Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DARIA
T he air hummed with hot energy. Whiskey tinkled in a glass, and harsh Italian raked the walls. It had been two weeks since he had shown me the house. My house, apparently, and he had proved it by sliding the papers underneath my nose. But that first sparkle of enthusiasm that had ridden my skin shimmered now to a soft flickering heat, like the embers of a fire the day after.
If I closed my eyes, I could see that house like I stood in front of it. Worse. I would see the tattooed words on his skin like it was etched onto my own.
Daria mia Principessa, sono solo tuo per sempre trilled on my skin and crawled all over my veins. Daria, my princess, only yours forever. Equal parts thrill and fear coasted through me. He was making it too difficult. Too hard. I couldn’t keep up. The more I hardened my resolve to memories, the faster he came after me, bringing down one iron-clad wall at a time.
Like a silly, infatuated girl, my mind wrapped around his warm, whiskey-clad voice, rather than the lines of the book on my lap. I hadn’t wanted this marriage, this man, this city. But he was pulling me in with the precision of a fishing rod in the sea, and even though I tried, the tug was too hard to resist.
Just so you know, these hands will only ever be on you.
I had never had a man make that promise. But I had never met a man who let his wife leave home every morning with a pack of books either. The only man who came close was Antonio, but he didn’t really count. The Capizzi men were notoriously different. Softer. Diplomatic. Both traits didn’t taint my husband’s skin. Yet he let me go, even though he didn’t like it. Sometimes, he brought me to college. Most days, he stood across the street to pick me up.
The different types of architecture swam before my eyes. Too difficult. Hot irritation slid down my spine, making it impossible to focus on them. Silent awareness cloaked his office, and I realized his Zoom call had stopped ten heartbeats before. He had dragged me over to his office, saying he had work to do, but for the umpteenth time, I wondered why I had to be a part of his work.
I shifted on his Chesterfield. Awareness, itchy and hot, prickled in the air. I didn’t need to look up to know where his line of sight would be. Why else would my body be flushed hot, like a fever in my veins? I reread the line below me stubbornly. Neoclassicism refers to the renewed emphasis of a classical style in art, literature, architecture, or music. The revival of feelings… I couldn’t concentrate, and before I knew it, I had dragged my gaze to meet his across the room. I couldn’t, with this man. He focused on me and only me with those laser beams that he called eyes. Something electric sparked in my blood, spilled out my pores, and hummed between my legs. I am not Mamma. But despite that, I found myself squeezing my thighs.
“What?”
“Why don’t you come over here?”
I refused to acknowledge that look. Wouldn’t allow myself to. “I have a paper tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
I frowned. No good was going to come from the dark edges lining his face and the wicked light dancing in the depth of his irises.
“Bring your book. Maybe I can help you with it.”
There was only one thing he wanted to help me with and that had nothing to do with a style or putting pen on paper. The man acted like I was his obsession.
“No, thank you.” I snuggled in deeper on the couch, the thick book on my lap balancing precariously.
Neoclassicism, also spelled Neo-classicism…
“What?” I jerked my head up. He had said nothing and not moved a single inch. He still sat with one forearm leaning on his desk. But somehow, there was a magnetic line between us, and it was calling insistently.
“I insist.”
“Fine.” I stomped over with my book and dropped it on his desk in front of him. He was annoying. Even the way he sat was irritating. Laid back, legs spread wide like he had the world worshiping below him. “What is neoclassicism?”
His eyes sparked with amusement. “Neoclassicism is an attitude.”
“Yeah?” He is actually helping me.
He nodded. There was a glint in his eyes not even an idiot would trust. “An aesthetic attitude based on the art of Greece and Rome.” The next second, he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around the back of my thighs, and plopped me on his desk. With a swipe of his hand, everything on it thumped onto the floor.
I shrieked. “What’s the matter with you?”
He shoved me hard, and I landed on my back.
“It’s also about appreciation….” He pushed my top up. I struggled, not allowing him to pull it past my neck, but all it did was give a buzz in my head and electricity in my hair when he yanked it off, anyway. “Of your body.” He pushed my skirt down, panties and all. “Of studying every curve, every dip. It’s about following that path with my tongue.”
Shit! He was hot. I wanted to open my legs and allow him to plunge in. So I ignored the spark between my legs and sat up and jerked my head towards the floor. “That was a new book.”
“I’ll buy you another.”
I frowned. “Are you also going to do my paper?”
“After we fuck,” he growled.
“No.” I made to sit up, but he pushed me back.
“Let’s make a deal.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of deal?”
“If you’re not wet, I’ll allow you to cuddle my couch like a lover and read your damn book.”
I squeezed my legs tight. This wouldn’t end well.
“Aren’t you going to ask what happens if you’re not?” he smirked.
“You do my paper?” I asked hopefully.
“Oh, Principessa , you know I don’t do well with things I don’t like. What I like is to put my tongue on your pussy and lick you dry. What I like is to fuck you on my desk and hear you moan.” His voice rasped like sandpaper on my skin. He ran the back of his index finger along my arm. Light and rough. “You know, I’ve been dreaming about it ever since you came here the last time.”
He has? It was silly. The thrill riding my skin told me I was happy to be in his dreams. My eyes fluttered closed. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not wet.” Neoclassicism is an art…something…
“Yeah?” The chair scraped, and a hot flush of air touched my lips. Down south. My eyes snapped open. He was studying me with his head between my legs like he was inspecting an artwork or something.
I tried to snap my legs shut, but he pushed them easily open, his hands big and firm on my bare thighs. “I think you lied, Principessa .” He ran a finger along my slit, and I felt every pore in it, and all the creases lining it, as he trailed my slickness. I bit back the moan climbing my throat.
A dark chuckle escaped him like he had pulled it out of the depths of his own hell. All hot and molten, like the pit of a volcano. “I think you like me, Principessa .”
I rolled my eyes. “Not.”
“No?” He parted my lips and ran the flat of his tongue all the way down to my clit. “Then it must be for my looks.”
I pushed out a scoff even though my thighs jittered on the desk. “You’re not all that good-looking. Ale is much easier on the eyes,” I muttered the first thing that popped into my mind.
He frowned. “Well, I hope you’re not fucking your brother.”
“Eeww…no.”
He pulled me closer. His lips so close but not touching. Hot air teasing mine. My core clenched.
“What about the idiot I found between your legs?”
I frowned. “You mean the innocent man you killed?”
A hiss escaped his lips, and it buzzed on my core like a hot wind. “Can’t be that innocent if he fucked you.”
“A matter of opinion,” I bit out. “What about him?”
“Was he better looking?”
Minchia ! He was grumpy and needy. I wanted to say yes. I squinted my eyes, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his face. Guilt, hot and hard, rushed through my body to his dark laugh.
He brushed his lips against my core, and I felt every word like a stab to my heart. “My point exactly, Principessa .”
I hated him. Hated him for making me forget an innocent man whose blood should stick to my hands. I hated him for wanting the pleasure more from his tongue than the thought of dwelling on it. I hated him for all of that and more.
He pulled his chair closer and yanked me to his face. His hands cupped my ass, lifting me halfway in the air, and as he lazily licked me like his favorite gelato on a hot summer day, a low and guttural moan escaped from my body.
“Mine.” His words vibrated on my wet lips right before he sucked and licked like it was a sport of craftsmanship and skill. Like he was intent on doing nothing other than being the best. I lifted my head and clutched his hair in my hand just as a loud knock fell on the solid door of his office.
I froze. Had he even locked that door? I turned ice cold. An image of what I must have looked like filtered before my eyes if someone walked in. I didn’t know whether to be turned on or off at the recklessness of his gaze or the careless words he threw at the door. “Busy.”
Busy?
He dropped his head between my legs and ate me with his tongue like he was getting back to his lunch, but my shoulders only slumped when I heard the heavy footsteps thud away from the door.
My eyes slid to the door and back to him. A dark rage glittered in his gaze. His hands gripped my thighs. “You think I’d allow another man to see you like this? I’d shoot their fucking eyeballs before they fucking blinked.”
I shook my head. “Anyone ever told you you need a shrink? Now it’s their fault if they walked in when you didn’t lock the door?”
“Shut up, and it’s your fault.”
He put his mouth on my clit and bit lightly.
I yelped. “Why is it my fault?”
“Can’t think straight with you around.”
“There’s an easy solution to that.”
He stilled, and his hands fisted on my thighs right before he pushed off me. A cold rush of air and guilt greeted me. His jaw was tight and there was a tick going mad in his temple.
“You want to come?”
I aimed to cool off by lying back on the desk, leaning on my elbows on either side of me. That and to pull myself away from his wrath. I didn’t know why I pushed him like this when it was a suicidal mission to do it with any made man, let alone one with a loose fuse like him. Tight silence fell between us. Rage vibrated off him like it was his custom-made cloak. The defiance rolling off him told me he wasn’t going to budge. I gave him a slow, reluctant nod.
“Ditch that idea, then.”
He pulled me sharply and drowned me with his licks and bites. But there was an edge to it that wasn’t there before. It felt more like a punishment than pleasure. But it didn’t matter, anyway. I took my pleasure and rode his fingers like I was born to do it on his desk in the middle of the day when anyone could walk in. When I fell, I fell hard and tight and my core clenched a million times.
Then he kicked his chair away, pulled out his erection, and plunged inside me. I felt him pulsing all the way to my bones. He grabbed my hands and pinned them on top of me. He hovered over me, dark and thick. “You say you didn’t want a made man. But I think you need one. One who fucks you like this, where you don’t have to count the cracks on the ceiling.” He pulled out lazily, like he had all the time in the world, and pushed in again as if he had a millisecond before an important task. The desk and I scraped back from the force of it. The loud scrape on the floor mixed with our heavy breathing. “Make no mistake, Principessa . There’ll never be anyone else but me. You are fucking mine.”