Chapter 9 #2
I kissed my way up her body, nipping at her collarbone, her jaw, claiming her mouth in a messy, heated kiss.
She tasted herself on my tongue, moaning into it.
My cock was hard again already, pressing against her thigh.
I grabbed her hand, guiding it down to stroke me, while I teased her entrance with my fingers, dipping in shallowly, making her whine.
I pulled her off, positioning her to straddle me. She sank down onto my cock, inch by inch, both of us groaning at the sensation. Her hands braced on my chest as she rode me, grinding her hips, tits bouncing in my face. I sucked on them, hands gripping her ass, helping her move faster, deeper.
We switched again—she on her back, legs over my shoulders, me pounding into her with everything I had.
She scratched down my back, leaving marks, her screams echoing in the room.
I rubbed her clit, pushing her over the edge again, and followed right after, collapsing on top of her, both of us spent and panting.
When everything ended, Chloe slumped limply on the leather sofa.
Sweaty curls stuck to her flushed cheeks, her full chest still heaving. I slipped an arm under her waist, pulling her fully into my embrace. Her hot skin pressed against my chest. This total possession felt insanely satisfying.
That's why that damn bartender popped into my head—he'd been around Chloe before I even showed up at this club.
Before I ran into her here, that asshole Liam had already been hovering. The way he looked at her wasn't innocent. I should've just sent someone to bag him and dump him in the Hudson, but I wanted to hear from her mouth how she saw him.
"That bartender. What's the deal with you two?"
"What?" Chloe was still panting hard. Her brain was clearly still fogged from the afterglow, not processing why I'd bring up another guy right now.
"You two look cozy. Guy's got balls."
I tightened my arm around her waist as I said it.
Chloe wriggled upright in my hold. She turned, staring at me with a hint of nerves.
"Liam and I are just high school classmates. That's it. Nothing more."
She was explaining hard, really emphasizing it.
Her hair was a mess, lips swollen, dance straps still loose and crooked on her shoulder. She was rushing to clear up that there was zilch between her and the bartender.
She didn't want me to get the wrong idea.
That realization eased the tightness in my chest from the past few days.
"Got it," I cut her off. "I heard you."
Chloe stopped, looking relieved.
"I don't like seeing you with him." My tone came out cool. No point sugarcoating—I didn't do that. "Stay away from him."
Chloe didn't say yes or no. Just went quiet. She dropped her head to fix that loose strap, fingers knotting it with extra force.
She didn't look thrilled.
But I didn't care. I wasn't into sharing with other guys.
My mind kicked into gear. Easiest way to erase Liam? Stage an accident. He walks home alone after shifts—from the club's back door to the nearest subway, there's a 300-meter dark alley. A runaway van, or a botched mugging, and he's gone for good. Luca handles that shit like a pro.
I was mulling whether to call Luca when Chloe shifted her focus to me.
"Are you jealous?" She turned, no anger like I expected—just a shy smile tugging at her lips.
Jealous? My first reaction was a frown.
Me, Enzo Falcone, jealous of a strip club bartender?
It sounded ridiculous. Did she think she was that big a deal? I was just interested, that's all.
At least, that's what I'd told myself.
But replaying the last few days: With Julian linking up with the Mexicans to flip things, Valentina's family pushing hard on the wedding timeline, I'd still shown up at this damn club every night, just to watch one woman dance.
No way that was rational.
I'd lost control.
My mother was a whore. She died not long after having me. All I knew about her came from the old butler's scraps. I didn't remember her face, but one thing was clear: My father, Carmine Falcone, never loved her. Just like he never loved me.
In his world, emotions were excess baggage. His need for her ended the second she got pregnant.
The biggest lesson I learned young: Never love anyone. Love chains you down, makes you do stupid shit for them.
And stupid shit in our world means death.
"Enzo."
Chloe's voice came soft, still husky from everything. She curled into my arm, fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest. Hair all over her face, honey eyes half-lidded, lips still puffy with my bite marks not faded.
"Yeah?" I replied absently.
"What are you thinking?"
I looked down at her. Her body pressed against my side, skin warm with leftover sweat. My dick was still half-hard, throbbing—that one round wasn't nearly enough. Her body was like a drug; one hit and I craved more.
I probably did like her a lot. But I didn't need this messy emotion.
Enough. Prey caught, game's over.
I loosened my arm around her, stood up from the sofa, and straightened my clothes.
"That's it for today," I said.
I grabbed my coat from the chair back, slung it over my arm, and didn't look back. If I did, I might not leave.
"Enzo?" Her voice followed, uncertain. "What happened? Did I say something wrong?"
I didn't answer.
I strode to the door, yanked it open, and walked out.
I needed time to cool off.