Chapter Fifty-three
Vida
T he faint sound from the wind outside is the only thing that makes any sort of noise in the house. It’s so quiet I can barely read a book. Men patrol around the house, but I can’t focus on anything because every other second I catch a glimpse of a shadow moving across the windows as I sit in the library.
I’m not enjoying the overprotection, but Matteo had insisted. It was the only way he would let me leave the house when Carmela wasn’t coming with me. Considering Ciro won’t be back for two days, I figured a few men around wasn’t such a horrible idea when I had a bounty on my head.
I sigh after my sixth attempt to read the same line, so I get up and head to the kitchen, hoping a glass of wine will help. It’s been something that’s helped settle the tension that lingers in my chest and it’s also a new habit I take up when I miss Ciro.
After two glasses, I let out a long sigh, feeling more horny and less relaxed. God! I miss Ciro. I miss him so much it is driving me crazy. It hasn’t even been 5 days and I’m close to losing my mind. I miss Monarch too, but Carmela insisted she keep him in case something happened. They had somewhere they could take him to keep him safe, and though I wanted to keep him here, there’s only so much compromising Carmela Ballera is willing to do.
As I wipe the tears that threaten to pour out, I hear a knock on the door. Instant panic consumes me as I remember the men outside were supposed to alert me if anyone approached the door. My heart begins to race as I grab the gun Ciro left behind for me. My fingers curl around the cold metal as I make my way to the front door.
One deep breath and I open the door, holding both my gun and heart in my hands. Before I can even think of pointing the gun at the person who stands in front of me, the gun slips from my hands, hitting the ground.
“Ciro . . .” I mutter, my body frozen in shock and fear.
He stands there, drenched in blood, his white shirt clinging to his chest in dark red patches, with his jacket hanging over his shoulder. His hair is a mess and in his hand, he holds a gleaming gold plate.
I can’t speak. I can’t move and neither does he.
Without a word, he walks inside, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He doesn’t say a word, he just moves past me like he’s in some trance. I follow him to the kitchen where he drops the plate.
“Ciro, what . . .” I try to ask, my voice shaky, too afraid to know what his answer might be.
But the words die in my throat as he removes the lid of the plate.
Ears. Eyes. Human ears and eyes.
What the . . .
I stare at the gruesome display, my stomach twisting in a mix of horror and disbelief.
What has he done? Who were these people?
Four pairs of ears and eyes, chopped off from their bodies and I knew for a fact that their owners were long dead.
“What did you do?” I turn to face him, his blue eyes piercing into my brown eyes.
Silence.
“Ciro, please,” I beg, taking a step towards him, begging for an answer before my brain explodes in my head.
“Stop.” He takes a step away from me. “Why didn’t you tell me about Donato?”
My heart stops before starting again with a thundering pound that rings in my ears.
I will kill Carmela.
“I . . .” I begin, realizing I have no explanation that he would understand.
“If anyone dares lay a finger on you, little chaos, I’ll tear them apart piece by piece and present their remains to you on a golden platter.”
I’m speechless. My body stays frozen in place as his words sink in. I should be terrified, appalled, or disgusted even. But never, never with this devil of a man.
“Are these?” I turn to the parts on the table.
“Each ear and eye that dared hear or try see you,” he replies. “Their hands would be there if they had dared to touch you.”
Fuck.
I turn to stare at him, my eyes moving from the slight cut on his forehead to the blood that is drying on his neck. His shirt is totally soaked and his hands still have dried blood on them. A few months ago, before I met him, I would puke or maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I had been sick and twisted, just stuck in the confines of the life I lived. Just maybe this was who I’ve always been. Someone who stares at her blood-drenched husband who went on a killing spree just to make a point of how far he’d go for me, and thought of how unbearably hot he was.
My legs feel weak as I press them together, and I bite my lip as I take a shaky step forward. His gaze meets mine, like he knows, he knows how sick and twisted I am.
“Baby,” he murmurs, and I can hear the restraint in his voice. “Don’t look at me like that.”
But I can’t help it. I want to rip his clothes apart, feel the heat of his body against mine and let him take, have, break, own, and brand me with the blood of those who ever dared try to tear us apart.
“Ciro . . .” I whisper, my tone begging him to shut up and own me.
He watches me for a second, before stepping closer and cupping my face with his blood-stained hand.
“You’re trembling,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against my skin, leaving a streak of red.
“I am,” I chuckle, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
“I can’t stand another man’s blood on you, baby,” he growls, his lips curling into a wicked smile.
“Then have me in ways that drowns out everyone. Claim me so completely their trace bleeds away with their blood.”
“Shit, Vida, I hate how you make me snap,” he says, wrapping his palms around my neck in a tight grip and pulling my mouth to his for a kiss that sucks the life out of me.
The taste of iron and him mixes in my mouth, and I have no care in the world. Not for the men that are dead or their dismembered bodies lying on my kitchen table. Not for the blood he is soaked in or for the ways we are cut from the same sick cloth.
Nothing else matters but him.
Ciro
I want to push her awa y.
But fuck, her tongue roams my mouth like it’s finally home. Every logical part of me screams to stop this, to stop her, but how can I when my fingers twist and press her hard nipple like it was formed to do just that? I want to tell her she can’t do this, not when I am still drenched in blood, but how? How can I even say that after the last thing she said made my cock come to life just to die inside her cunt? I want to show her the stench of violence that’s clung to me from the destruction of another man as evidence, but fucking hell! How can I when she moans my name like it’s her last prayer?
She shouldn’t touch me, she shouldn’t want me. Not like this. But fuck, does it turn me on knowing she does want me, no! She needs me.
As her hands grip my shirt and her teeth dig into my skin, I know I can’t push her away. I’m powerless. Completely and utterly powerless.
There is something different about the way she stares at me, something feral about how she pulls me towards her. She’s devouring me. Her need to have me is like an inferno, and she’s determined to burn us both alive in it.
And burn I will. I would let the world burn with us . . . for her.
“Baby,” I growl in her ear.
Her response comes as her warm hands unbuckle my belt, finding their way into my pants and grabbing my cock that begs for her touch.
“You’re covered in blood,” she whispers in a low tone, lust dancing around in her voice. “And all I can think about is how much I want you.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t.” My jaw clenches, knowing I don’t, in any way, shape or form, want to stop.
“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t want,” she says sternly, tightening her grip around my cock. “You’re mine, Ciro. Every broken, fucked-up part of you is mine. We’re cut from the same piece of cloth and that is all that matters.”
Fuck.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and all the control I thought I had crumbles away. I can’t fight her, can’t stop her, because deep down, I don’t want to and I need her just as much.
In one motion, I lift her onto the kitchen island, her legs spreading instantly to accommodate me.
Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, and I waste no time tearing the thin flimsy lace from her body.
Damn! She’s already dripping wet, soaking my hands instantly at the first touch and fuck! I want to taste her so badly.
“Ciro,” she gasps as I push another finger into her.
My mouth crashes against hers, consuming her breath. Without a second thought, I thrust a third finger inside her.
“Oh fuck!” She arches against me as the broken moan escapes her lips, and her nails claw into my shoulders.
“You’re so fucking wet,” I growl, pumping my fingers in and out of her, curling them just right to make her cry out. “Is this what you wanted? To fuck the man who just slaughtered for you?”
I watch as her head falls back, exposing her neck as she gasps for air.
“Yes,” she moans, her voice shaking. “I want all of you, Ciro.”
The way my name falls from her mouth sends a bolt of heat straight to my cock, and I can’t take it anymore. I pull my fingers from her, shoving my pants down just enough to free my length. The tip of my cock teases her entrance enough to make her buck her hips, trying to take me inside.
“Patience.” I smirk, gripping her hips to hold her still.
“I don’t want to be patient,” she snaps, her eyes locking onto mine. “I want you.”
“Say please, little chaos. Don’t be a brat.” I lick her bottom lip as I watch her break to yield.
“Please,” she whispers.
Without a second thought or moment to lose, I thrust into her in one brutal push, burying myself completely into her wetness.
“Fuck!” she cries out, her body clenching around me so tight it nearly makes me lose control.
The sound of her moans and the feel of her nails digging into my back is too much to stay sane, and somehow, I still need more.
I pull back and slam into her again, making a pace of ramming into her in hard, fast thrusts, causing the island to shake beneath us. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper as her heels dig into my lower back.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I grip her hips so hard I know I’ll leave bruises. “You’re going to be the death of me, little chaos.”
She doesn’t answer, even if she wants to, she can’t. Her head stays thrown back and her mouth lets out silent screams as I fuck her harder, faster, with no intention of stopping till we are both left begging for air to fill our lungs again.
“Mine,” I growl, pushing myself into her like I can’t get enough.
Fuck, she’s so sweet, her pussy walls cleanching around my cock, sucking out the blood in the veins that threaten to pop in it. Her wetness fills her so much that the slurping sound of my thrusts fills the air as I ram into her like an animal. I can feel goosebumps rise on my skin with every push I make into her.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as she gasps. “Yours. Always yours.”
Her words are my undoing. I grab her by the thighs, lifting her off the counter before slamming her back against the wall.
“Oh god!” she cries out, her nails raking down my chest as I drive into her, harder and deeper than before. Feeling every inch of the doorway that will welcome our children.
So tight.
So wet.
So smooth.
So sweet.
This woman is fucking heaven!
The air is thick with the smell of sweat and sex, and the sound of our bodies colliding echoes through the kitchen. Her body clenches around me, and I know she’s close. My fucking favorite part is when her pussy suffocates my cock inside her and she trembles as she paints my cum with her juices.
“Come for me,” I growl, biting down on her neck hard enough to leave a mark. “Coat me in your sweetness.”
I hold her still, still ramming into her as her climax hits her like a tidal wave, her body trembling around me as she screams my name. The sight of her completely lost in pleasure, the feel of her trembling in my arms, sends me to the edge and beyond.
“Fuck!” I groan loudly, pounding even harder into her as she continues to come, making me burst myself as deep as I can as I spill into her, the release so intense it leaves me shaking.
“Take me, baby! Take it all until I have you making babies.” I suck her earlobe, my pace now slowing.
“You’re fucking insane,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against hers.
She smiles, her lips brushing against mine as she whispers back, “Rich coming from a man who fucked his wife on the island, covered in the blood of men he killed.”
I chuckle, she’s right and her sassy ass makes sure I know that too.