Chapter 52
CARMELA
T he bedding is tangled around me, and I’m drenched in a cold sweat. My heart is hammering. I press my palm to the center of my chest and force my breathing to steady.
It’s late and dark in the bedroom, but the door to the corridor is open an inch and light spills through.
Dante is here. I can hear a very faint rumble of him talking.
My heart skips a beat. Just him being close calms me and kicks off a pulse of arousal in my core.
I wonder who he is talking to… Is Christian here? Leon? Or someone else.
Pushing the covers aside, I rise and use the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, pat it dry with a towel, and stare at my reflection.
I’ve changed inside. It’s really confusing how I look just the same on the outside.
Not entirely the same. My hair could do with a trim, and instead of the Victoria’s Secret nighties Ettore favored, I’m wearing Dante’s T-shirt to bed. The changes sound superficial; it’s not like I care about my hair needing a trim.
But I don’t think I can wear Victoria’s Secret ever again… which is a shame now that I think about it, and I can imagine Dante’s face, how the expression would light me up, whereas my husband’s always made my skin crawl…
He said he wants to make me his wife.
Do I want that?
Yes, and no.
I always wanted to be Mrs. Barone, but which one?
It’s not like Christian has ever made any allusions to something more between us.
He told Dante not to fuck me while he wasn’t here—hardly an indication he wants to marry me, or even of commitment.
But it’s darkly possessive, and this changed version of me likes it a lot.
My lips curve into a smile. My mother would be horrified at me having feelings for Christian.
“He’s not what I expected,” I tell my reflection. “Nor is he the man you thought he was, Mama.” Also, he kind of is, but there’s more to him than the facade he presents. He’s not cold, nor is he callous toward me.
He doesn’t hate me despite how he told me that he did.
Despite him fucking me like he did.
Why do I only realize this now?
I can’t make eye contact with my reflection anymore. Turning away, I pad through the bedroom to the door, opening it a little wider so I can listen.
All I hear is Dante’s voice. The long pauses make me think he’s talking to someone on his cell phone.
I slip into the corridor, drawing closer so I can hear what he’s saying.
He’s standing before the big window, staring out into the darkness.
A few lamps are on, casting soft illumination over the room.
His suit jacket is tossed over the back of the couch, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up.
His dark hair is a little longer on top and messy, as if he’s had his hands in it.
“How did we miss that?”
He rakes his fingers through his hair as if to confirm my assessment. I bite my lip to stifle my giggle.
“Has he been compromised? Should we pull him out?”
My smile drops. Why do I think he might be talking about Christian? It could be anyone and anything, yet my heart still slams against my rib cage.
He sighs heavily, listening to whatever is being said.
Then he turns slowly, like he can sense me watching, and his eyes settle on me. “Can we get a copy of it?” He walks over to the couch, and beckons to me as he sits down.
My steps are slow. When I reach his side, he captures my wrist and tugs me down onto his lap. His warmth and cologne envelop me. I press my nose against his throat and breathe him in, instantly calmed.
“Okay, keep working on that. I can’t believe it will give them anything useful from that distance, but I’d rather be able to assess that for ourselves. We should consider pulling him out, either way. I’ve got to go; she’s awake…. Yes, call me.”
He hangs up and drops the cell phone onto the couch at his side.
“You should be sleeping, Carmela.” He presses a kiss to my temple… who knew temple kisses could feel so good?
“I had a nightmare.”
His hand slides up and down my back in what ought to be a soothing gesture yet stirs the ever-present need I feel around him to life.
His hands are big and warm through the T-shirt.
Suddenly, I wish I had that sinful red Victoria’s Secret babydoll that I shoved to the back of a drawer and swore I would never wear for Ettore.
“Does that happen often?”
I don’t want to talk about my nightmares. I want him to peel my T-shirt off and tease me until I’m panting and wet, and then I want him to fill me how I need—damn Christian and his double standards. Damn Dante for listening to him. “Often enough.”
“Are they recent, or have they been happening for a while?”
I sigh. “Recent.”
His hand curves around me to draw me in tight. “Want to talk about it, baby?”
“No. It’s gone now.”
The arousal that never fully dissipates around him lowers to a simmer.
This is nice, too, the sense of closeness, of being held and cherished.
I never experienced cuddles with Christian.
Maybe he’s not that way inclined, even if there had been time.
Dante does the best cuddles, and I’m already becoming addicted.
“What’s happening, Dante? Where is Christian? Is he okay?”
“You’re worried about him?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, me too.”
My breath hitches.
His cell begins to ring. “I need to take this.”
He lifts me off his lap and sits me on the coffee table facing him as he reaches for his cell and lifts it to his ear. “What have you got?”
He holds up his hand to stop me when I go to get up. The coffee table is glass-topped and cool underneath my thighs.
“Stay there?” he mouths as he listens to whatever is being said. Then he catches the hem of my T-shirt and, with his eyes on mine, gives a little tug. “Off.”
Oh God! The instruction, the intense look in his dark eyes, kicks off a pulse in my core. I stare back at him as I draw his T-shirt off over my head and drop it onto the floor, leaving me naked but for my panties.
He leans back into the couch, his eyes trailing a lazy path down me.
“Hmm, that sounds like a good idea.” And to me. “Open.”
My breath catches as I acknowledge what he means. Slowly, I spread my legs wide.
He continues listening to whatever’s being said on his phone. His thumb brushes over his lower lip as he stares at the juncture of my thighs.
“Yes, he can make a call.”
His eyes skip back to mine. “Off.”
My breathing elevates. I draw my legs back together, hook my thumbs in the sides of my panties, and peel them down.
He holds out his hand.
I hesitate.
He raises his brows in challenge.
I drop them into his waiting hand. “Good girl. Now open again.”
I spread my legs slowly, his eyes tracking the movement, his cheeks taking on a darker hue. He tightens his fingers over my panties and brings them to his nose.
Breathing my scent in.
His eyes turn hooded. Mine drops to the apex of his spread thighs where his cock bulges against the material of his dress pants.
I swallow, wondering how he would taste. I’ve never done that to a man willingly. I’m curious. I’m definitely interested.
“We need to make a plan for that.”
I snap my focus back to his eyes. He’s staring right back at me and looks amused. He makes a ‘back’ motion with his hand. Frowning faintly, I let myself roll back my elbows.
He stops me there, sits forward, taps my lips. “Open, baby.” I part my lips—he pushes my bunched panties between my teeth.
My eyes widen.
He rises, and my frantic eyes track him as he goes to the refrigerator. Taking out a bottle of water, he snaps the lid open and drinks, still listening to his call.
He lowers the bottle, glances across at me, and grins.
I’m tingling all over and growing wet so fast it’s a little embarrassing. My mouth being full of my panties is confusingly arousing—I want to taste him. I’ve never tasted somebody I cared about before.
“Yes, sounds good.” He walks back slowly.
Puts the bottle on the table next to me and leans back into the couch opposite me.
His hand goes to his buckle while listening intently to whatever’s being said.
He’s staring at my pussy again as he slowly loosens his belt, draws his zipper, and then just leaves it there, open, taunting me.
A jolt goes through me as he leans forward and casually cups my right breast before he pinches and rolls my nipple.
I groan around my pantie gag.
He smirks, shakes his head, and mimes a tutting noise. Then he trails his fingertips to the other side and does the same, squeezing and rolling my nipple until it’s hard and throbbing with arousal.
He leans back into his seat, leaving me there to wallow.
“I think we should move a couple of teams in… Yeah… No… Maybe that…”
He slides his hand inside his underpants.
I blink furiously as I take in this new development, watching it move up and down under the material. I just want to shove his hand aside and do it for myself.
He takes his hand out, lifts his hips, and shoves his pants and underpants down. His cock bobs free, the head glistening with pre-cum. I couldn’t tear my gaze away if my life depended on it.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Give it a couple more days and we can assess it then… Later.”
He hangs up the call and drops the cell phone on the couch beside him.
“Like what you see, Carmela?”
I nod.
He fists his fat cock and slowly strokes up and down in a way that seems almost painfully too rough.
“I can’t fuck you.”
He what?
“But he didn’t say I couldn’t come while looking at you, did he? Maybe it’s my turn tonight. Maybe I’ll make you wait.”
I shake my head frantically.
His smile has a lazy, predatory air.
He swipes his thumb around to pre-cum at the head of his cock then slides his fingers all the way back down again.
I groan.
“Something the matter, baby?”
The man is pure evil. My eyes plead. My mouth is watering around my panties. There’s a real danger I’m going to drool.
“You want a taste?”
I nod vigorously.
“I’m confident you blowing me is not on Christian’s approved list of activities.”