, by the time the church bell rings the ninth chime, I’m dried, dressed, and collapsing into my mattress.
The aches follow me into a fitful sleep.
The second I sense the air shift, I hear the cock of the gun, the cold barrel pressed hard into my temple as a large hand smothers my scream. Fear encircles me as I thrash with every bit of fight I have, coming up short as a deep, terrifying voice cuts through the air.
“Will has to last over everything else because there will come a time when it’s all you have left.
Locks don’t exist for us. Neither do walls.
If I want you, I will move through them to get you.
Every. Fucking. Time.” The hand presses over my nose, cutting off the last of my air as his voice invades my psyche.
“You sensed nothing until my breath hit your skin, and so you’re already dead, cuginetta.
” Little cousin. “But we can’t have that, can we? ”
Just as I’m about to pass out, I’m pulling in a lungful of air, finding his onyx-black eyes peering back at me as he slowly stands, hovering like the massive shadow he’s known to be. “It’s time to wake up.”
After quickly dressing, I shroud myself in a blanket before emerging from the tent and freezing …
my suspicion confirmed as I soak in the lethal expression of the man standing to the left of the blazing fire.
Posture deadly, bearded jaw ticking, Tyler’s blazing copper eyes, and gun, zero on the reason the DiGiovanni name is spoken in whispers, never roars, just as it—he—fully makes his presence known.
“Stai proprio bene, cugina.” You look well, cousin.