Chapter 8 Giovanni
GIOVANNI
The alleyway buzzes with the aftershocks of what just occurred. I’ve never felt more alive and so fucking out of control. The pounding in my chest subsides with the fading throbs of my penis. I anchor Valentina with my hands on her hips as she descends from the bliss of her second orgasm.
She’s breathless and her hair is a wild mess, but I pay attention to her kiss-swollen lips the most. They’re plumper now. Ruddier. They’re exactly what I envisioned while contemplating how divine she’d look while I finished down her throat.
And then the truth finds me like a wayward missile.
I didn’t use a condom.
For a split second, I freeze. I’ve never gone without protection, not even when my latest hookup assured me she was on contraception. I’ve even gone as far as watching women swallow the morning-after pill before asking a member of my family’s extensive staff to drive them home.
The realization I forgot something I’m usually so stringent about should engulf me with panic. It doesn’t. Instead, a slow, satisfied smile touches my lips. This is precisely what I’m looking for, isn’t it? Not the recklessness, but the possibility.
This is my chance to tie Valentina to me in a way a slammed door or a vicious tongue can’t undo.
My father’s dying wish is for me to settle down and secure the Caruso legacy with a wife and child. Who better to help me grant that wish than Valentina?
The plan was to wine and dine her before casually easing her into the possibility of being Valeria’s replacement, but sparks this hot don’t wait for permission. They burn their own path.
Still, I expect Valentina to panic. Most women require an in-depth screening for STIs before ditching protection. Instead of being filled with trepidation, Valentina leans against the brick wall and catches her breath.
Her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is ajar, but her eye contact is steady.
She doesn’t appear the slightest bit worried.
I clear my throat before striving to sound casual. “I, uh… didn’t use anything. Are you on birth control?”
She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. “It’s fine. I had a… procedure not that long ago, so I’m safe… for now.”
A procedure? My mind races, suddenly worried that she means something permanent. My father’s plan might unravel before it’s even begun.
“Permanent?” I ask, my jaw twitching.
Dark locks slap Valentina’s cheeks when she shakes her head. “No. Just for the month. I had to do it for… medical reasons. We’ll have to be careful next time.”
Relief floods me so fast that I almost laugh.
A month is manageable. I can wait a month to knock her up with my child.
Don’t ask me to pledge the same when it comes to tasting her again, though.
That isn’t a promise I can make. It’s killing me now watching the high rise of her skirt slowly covering the visual of her swollen pussy lips that are glistening with the residue of both our climaxes.
I sweep a lock of hair from her face before tracing the tiny capillaries in her cheek. She looks exhausted, and it expands both my chest and my cock to an unmanageable size.
I’m on the cusp of taking her again, in this dirty fucking alleyway, when cutlery on dishware reminds me of our location.
Emilio, one of my father’s eldest friends, may never forgive me if I wipe out his entire clientele.
Just the thought of anyone hearing Valentina’s moans of ecstasy have me wanting to do precisely that, so it’s best that we take this elsewhere.
“Come on.” I nudge my head to the exit. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I help her dress, my movements slow and languid. She’s still floating somewhere between reality and the high we just shared, and I have no desire to rush her back to the real world anytime soon.
I button her blouse, careful with the fabric, as Valentina watches me with a bemused smile. If I can read her as well as I want to believe, she appears shocked I can be so gentle after being anything but only minutes ago.
I told you the Caruso men fuck hard.
Once we’re suitably dressed, I guide Valentina back onto the street.
The rain has softened to a fine mist that sizzles on my skin since my blood is still the heat of lava.
Although my SUV is parked at the curb, I don’t head for it.
Instead, I signal to one of the security details my family has stationed throughout Carlisle that I require assistance.
I was impatient earlier, and I rushed things, so I want to do it right this time.
Within seconds, a sleek black town car glides to a stop beside us. I assist Valentina into the back seat before fixing her belt, and then I announce our destination to the driver.
The ride to my penthouse is quiet. Valentina admires the twinkling city lights, compliments to the driver’s reckless speed, while I study her reflection.
I appreciate the curve of her jaw, the hue still dusting her cheeks, our intermingled scents, and the handful of pounds she has put on the past six weeks.
They’ve made her body even more appealing.
The way she carries herself is magnetic. She’s confident and unashamed, and it makes her even more beautiful.
I’ve never understood the obsession some men have with women who look like they haven’t eaten a proper meal in years. Give me curves and softness any day, especially if they’re attached to a woman who embraces them.
Valentina is all that and more. Her body is a celebration of Sicilian heritage. Her hips are as full and generous as her bust, and her thighs promise nights of rigorous fucking. Even if she followed all the fad diet obsessions, she’d never be super slim.
Thank fuck.
I like the way her blouse strains at the buttons and how her skirt hugs her thighs and stomach. Her curves announce that there’s nothing fragile about her. She won’t break if I fuck her too roughly. She’s built for passion, and that’s precisely why I didn’t hold back in the alleyway.
I fucked her like a wild animal and loved every damn minute of our exchange.
I’ve bedded women who prioritized counting calories over living. None of them ever made me lose my ever-fucking mind. I don’t solely want to taste Valentina again. I want our exchange to stretch into the morning so I can witness the sunlight dancing across her skin.
Valentina catches me staring, but because we’ve arrived at a hotel I have a majority share in, I pretend I don’t need my head examined.
This is the height of my obsession.
As accustomed, heads turn when I help Valentina out of my Bentley and escort her through the lobby. Not everyone stares with worry. Some watch in admiration, but unfortunately, not all their focus is on me.
Valentina is receiving an equal amount of attention. If I weren’t itching to reacquaint any part of my body with Valentina’s, I’d take names.
Alas, patience doesn’t seem my forte when Valentina is in my sights.
Our footsteps echo on the marble lobby floors as we move through the luxurious surroundings I intend to make Valentina accustomed to.
Curiosity darts through the elevator attendant’s eyes as he nods in greeting, somewhat bowing.
His interest is expected. The penthouse is usually where I come for solace.
I’ve never brought anyone of the opposite sex here before.
Even if I had, he would have never met anyone like Valentina. She isn’t the arm candy constantly photographed with my brothers. She is the heir of the Caruso legacy.
My fingers tap the curve in Valentina’s back in rhythm to the tick of the numbers in the car position indicator above our heads. The higher the number, the more curious Valentina becomes.
The elevator glides straight to the penthouse. I step out first and then extend my hand for Valentina. When she accepts my offer, we cross the threshold together.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer panoramic views of Carlisle.
City lights stretch in every direction, and a generous wrought iron balcony wraps around the open-plan living space.
The décor is contemporary but not cold. Plush sofas in deep charcoal material hog the living room, which is separated from the kitchen by a large marble-topped island.
Art that costs more than most people’s cars adorns the walls, and a subtle scent of cedar and expensive whiskey filters through the air.
Valentina stops inside the living room entrance, her eyes wide as she takes it all in. I enjoy watching her absorb every detail. Her gaze remains fixed on the city skyline while her finger traces the sofa’s fabric. Then her focus shifts to the fireplace mantel and the bookshelves flanking it.
It doesn’t take long to deduce that she’s searching for something. The tiny veins thumping in her fists suggest she’s checking for my marital status or if a woman is waiting for me at home.
She won’t find anything. I retreat to the penthouse when the family compound becomes too noisy and I require solitude for contemplation. Most of my time is spent at the compound, surrounded by brothers, cousins, and the endless demands of the Caruso legacy.
The penthouse contains only a well-stocked bar, a change of clothes, and now, the intoxicating scent of Valentina’s arousal on my skin.
I wasn’t lying when I said my agreement with Valeria was strictly professional. She is a friend and an ally, and our agreement would have strengthened our families’ bond. But that’s done with now. My decision is made, and she’s standing before me, wide-eyed and uncertain.
That’s on me. I regret being untruthful when she inquired about Valeria, though initially, I didn’t know who she was referencing.
It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d witnessed me walking Valeria into the IVF clinic hours earlier.
I sensed someone nearby, the prickling of the hairs on my nape extremely telling, but even after scanning every face, I didn’t spot the cause of the peculiar sensation.
If I had, I would have chased her then and there.