Chapter 21
LENI
“The ladies were surprisingly nice.” I’m drunk on laughter and warmth, completely boneless from the evening’s unexpected joy. That’s my excuse for crawling over to Romero’s side of the car and placing my head against his chest.
“Oh, yeah?” He doesn’t miss a beat, sliding his palm across my bare shoulder. A delicious shiver races through me at the touch.
I had braced myself for ice queens—women hardened by marriage to the most feared men in the city. Instead, they were all just… normal. Human. Real. And I guess because we’re all close in age, except for Emily, connecting felt effortless.
Emily surprised me the most, though. With her background as an ex-FBI agent—and that infamous live interview last year where she was shot on camera—I assumed she’d be the toughest, most guarded. But she’s easily the kindest of them all.
I catch myself smiling as I think about the women. Maybe it’s delusional, but I can almost see us becoming close friends if I allow it.
“You know, they peppered me with questions about the preparations for the wedding, and I realized I know absolutely nothing except that it’s next Saturday. Pretty weird for a woman supposedly drowning in love.”
Romero’s gaze drops to me, the hand on my shoulder sliding up into my hair. “Not so weird when we have a wedding planner overseeing everything.”
What a man thing to say. I bury my face in his chest. “Trust me, wedding planner or not, if this were a real wedding, I’d want to be involved in everything.
What if I don’t like the cake flavor the planner chooses?
Or the floral arrangements? Hell, I don’t even know where the wedding is taking place. ”
“Do you want me to link you up with the wedding planner?”
I roll my eyes at his cluelessness. “I’m saying it would be easier to sell our ruse of being in love if we were more involved in the planning process. People notice details, Romero.”
His chest expands on a deep inhale. “You might have a point. I’ll check my schedule and let you know when we can meet up with the planner, check out the venue, whatever you need.”
Wait, what? Excitement shoots through me. I didn’t think he’d actually listen. I’m smiling as I tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “That would be great. Also, you should probably know that the girls were appalled that—” The words die in my throat.
His gaze has drifted to my lips, eyes darkening with an intense hunger that almost scares me. “Romeo?” The nickname slips out as a shaky whisper, my pathetic attempt to remind us of our reality.
This is just pretend. Just pretend. Just—
“Just one little taste,” he murmurs, leaning down towards me. “Just one.”
The air between us cackles with electric tension, goosebumps erupting all over my skin as awareness floods through me. His free hand drops to my thigh, pulling me closer, and I let him, my body pliant. Then his lips crash into mine, fierce and demanding, with no hint of the gentleness in his touch.
My lips part in surprise and his tongue slips in, exploring, taking. I moan into his mouth as I kiss him back with matching urgency, my hands sliding from his chest to the back of his neck, threading through his hair, pulling him deeper.
More. I need more.
My body shifts restlessly on the seat as I try to press closer, desperate for more of this heat that pulses between us. The hand on my back moves forward, the rasp of his fingers against my dress sending jolts of electricity through every nerve ending.
Then he cups my tits over the fabric, his thumb brushing my hardened nipples, and I gasp into his mouth as the sensation spirals through me, liquid heat pooling low in my belly.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, breaking the kiss for a moment. His voice is raw, thick with desire, and it only fuels the fire building inside me.
I slide my hands down to his chest, tugging at his jacket, his shirt, craving the warmth of his skin beneath. The need for him is so fierce it consumes me. I’m starving for him, burning up with it.
I’ve never felt anything close to this intensity in my life, and under different circumstances, I might be worried. But right now, I’m too far gone to care.
Then his hands clamp onto my hips, and before I can process what’s happening, he’s dragging me onto his lap while simultaneously thrusting his hips up to meet me, the hard press of his erection against my core absolutely divine.
My eyes flutter shut as sparks detonate through me, my head falling back as a throaty moan slips out, filling the car before I can stop it. Who am I? What has he done to me?
An answering groan rumbles from him. “Your sounds drive me fucking crazy,” he breaths, placing his hands on my upper thighs and spreading my legs wide. So wide it almost hurts, but the good kind of hurt.
The dangerous kind.
His hands skim over the bare skin, and I shiver in his arms as an electric thrill rushes through my system.
My legs part even wider for him, a shameless invitation I can’t control.
He accepts greedily, his hands climbing higher, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
Up and up and up until I’m wound tighter than a bowstring.
Then he cups my core through my panties, and I buck so violently I almost fall out of his lap.
Holy—
“Fuck.” His free hand quickly grabs my lower back to steady me. “Easy, bellezza,” he murmurs into my ear, his warm breath brushing the shell only winding me tighter instead of easing me. “I’ve got you.”
Then his fingers gently move my panties aside, and when he makes direct contact with my most intimate flesh, I lose what’s left of my mind.
My core clenches, my teeth gnashing as I moan long and deep, writhing in his arms for more.
More. More. More. More. The word becomes a mantra, my heart thundering with it.
I’ve touched myself before, alone in my bedroom when the need became too much to ignore. But it’s never been like this—never. My entire body is lit up from head to toe with strange, wonderful tingling sensations, and I feel like I’m one trigger away from exploding.
“You’re so fucking wet… dripping.” His words vibrate against my neck. “And it’s all for me.”
The possessiveness in his voice hits me like a jolt, my pulse pounding so hard all I can hear is the frantic thump-thump-thump in my ears, my skin burning with uncontrollable need. “Romero, please,” I groan, pressing into his hand as sweat slicks down my spine. “Stop teasing me.”
He smiles up at me, dark and feral. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want with you.”
Before I can retort, he presses harder, his fingers working their way inside of me, and I cry out, the world blurring around the edges as the sensation builds—tight, overwhelming, magnificent. My body moves with his instinctively, desperately seeking more of this exquisite torture.
Just as I’m losing myself completely, the car jerks around a corner, but instead of breaking the spell, it only drives me higher. Right now, nothing matters except this heat between us, this relentless pressure coiling tighter and tighter.
I’m never going to be the same again after this.
The realization sparks something bitter at the back of my throat. Something familiar. Fear. I must be a masochist, because fuck if it doesn’t only escalate my pleasure.
Then Romero’s mouth closes over my exposed shoulder, his tongue flicking out to taste my pulse as he curls his fingers inside me—and I explode.
My body tenses for one suspended moment before convulsing against him as waves of pleasure crash over me, making me gasp and shudder.
I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to.
The orgasm rips through me with the force of a hurricane, leaving me breathless and trembling in his hold. And still his fingers don’t relent, coaxing me through every jagged wave, the sensations so sharp and intense, they feel like they’re carving something new into my soul.
I cling to him, my nails digging into his skin, and I hear him groan low, almost in strained satisfaction, as I collapse against his chest, fighting to remember how to breathe.
When he finally pulls his hand away, I feel an aching emptiness. But the lingering warmth of his touch is still there, stamped on me like an imprint I know damn well isn’t ever going to fade.
His chest rises and falls with each breath, taking me with him since I’m draped across him. When I feel strong enough to move, I push up, meeting his gaze.
There’s hunger there. Possessiveness. And for one terrifying, intoxicating second, I wonder if he knows just how much he’s consumed me. How much he owns me in this moment.
But I don’t have time to think about it because the car rolls to a stop. We’re home, and with it, reality comes crashing in.
Holy fuck. Did his driver hear us?
I scramble off his lap, deliberately ignoring the obvious strain in his pants. My hands shake as I fumble with the door handle for several breathless seconds before he leans over me, his chest pressing into my back. I go rigid at the sudden heat of him, but then just as quickly, it’s gone.
The door clicks open, and I’m out.
I don’t dare look back. I all but bolt into the house, heart ricocheting wild and frantic.
What the hell was that?
I jog up the stairs to my bedroom—no, his bedroom. A bedroom we’re going to share starting next week.
Oh God.
On shaky legs, I slip into the bathroom, lock the door behind me, and sag against it, chest heaving with my breath. We didn’t even take our clothes off for me to experience heaven. What will happen when we actually have sex?
Did he feel the same intensity I did? Or is this just what happens when you have your first orgasm with a man?
No… deep down, I know it wasn’t just that. Not any man could lift me to that height. Only Romero.
I’m so screwed.
I spend the rest of the night locked in the room like a coward, and the next morning I wait until I hear the sound of his car leaving before I dare to step out. No matter how much I try to psych myself up, I’m too embarrassed to face him.