39. Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Olivia
T he entire drive has me squirming in my seat, aware of how slick with want I am and how he played me. Played me like a violin and right before we have to be around others for the rest of the afternoon. I would like nothing more than to order him to turn around, take me home and continue what he started in the living room. Bastard. Even now his powerful hand rests on my knee, and I side eye it like a threat. It found its way there as soon as he turned the engine of his sports car on, and with a frustrated growl, he moved the fabric up to rest his heated palm against my bare skin. I haven’t been able to breathe properly since. Bastard.
I pretend like I couldn’t care less and stare sulkily out the window, marveling at how people stare at the car and yet don’t seem to see the monster…. Monster . I can’t help myself. My gaze finds his profile, the ease with which he sits at the wheel, one hand effortlessly steering, blue eyes narrowed on the streets ahead. I don’t know when thinking of him as just a monster became abhorrent, but somehow it feels like a betrayal of all that he is. What is a monster truly? Because throughout this journey, I realized monsters can hide in many forms. He is just forced to wear a part of his nature on the surface, and I have also learned there is a lot more to him than all of this presence and power.
“You are staring.” His grip tightens ever so slightly on my knee. “Why?”
“Thinking,” I say simply, still feeling petty, and return my gaze back to the streets ahead.
Alessandrio makes a thoughtful sound before pulling his car onto another long driveway. The Mafia loves their sprawling homes. This one looks like it was made for the fall weather around us, the red brick and sleek black trimmings a whole vibe against the reddening leaves of the trees lining the driveway and the gloomy sky. I can almost imagine it lined with pumpkins come Halloween.
Many cars are already parked off to the side, with valets parking them. Alessandrio, however pulls his car off early, easily maneuvering it beneath a tree with twisting branches and a red canopy.
“Are you going to tell me what made you stare?” His thumb brushes small circles, causing goosebumps to spread across my skin like a wildfire.
“Is that an order?” I ask sweetly, feeling a wickedness of my own snake up my spine.
I want to punish him, make him know what it feels like to be taunted and denied. Want him to want me with the same burning desire that currently spikes in my own veins. Blue eyes sharpen on my face, slicing down to where I purposely and slowly lick my lips. My nerves have me looking around outside for anyone nearby. We are far enough back in the line of cars and out of sight from the house. I know we aren’t visible, aided by the tinted windows, and yet I still feel a thrill.
Alessandrio is watching me with nothing short of feral interest, and when I reach across and slide my hand over the leather belt at his waist, my heart kicks wildly in my chest. The tips of my fingers meet the cold bite of metal—the buckle. I try to feel certain, confident of each movement as my fingers work to loosen it. Yet I can’t meet his eyes, the weight of them heavy against my skin as I release his belt finally and find the button and zipper.
The sound of his zipper seems obnoxiously loud in the silent car and my gaze uses my hand as an anchor. My limited experience has my nerves building, and yet when I reach beneath the band of his boxer brief to find his cock firm against my palm, my mouth begins to water. A low curse, rough and delicious tickles the shell of my ears as I keep my eyes focused on the hard length of him as I pull him free. I stroke him gently from root to tip and then more firmly, feeling the ridges beneath the velvety smooth skin.
“Fuck,” he grounds out and I can hear his teeth grind against each other.
I feel the word in my core, drenching me anew against the silk of my panties. My hand works his cock again and I watch a small pearl of moisture christen its tip. I want him so fucking bad, with a need that has desire over ruling any lack of experience. Leaning down, I slide my tongue against that moisture, tasting the salt of it. His growl is one of restraint and I am only vaguely aware of his hands trying to find purchase on anything but me. I moan with approval, sliding my lips over his tip and work my mouth down his length.
“Yes,” he snarls, the sound making my clit throb.
I suck him back deeper, pushing past the barriers of comfort and make him hit the back of my throat. His response is so fucking hot, the sounds, the way his hands clutch at the door and his hips thrust up with his loss of control. I gag on him before leisurely sliding my mouth back up his length to lick his tip once more. When I sit up again, it’s with my own smile of triumph. His eyes are half mast, hands still clutching, hard length moist with my saliva.
“You look perfect like that,” I croon.
“I looked even better in your mouth,” he growls.
“Time to go,” I reply with a saccharine smile and I’m out of the car before he can even make a grab for me.
I move fast, not a run, but with enough speed to put distance between us and me in view of the house. Just in case he decides to swipe me off the driveway and into the trees. I am almost at the front steps when I know he nears. The valets milling about go rigid, their eyes widening in disbelief as they stare behind me. Mustering courage, I smile over my shoulder and find a murderous-looking man-monster behind me.
“I am going to fuck that pretty smile off your face later,” he growls low, reaching my side and taking my hand.
My smile only broadens, and he pauses for a second to drop a kiss onto my nose. I don’t need to force a smile as we enter the new home. The one I am wearing serves to hide any previous nerves I might have had. Alessandrio hands me a champagne flute from a passing waitress as we enter the fray and we make a beeline for his brother, who stands tall in the crowd. Not even the dark look on Emilio’s face can ruin my mood, as we reach him and Lucia. The latter is glowing at her husband’s side with joy as she takes my hand and pulls me in to kiss my cheeks.
“I knew this dress would look phenomenal on you,” Lucia beams.
“You picked this?” I ask lifting the skirts of the dress.
She nods eagerly, and I don’t know why I even questioned it. Her personal style is on point, her own dress an asymmetrical black silk wrapped across her like a second skin. She’s gorgeous and again I am in awe of her obvious love for her husband. They orbit each other, each pulling away only for a moment before realizing they don’t want to go too far before drawing back together with a tender touch. I watch her brush her knuckles over Emilio’s and the way he instantly steps closer to her, as if anticipating her every need.
Realization hits me that Alessandrio and I are no different, really. Even now I feel his hand on the small of my back, and when I turn my head to risk a brief glance, he is watching me. My insides flip over, the world tilting just slightly at the hunger and tenderness in that blue gaze. I offer him a small smile before turning back to Lucia and Emilio.
“I don’t need to remind you two, but it’s imperative you now work the room,” Emilio murmurs low. “The other Don’s are eager to offer congratulations and I know many want to organize meetings.”
“Of course they do,” Alessandrio says flatly.
“First, Olivia and I can work the room,” Lucia says, stepping toward me.
Emilio clasps her wrist and pulls her back, eyes hard. “That won’t be necessary.”
“It most certainly is,” she replies, touching his chest in a soothing manner. “There has never been a female boss in memory. The wives have some sway over their husbands. Let them meet her and socialize.” When Emilio doesn’t drop her wrist, she rises onto her toes, grips a horn and tugs him down so his ear is on her level.
I look at Alessandrio and offer them a moment of privacy in a room full of people. Alessandrio is watching them unabashedly, but his hand is now drawing me closer to his side. Is he too feeling the pressure of not letting me go? Does he still worry I will double cross them? I step away from his grip and draw his attention. Trust me. I try to will through my eyes that I am in too deep now to ever fuck him over. His hard eyes soften again, as if reading my thoughts, and I feel my body relax as Lucia breaks from her husband and tugs me into the crowd.
It doesn’t matter to these women that I am a female boss. If I expected them to burn their bras and bring to me their feminine woes, I was sorely mistaken. The only topic that interests them are the Greco brothers. It’s almost obscene, the way they pry. Lucia skillfully navigates the personal questions, asking questions of her own and drawing the conversation away from the elephant in the room. Every now and again, I raise my eyes and search the room. Alessandrio is there each time, either lost in his own conversations with other men, or watching me with keen interest.
“A shame you didn’t catch him before he was cursed.” Those words draw me from him.
I look up to find a familiar woman has joined our small group. C something. Her name starts with a C. I rack my brain, but only feel that familiar tide of jealousy at the way she was with Alessandrio.
“Carla, how are you?” Lucia leans in to kiss the woman on her cheeks.
Carla’s eyes are on me as she answers. “Glad to be out tonight.” She leans into me. “Did you know him before this?” she asks, ignoring Lucia and raising my hackles.
I shake my head, offering her a bored look, and take a sip of my champagne. Carla apparently can’t take a hint. She moves closer to me, her phone in one hand and champagne in the other.
“Let me show you.” Her breath, heavy with the stench of alcohol, hits my cheek.
“I’m good, thanks.” I try to move away, but she only moves with me, showing me her open phone.
“Carla,” Lucia begins, giving me a weary look. “Are you okay?”
Again, the woman ignores Lucia and holds up her phone to me. Surprised, I can only stare into a familiar, yet foreign, face. He was beautiful. It’s a selfie image. The man in the photo has the same wickedly scarred brow and cocky twist to his lips. A selfie taken in a wall of mirrors of a personal gym. Grey sweatpants low on his hips and muscles and tattoos on display.
“He sent me that,” she whisper-shouts, like it’s a secret she really wants to share. “And this one.” She slides her finger to reveal another picture. I breathe out, relieved that it’s just his face this time and not as I expected—a dick pic. Yet I can’t ignore the way my stomach twists that he sent her these. How many women here received similar images from him? How many women I spoke to tonight have photos on their phone of Alessandrio as he was?
“That’s enough, Carla,” Lucia snaps, swiping the phone from her hand.
The beautiful but drunk woman lurches toward her, feet stumbling and brown eyes bright with alcohol and anger. I grab her arm, my grip firm, and her attention swings toward me in surprise.
“Do not touch her,” I snarl, not recognizing my voice. “You have embarrassed yourself already enough today, don’t you think?” She stares at me as if seeing me properly for the first time. “You may have photos of him as he was, but I have memories of him as he is, memories that I can assure you are far more pleasing than just a set of photos. Now if you would please, take your phone and find someone else to harass because I have absolutely no tolerance for mean girls.”
Lucia thrusts the phone into Carla’s chest. She snatches it back with a vicious glare before turning her ire on me. A large hand clasps my waist and a warm mass finds my side. I want to sag with relief yet pull away from Alessandrio at the same time.
“You okay, baby?” A warm palm finds my chin and turns my face away from the seething woman and her hungry eyes.
Now that I have seen his human face, I can’t help but map his features as they are, noting all the ways the two are similar. The scar on his brow is just as stark and twisted. His blue eyes are fierce as they bore into mine. I can only nod dumbly, feeling so much all at once. The room seems to have collectively held its breath, undoubtedly thanks to the mix of Carla causing a scene and my fake fiancé now stepping in to defend me. He leans in and I expect a brush of his lips across mine like that first time, but when his tongue soothes my lower lip, my eyes flutter closed. It’s over too soon and the urge to grip his face has me balling my fists at my sides in restraint. When I look up, Carla is gone. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I am so fucking glad.
“Where is the bathroom?” I ask Lucia, trying to ignore Alessandrio at my side.
Concern and surprise mar her lovely features and she points to a hallway leading out of the room.
“And to the left,” she says. “Do you want me to come with?” I shake my head as Emilio steps into his wife’s orbit.
I step away from Alessandrio’s grip and move through the crowd, praying to God I don’t cross paths with Carla again. When I reach the empty hall, I feel as though I can breathe again, and it doesn’t take me long to find the small powder room off it to my left. I shut the door and lock it for good measure, taking a moment to relax against it to settle myself.
He had a life before you. I knew he was a player, knew he had lovers that would be amongst the crowd and yet, knowing a thing is different to it slapping you in the face. I move to the small vanity and stare at myself in the gilded mirror over the sink. My eyes have a wildness in them, cheeks flushed with confrontation. I wanted to slap her, to rip that phone from her stupid hand and smash it on the floor. Not because he had sent her those photos, but because she still has them, as if they were a trophy and hers to share around as she pleased. That anger simmers beneath my skin, and I run the cold water, placing my hand beneath its flow, before pressing my cold, wet palm against my burning neck. Focusing on calming my nerves, I take a few deep breaths. This is all a fucking game, and that’s how I need to see this, only temporary.
And yet as I open the door, I find something I am not entirely sure I can classify as temporary. Alessandrio is leaning against the opposite wall, wreathed in shadows from the low light. And yet his eyes are ablaze. For a moment we just stare, locked in each other’s gazes and trapped in our own thoughts. In one fluid movement he crosses the divide, dropping something just inside the door as he crowds me back into the small space and kicks the door shut with one monstrous paw. In less than a second, I find my back against that door, a resounding click of a lock sliding into place as his mouth descends into my neck. That hungry wicked mouth, with its scraping teeth and gliding tongue. I clutch his horns, as if I can keep him there, keep his mouth hovering over my life pulse as he wrings little whimpers from me. Firm hands slip the shoulders of my dress down to expose my breasts.
There is a wet slide of his tongue as it trails down my neck, over my collarbone, and along the curve of my breast. When his tongue draws a circle around my already tight nipple, I cry out. A velvet palm finds my lips and presses against them, muffling the sound as he flicks against the sensitive bud, sending hot jolts further down as I imagine that tongue doing the same against my clit. I wrap a leg around his waist, an attempt at a plea, but it goes unheaded as he takes his time torturing my other nipple. His palm catches my cries of ecstasy and I grind my hips into him, desperate for more contact.
“I have come to claim a debt,” his words sear my peaked breasts as he pulls hand and mouth away. “You want to come?” he inquires with a dark look on his face. “You finish what you started in the car first.”
Stunned, I stare into his face. “Here?” I whisper.
In answer, he starts unbuckling his belt. There is a pop of a button and that familiar sound of a zipper, before his pants pool at his paws and his boxer briefs are tugged over his thick cock. He leans back, bracing his hands on the vanity, like a fucking god, waiting to be praised. He’s serious. I take a tentative step closer, nerves filling my stomach, mingling with the desire still felt throughout my body.
“I’ve never,” I say simply.
His eyes flash and a low growl builds in his chest. “What you started in the car was perfection,” he rasps, catching my wrist and drawing me close. Claws scrape gently up my arm and over my bare shoulder, diverting slightly to taunt a nipple. I gasp at the short-lived sensation as his hand finds my shoulder and presses down.
Gripping his hips to steady myself, I allow him to force me to my knees, ignoring the feel of the cold tiles. His cock has another of those pearly beads on the tip, and I follow my instincts and lick it off. His answering low growl does wicked things to my insides. I slide my tongue down his length to the base before drawing it back up and flicking the tip. Alessandrio snarls, a hand fisting my hair as the other finds my jaw. He presses down on my chin with a thumb, forcing my mouth open. He’s watching me, face strained as he slowly feeds his length in. I gag as he hits the back of my throat, eyes watering, and still he watches me from beneath lowered lids. My surprise at how much of his length I can take is short-lived as he gently withdraws and slowly slides himself back in.
“I knew that smart mouth would drive me wild,” he rasps low and shivers rack my spine.
I meet his next thrust, gaging again as I take him deep. Soon his thrusts become harder, one hand still clutching my hair and the other on my jaw. When it becomes overwhelming, I grip the base of his cock, working my mouth and my hand over his length. Beneath my lashes I see his head tilt back, lost in the moment, his low growls controlled as we work together to build a rhythm. I moan around him, my own arousal building as I watch and feel him lose control.
“Good girl,” he snarls. “You are doing so fucking well.” His voice is strained as his eyes find me again.
His encouragement has me working harder, his cock deep in my throat as those ridges begin to move and expand. I grip tighter, knowing his release will come soon as they shift against my tongue, my throat opening wider to accommodate his widening girth. My eyes are streaming but I don’t stop, the sound of praise and the tight grip in my hair keeping me on track.
“Fuck,” his rough voice fills the room as something sprays down my throat.
I don’t stop working my hand around him, milking every drop until that hand in my hair becomes painful, and he draws himself out, slapping his cock on my tongue in farewell. I remain kneeling, trying to catch my breath, staring up at him as he tries to pull himself together. Soon his rough thumb is brushing across my swollen lips.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he says.
“I have a pretty good idea. It’s like what you do to me.”
In one fluid movement, he’s lifting me and turning us until I find myself perched on the vanity. His eyes are bright with his release, mouth curving in a predatory curl as he tugs me closer to the edge of the marble top. Soon those claws are tracing up my thighs, pushing my dress up, and up, and up. Until the only thing between my arousal and his gaze is a damp line of pretty silk. I shift under his scrutiny, feeling like he can see beneath the lace to my wet folds. His claw tipped hands push my thighs apart and up—exposing me more. When those claws pluck the fabric to the side, I moan as the air of the room caresses my wet skin.
“So pretty,” Alessandrio murmurs.
I watch as his mouth works and stare mesmerized as his full lips part to spit on me. The wetness slides along from clit to slit and I am shaken by his action, but lose it as his thumb sweeps across my sensitive skin to spread the moisture around. My eyes roll in my head, and I use my hand to clamp my mouth shut as a wanton sound threatens to give us away. His eyes never leave my sex as he draws tight circles around and around with such gentleness I bite the flesh on my palm to stop myself from screaming. Blue eyes of desire meet my own as he smiles wolfishly, working his mouth and spitting on my pussy again.
“How do you make so much saliva?” I gasp, eyes rolling again as his thumb slides against my tightening bud of nerves.
Through the haze of my building release, I hear his words and melt a little more.
“Have you never seen something that makes your mouth water?” he replies with satisfaction as my palm finds my mouth again.
He stops the torture then, circling fingers, building a delicious rhythm against my sensitive flesh until I am weeping and gasping. Two hands clutching my mouth to contain my cries of pleasure as his own knees find the tiles. His rough tongue replaces his fingers as they trail down, sliding deep into my core. He times each thrust perfectly with the sweep of his tongue. When my orgasm breaks over me, I wonder how this can ever be temporary.