14. Paige
The elevator from Damiano’s garage to his apartment is pretty spacious, but he’s standing close to me with his hand on my lower back. His touch might be the only thing stopping me from shaking—from the adrenaline, from excitement, from kicking ass in an actual car chase .
But also from confusion, from fear. What would those guys have done if they’d caught up with us?
What would Damiano have done?
“You good, angel?”
“I think so?” I’m actually not sure. I take a deep breath and have to remind myself to let it out.
The elevator doors open.
“Just make yourself at home. We can continue our conversation from before after you’ve settled in. Yeah?”
I nod again, even though I’m not entirely sure whether ‘continue our conversation’ means the conversation we were having about him faking his coma and being in the mafia and me being an absolute idiot, or the ‘conversation’ his mouth was having with my va-jay-jay.
I seriously hope it’s the second one because that was so close to an actual orgasm caused by an actual other person, and also because I’m not sure where I stand on that first conversation. This entire situation is unreal, and I sort of feel like the mafia stuff only happens in the movies and not in real life and maybe it’s just like an allegory and hyperbole or something.
On the other hand, he has a gun, Salvo has a gun, we were just in an actual car chase with guns . But back onto the first hand, nothing about him seems dangerous to me. He should seem dangerous. The guns, the gunshot wounds, him admitting that he actually shoots people. But, back to the second hand again, he was so helpless and needy on my couch, and so magnificent shirtless with Romeo nestled so sweetly on his arm.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to be thinking right now.
The door to Damiano’s apartment beeps unlocked after he enters a ridiculously long password on the keypad. “After you.” His hand on my lower back nudges me inside.
I didn’t have time to think about what Damiano’s apartment would look like, but if I had, there’s no way I would have pictured it looking anything like this.
Or feeling like this. Like I’m in an enchanted garden, but indoors. There might actually be elves and fairies here. Holy shit. “What is this place?”
There are plants everywhere. Some huge ones in built-in planters by the windows. Some normal-size ones, on stands and on the floor. The place is overflowing with lush, flourishing plants in a sea of deep greens. One entire wall is windows, and there are skylights along one side.
And it smells earthy. Not like dirt, but like I’m in the middle of a magical forest, far, far away from a city. Fresh air. The freshest air. It’s more like California than Chicago for sure. I bet that at night, with the lights off and just the moon shining in, I’d think I’m outside in the middle of nowhere.
I turn toward Damiano. He’s different in here already. Relaxed. There’s no tension in his shoulders, his forehead is smooth, his smile easy. I’m relaxed too. Or distracted, at least.
Damiano leans down and opens the pet carrier. Romeo hops out and skitters under a couch. He carries Tango over to a large built-in planter filled with snake plants. The planter is bigger than Tango’s terrarium at home, and the sides of it look high enough that he can’t climb out. The little guy hasn’t stepped on dirt in months. He’s going to love being in there.
Damiano unpacks the duffel of my plants, lining them up on a worktable that has a sink and some large bins under it, a shelf filled with empty pots.
I walk around his jungle, peeking at him through large, thick leaves. “Are you a botanist or something?” This is the last hobby I would have guessed for a so-called mafia killing machine.
Oh my god, isn’t bone fertilizer a thing? Does he use body parts to feed his plants? Is that why his look amazing and mine all wither away?
He looks over his shoulder at me, lets out a long breath. “The plants were all my mamma’s. I took them when she went into hospice.” He reaches for the leaf on a nearby orchid, gently squeezes it between his fingers. “Near the end, she wasn’t worried about dying. Just about her plants, what would happen to them.” He takes a long breath, lets it out slow. “I promised to take care of them forever. She passed two days later.” He does the sign of the cross, kisses his fingers, and holds them up to the sky for a second.
I have to look away. “She had a really green thumb.”
“No, actually,” he quietly laughs. “She didn’t. She loved plants, always had room for one more. But she overwatered some, gave full sun to shade plants, shade to ones that needed more light. She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing most of the time. But she loved taking care of them while they lasted.”
My black-thumbed soulmate. I can never get the formula quite right for how much to water, when to re-pot. “They look amazing.” I duck under the huge leaf of a banana plant. These plants are seriously thriving. I lean in and sniff a pretty flowering one that’s on a stand by itself. “And they smell even better.”
“That one’s a vanilla orchid. Each flower lasts only one day. Then another one sprouts a while later. You have to be patient with that one.”
Damiano unzips his sweat jacket, tosses it on a chair. Shirtless, he’s some sort of chiseled god of fauna. He dumps one of my spider plants out of its bright yellow pot onto his workspace. “See this?” he points to the tight ball of roots. “This one’s been needing a bigger pot for a while. The roots were suffocating, all packed in there like this.” Without being particularly careful, he pries the root ball apart. “Could even split this into two plants if you want.”
I’m sort of listening to what he’s saying and sort of getting lost in the rippling muscles on his back. The deep indentation along his spine. How tall he is and how much broader his shoulders are than his waist. I had days of enjoying the front of him while he was on the couch. This is my first chance to really soak in the view of him standing and from behind.
He grabs a terracotta pot from the shelf, scoops in some gravel, then some soil from the bins built into the table, then puts my little plant in. He’s still talking, something about proper drainage and aeration, fertilizer.
I’m nodding my head like I’m paying attention, but I’m not. I’m entirely focused on how low his sweatpants are sitting. How one little tug and they’d be down around his ankles. How—
I touched his dick.
While I thought he was in a coma, I touched his dick. Then told Gina all about it.
And I put his hand on my boob.
He was probably wide awake for all of that.
Should I apologize? I definitely need to apologize.
I cover my face with my hands. I am absolutely mortified.
Damiano walks my newly potted plant over to his wall of windows. “I’ve been wanting to do that this whole time. I’ll get to the rest of them later. That one couldn’t wait.” He goes into his open kitchen and rinses his hands. “You hungry or want a drink?”
I shake my head, which is still buried in my hands. I probably should be hungry by now, but I’m too overwhelmed to feel it. Plus my brain is still hyped up from SUVs chasing us and my body’s still all tense from in my apartment when Dom made me almost combust.
And my bra is still suffocating me. I forgot all about it with the actual car chase I was in, but now we’re here and Damiano is acting like everything is perfectly fine and perfectly normal, so fine and normal that he’s. . . gardening.
Somehow, the man looks completely comfortable, completely casual, leaning against the edge of the table. Like he wasn’t shot a few days ago. Like he didn’t shoot a bunch of guys. Like he wasn’t in an actual car chase . Just standing there shirtless, with the thin fabric of his pants showing the outline of his big dick that I touched while I thought he was passed out. I almost can’t look at him.
Except I can’t take my eyes away from him either. His dark happy trail is like a neon sign, drawing me in and pointing straight to where I’m trying but failing to look away from.
Part of me wants to step into his arms and have him hold me, and other parts of me want to run into another room, locking the door behind me.
Damiano makes a clicking sound with his mouth, drawing my attention up from his abs. But apparently, the clicking wasn’t for me. Romeo races to him, skidding to a stop at his feet. Holy shit, that three-legged rabbit can move fast. I’ve never seen him move like that.
Damiano scoops him up, holds him against his bare chest with one hand, petting him with the other. Romeo’s back legs flop down on either side of Damiano’s arm, like that’s his designated nap spot. Like the two of them have this all worked out.
Do rabbits purr? I swear I hear Romeo purring.
And give me a fricking break. First off, screw you, Romeo. That rabbit has never come to me once. It’s why Tango gets to roam around on the floor in the evenings but Romeo doesn’t. When I tried to let him, he just hid under the couch, and it was impossible to get him out. Last time, I had to nudge him out with the Swiffer handle.
And second, now Damiano looks even hotter. Holding a stupid fluffy bunny in his big arms, wicked smile on his face. Rippling abs still beckoning. Come on, cruel world, give us mere mortals a break.
And now my nips are getting all hard and achy. I huff out loud and cross my arms. I know we need to talk about everything that happened and that’s still happening—like, is my apartment being ransacked right now?—but I have got to take this bra off before I pass out.
“Do you have a shirt I can change into?” Being braless in the fitted blouse I wore to work, to the job I’m probably fired from, is going to put the girls on total display.
Damiano tilts his head to the side slightly, staring at my boobs. I’m sure he can see the girls standing at full attention since I’m either blessed or cursed—depending on the situation—with big nipples that are almost impossible to hide. “No, I don’t think I do.”
I let out a heavy breath. “Are you serious? In this entire apartment, you don’t have a single shirt I can borrow?”
“Borrow? No.” He walks over to a corner filled with plants and puts Romeo down on the floor. “Trade?” He nods his head, looking me up and down, biting the side of his lip.
Given that he ruined my green scrubs with all his blood and dragged me away from my apartment, I kind of feel like he owes me some new clothes, but I don’t want to make a whole thing about it if he won’t even lend me a shirt. “Sure. Let’s trade shirts. Not sure this one will fit you, but whatever floats your boat.”
“That’s my shirt now?” He motions with his chin.
“Uh, after you give me one of yours.”
Damiano disappears into what I assume is his bedroom and comes back with a perfectly folded white tee shirt. He places it on the table on the far side of the room.
I walk over to grab it, but he steps in front of me. We’re toe to toe.
One of his big hands lands on my hip and squeezes, sending tingles up my spine. “I’m going to need my new shirt first.” His other hand tugs at my collar. “Right now, angel.”
“Yeah, I’ll go change.” I try to step away, but his grip tightens. Electricity jolts to my core.
Dom throws me a chin lift. “Be a good girl and give it to me right here.”
I know he’s making a move and doesn’t actually want my shirt, but I also know this is a bad idea. He lied to me. He used me. He doesn’t really need me. He might kill people.
But there’s also the parts that make this a really, really good idea. Like his lips and his hands and his hypnotizing accent and his abs and that happy trail I want to tug at with my lips. And the thick bulge pressing against my belly. And how close he got me before.
And the way he calls me ‘angel,’ like I really did rescue him.
All those parts make this a fantastic idea. “I want to give you this shirt.”
“Yeah?” His hand slides up my waist, one of his thumbs rubbing even higher. My achy nipples are practically pulsing. “You shaking from the car chase?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I think,” I swallow hard, “because of you?”
The left side of his mouth rises in a half-smile. Dom leans in, buries his nose in my hair. He inhales deeply, then he pulls back and looks deep in my eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Should I be?” I bite my lip.
“Naah, angel. Being here with me,” he brushes my hair out of my eyes, tucks it behind my ear, “is the safest place on the planet.”
“Okay.”
He laughs. “Okay? Okay what?”
I shrug. “I didn’t know what to say to what you said. So I just said ‘okay.’”
“When you’re with me, say whatever’s on your mind.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Dom laughs. “What’s on your mind right now?”
“Right now?” I look up at his eyes, down to his wet lips. “Main thing on my mind right now is taking my bra off.”
He groans low and deep. “That’s on my mind too, baby.” Damiano nuzzles his face into my hair, nipping at my neck, inhaling. Pulling me fully against him.
“I’m being serious. It’s making it hard to breathe.”
“Hmm? I can take a look. All that medical training. Let’s put that to good use.” He bites my neck.
I think he’s suggesting going down on me again. Either that, or he really wants to check on my breathing, but I’m pretty sure it’s my clit.
“The shirt’s mine, yes?”
I nod. Barely. The talking part of my brain has completely disengaged, too distracted by how I’m about to get to touch his insane body while he’s awake and touching me back . Too distracted by his hands and his mouth on me. Too distracted by the actual possibility that a guy might make me explode without me doing the handiwork. Too distracted by—
Dom pulls a huge frickin’ knife from his pocket.
Holy shit. I try to pull away. “Why do you have a machete?”
“Relax,” Damiano’s grip on my hip tightens, he nuzzles against my temple. “It’s just a knife. I told you you’re safe with me, angel. Always. My new shirt, however, is in grave danger.”
Damiano slides the tip of the knife under one of the buttons on my blouse. A swift flick of his wrist and the button flies across the room, pinging against the tile floor.
Romeo scurries after it like a dog chasing a ball.
I tip my head back. Damiano dives right in and bites my neck again. He’s not being shy. He’s not being gentle. “You taste like fucking heaven.”
He leans back, looking down at the knife, a half-smile on his face. “Have I mentioned how much I hate my new shirt?”
Another button pings against the floor, cool air tickling my belly.
He’s going so damn slow I’m going to lose my mind. His rough fingers ghost my tummy, barely touching. Completely teasing, lighting tiny fires inside me. Maybe he really does torture people for a living because this is killing me.
I can’t take it anymore. My insides are all twisted and tingly and needy. “I hate this shirt, too.” I grab the plackets with both hands and rip the shirt the rest of the damn way open.
Dom sucks in a quick breath, slowly smiles. He slides my shirt back, off my shoulders, letting out a long, slow breath. “But I love this bra. For fuck’s sake, angel. Look at you. Capolavoro.” The back of his finger rubs up and down my tummy.
He may like the look of this tiny push-up bra, but I need it off. With or without his help, it’s got to go. I reach for his hand—the one holding his scary frickin’ knife—and hook it under the fabric between the girls. The fabric is already pulled taut because this damn thing is too small. A slight yank on his wrist slices right through, the cups springing apart in opposite directions.
“Fucking hell, Paige.” He sounds desperate as he tosses his knife onto the couch with a dull thud. He cups underneath each of the girls then stares at them. “Potrei guardarti tutto il giorno.”
I’m panting and can barely get the words out, “What does that mean?”
His eyes meet mine for a second before they go back to my tits. “That I could look at you all day.”
“Oh.” I like that. But maybe there’s been enough looking? Maybe it’s time for more touching? I reach up and trace the lines of Damiano’s flag tattoo with one finger.
Dom moves one hand, resting it between the girls. He strums his fingers. Slowly.
His other hand reaches down and traces the tiny dolphin tattoo on my hip bone, barely touching me again. He slides his hand onto my hip, gripping tight and pulling my lower half against his, pulling me against his thick bulge.
Sparks sizzle and spiral inside me like fireworks that want to explode out of my nipples. I push my hips against him.
Damiano licks his lips. I’ve never kissed a guy with this much scruff before. I lean in toward his lips.
But he cups my cheeks, then pushes his hands into my hair, grabbing hold, pulling my head at an angle, exposing my neck. “Banchetterò con ogni centimetro di te.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to feast on every inch of you.”
“Yeah. That’s a good idea.”
He sucks on my neck. One hand tangles into my hair, holding my head while the other lightly traces up and down my side.
I wrap my arms around his neck, one stroking his velvety hair. Dom leans down and sucks my nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue. Biting.
I moan surprisingly loud. I never moan. I cover my mouth with one of my hands.
Dom comes back up to my face, gripping both sides, pushing my hand away. He looks deep into my eyes, his nostrils flaring as he exhales. “You’re going to let me hear everything, yes? Promise me.”
I nod.
“No, angel. Say it so I can hear it.”
“I promise.”
Damiano picks me up and throws me over his good shoulder. One hand holds my calf and the other squeezes my ass. He struts into the bedroom like carrying me is no big deal.
It is definitely a big deal.
He flops me onto his huge bed, managing to pull off my pants and panties in one smooth motion, then crawls halfway up the bed, stopping when his head is tit-level. Big, warm hands cup my boobs, his thumbs rubbing over my hard nips. “These nipples.”
I arch my back, pushing the girls closer to him as I wrap my legs around Dom’s thigh.
“I could spend forever right here, angel.” Dom sucks one nipple into his mouth, then blows on it. Again on the other side. He goes back and forth, sucking and licking and blowing cool air that’s setting me on fire.
I reach down and push the girls together, hoping he takes the hint.
He hums his approval, then laps at both nips at the same time. Biting, sucking, blowing. My eyes roll to the back of my head.
Dom reaches up toward the top of the bed and grabs a pillow, stuffs it under his head like he’s planning to camp out at my tits for a while. My ex would spend maybe ten seconds at my tits, like it was something to check off on the to-do list before getting himself off. But Dom isn’t showing any signs of moving on, which is good because he’s setting me on fire down there .
His hands and mouth are on the girls, but I swear something is building up deeper inside me. I’m squirming, but not pulling away. I’m panting, but definitely not asking him to stop or slow down. I want his fingers back down on my clit, but I don’t want them to stop what they’re doing.
I dry hump his thigh for the friction, pumping my hips against him, chasing it.
Dom laughs quietly. “Such a greedy girl. You need more?”
I nod. It’s the highest form of communication I can manage while he’s sucking one nipple and twirling the other and speaking in that voice with that accent.
Dom scrapes his fingers down my tummy, his short nails searing a path, while the other hand keeps tuning my nipple to perfection. He teases along my thigh, squeezes my ass. His fingers get closer and closer to where I need them but stop short and change direction.
My head is thrashing back and forth, I’m gripping the sheets like I might fall out of the bed, and I may even be panting like a dog, but I do not care. I am seconds away from exploding from someone else touching me .
“I swear if you stop this time to answer your phone or to do absolutely anything else right now, I will literally kill you.”
Dom pulls away from my nip with a pop . “Oh, you’re the killer now?”
I pull his head back to my nipple. “Yes. You stop and you’re a dead man.”
He finally moves his fingers to my clit, lightly rubs a circle with his thumb, slides two fingers inside me.
And just like that, my whole body stiffens like a board while my insides spasm and quiver. I moan loud enough to wake the dead.
“Fuck, angel. I can feel you coming. Feel you squeezing me.”
After a few seconds, I relax into the mattress, like a pile of mush. “Wow.”
Dom slides his pants down, tosses them across the room. “The next time you come, I want this pretty pussy choking my cock. Think you have another one in you?”
“Honestly?” I pause to catch my breath. “I didn’t know I had that one in me. So if you think you can find another one where you found that first one? By all means, Christopher Columbus, go for it.”
He smiles and strokes up and down his thick shaft.
“Or wait, Columbus was Spanish. Who’s an Italian explorer?”
Dom reaches for my hand, places it on his dick, and guides it up and down his shaft. “Cristoforo Colombo was Italiano.”
“No, he was Spanish.”
“No.” Dom pulls me by my hips so his naked body is spooning my naked body. His rock-hard, steaming-hot dick presses against my back.
“Uh. . . pretty sure he was.”
He tugs on my earlobe with his teeth. “No, angel.”
“Just tell me another Italian explorer’s name to use instead.”
Dom slides his dick between my legs, starts rubbing against my kitty from behind, his warm breath huffing on my neck. “Another Italian explorer? Marco Polo.”
“No, a real person.”
“What?”
“That’s not an actual person.”
Dom’s rubbing the tip of his cock against me faster and faster. The wet slapping sounds would be vulgar if it didn’t feel so good.
“Marco Polo was an actual person.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Marco Polo was the—”
“Maybe save the history lesson later and give me something else right now?” I reach behind me and grab his ass, pulling him closer.
“Oh, angel. Demolirò la tua graziosa fica e poi la bacerò meglio ancora e ancora.”
I look over my shoulder at him, questioning, waiting for the translation.
He smiles, a perfectly wicked smile.
“You’re not going to tell me that one, are you?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m going to show you.” He lines his fat head up with me.
Dom wraps his arms around me, one diagonally across my chest, the other around my arms. He kisses the back of my neck as he thrusts into me all the way on the first go. Every inch of him grinds into me. Pleasure swirls around inside me, and he hasn’t even started moving yet. It’s like every nerve ending in my body has abandoned its normal post and is zooming through me to get to my little kitty.
“Fuck, angel. You feel incredible.”
He pulls halfway out then thrusts back in. Even with his big dick, I’m so wet for him that it’s all good. It’s all very good. Dom’s warm breath puffs into my ear with each thrust, one hand pinches my nipple.
He picks up speed and reaches around to my clit. I’m sensitive there right now, but given what he’s already made my body do, I’m just going to lie back and enjoy the ride. Let him do whatever he wants because holy hell, I’m moaning and groaning and I might have even screamed out his name at one point.
“That’s it, angel. Let me hear you.” Dom pulls my hips back and pushes my shoulders forward to adjust our angle. “Look at how good you take me.”
I look over my shoulder at him. He’s staring down at where we connect. His mouth is dropped open, his upper lip snarled. His face and neck are flushed red. He’s an absolute masterpiece.
He sucks his thumb into his mouth, wetting it. He glances up and catches me watching him. A half-smile appears on his face. He holds eye contact as he reaches his wet thumb down and slides it into my ass.
I close my eyes as pleasure and weirdness twist through me. I am literally drooling on his pillow.
Dom’s thrusts are getting erratic. Deep, shallow, deep again. And his breathing is picking up. He’s getting close.
“I’m going to come so hard for you, angel. Così fucking forte.” He rubs my clit in tiny circles again. “But not until you go again first. Come for me like a good girl.”
With his thumb probing in the opposite rhythm of his cock, turning me inside out, and his other hand on my clit tugging me toward the finish line, plus his breathy whispers in my ear—yeah, I can do that. “I think I can c—” Oh oh oh oh oh.
All the air huffs out of my lungs as my orgasm slams into me, ricocheting through my insides. Every part of me stiffens and shakes at the same time.
Dom grabs my hips with both hands, holding me in place while he drives into me. Indecipherable sounds grunt out as he rams his way to the finish. It’s a jumble of English and Italian, and I have no clue what any of it means.
His body goes stiff with one final groan. Then he squeezes my hips once, flops onto his back. The cool air tingles against my sweaty back now that he’s not pressing against it. His breathing starts to even out.
Do I cuddle against him now? Are we, like, together and so now we cuddle?
Or do I ask if there’s a guestroom I should go sleep in tonight?
Or I could go to the bathroom and hide there for a little while.
“Paige?”
I’ll never get sick of hearing my name with his heavy accent. I get giddy when he calls me angel, but when he says Paige like that. . .
“You still with me?” His hand lands on my ass and squeezes.
“Barely. I think you launched me into another dimension for a few minutes there.”
“Come back to my dimension.” He pulls me toward him. He starts stroking my hair exactly the way he was petting Romeo. “Give me five minutes. Then I can go looking for number three if you’re up for it.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I need a nap then food.”
“Probably a shower, too.”
Oh my god, do I smell? I pull away.
“Get back here. You smell like me. You smell perfect.”