Salvatore

24. Salvatore

24

SALVATORE

Ivy and Olivia spend the morning filling the house with conversation, tears, and laughter.

At first I enjoy their reunion from the room beside mine as I unpack my travel bag. Then as time drags, it only grows to piss me off how easily Ivy ignores my existence while I pass the hours thinking of excuses to steal her attention.

I eat lunch alone in the recreation room—the farthest room along this side of the house—and down a scotch to smooth the harsh edges of my annoyance.

“You’re still in here?” Remy stops in the doorway. “I thought you would’ve run straight to our mother as soon as you arrived.”

I clench my teeth and line up a shot at the pool table, sending the cue ball hurtling toward the red solid.

“Does she know we’re here?” He continues a few feet into the room.

“Since when did I become a fucking oracle? Go ask her yourself.”

“I just thought you’d already know seeing how close you two are.”

I glare at the cue ball as I round the table to take another shot. “Is there a point to this conversation or are you just here to give me an excuse to kill your girlfriend once she finds out who’s hidden in the basement?”

He stiffens. “Don’t joke about shit like that.”

“Given your tense posture, brother, I don’t think you believe I’m joking, or that you’re capable of stopping me from making good on my threat. So maybe roll up that nonexistent authority you mistakenly think you have over me, and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

He mutters something under his breath, profanity I assume, and leaves.

I finish the round of pool, polish off another scotch, and rack the balls for the next set as the squawk of Lorenzo’s birds carry from outside, the natural intruder alarm sounding on schedule.

The doorbell chimes quickly after. The distant carry of voices murmur too far out of earshot to overhear.

I keep sinking balls.

Keep downing liquor.

It isn’t long before the squeak of cheap canvas sneakers approach along the hall.

“Why is there a stunning blonde woman in my room claiming to be my stylist?” Ivy asks in mild annoyance, her audacity having some sort of siren’s call on my dick.

I ignore her like she’s ignored me all damn day and continue lining up my shot, leaning over the pool table to strike the cue ball against the solid green. The collision sounds with a thwack, my target skimming past the orange, nudging the solid blue just enough to send it rolling into the side pocket.

She sighs. “Can you quit showing off for a minute and answer me?”

“I can’t help it if excellence comes naturally.” I skirt the pool table, focused on the balls. I won’t look at her the second she demands my attention, no matter how compelled I am to do so. “But I’m glad you’re impressed.”

“Do I look impressed?” she drawls.

I glance over my shoulder, such a weak fucking prick to cater to her needs.

She leans against the archway, her long, dark hair loose around her shoulders, one brow raised in disdain.

What she looks is goddamn edible, and I’m fucking famished.

I wanted to plaster my mouth to hers the second I arrived. To smother her against the rental car and slide my hand beneath the waistband of those curve-hugging jeans.

I drag my attention back to the table and take another shot, hitting the purple against the yellow to sink it in the far corner.

“Why is there a stylist here with a wardrobe full of expensive clothes?” she asks.

I double back a few steps to level up with the cue ball. “One look in the mirror, mi reina , and you’ll have your answer.”

She casually approaches as I lean over the table, weighing the cue in my hand to take a few practice swings. Just as I’m about to shoot my shot she bumps the stick, sending the cue ball off track to hit the black.

“Whoops.” She cocks her hip against the table. “Sorry.”

I suppress a grin and turn to her, taking in those earthy eyes. “What do you want, Ivy?”

“For you to politely inform your stylist that her services aren’t needed.”

I look her up and down, my brow raised in disagreement despite devouring the sight of her. “They’re definitely needed.”

She smirks, silently calling me on my bullshit.

This woman couldn’t look bad if she wore a garbage bag. The issue is that she deserves better than basic clothes. I hate the thought of cheap, chemical-riddled material touching her skin.

“I don’t want to be more indebted to you, Salvatore.”

“Don’t worry. You can work off the money owed in ways we’ll both enjoy.”

Her lips twitch before she quickly shuts the smile down. “And if I’m not interested in working it off?”

I step closer, my loafers brushing the tips of her white canvas sneakers. “We both know you are.”

For more than a week I’ve wondered what our reunion would be like. If she’d be more subdued after her trauma had time to percolate. If she’d quit being the ball-busting beauty given what Gabriel’s men did to her.

She stares at me, pensive, composed.

There’s the slightest edge of trepidation in her posture. It’s those eyes that betray her, the hunger burning in the dark depths driving me to madness.

“I’m not going to be your whore,” she murmurs.

“You wouldn’t need to be.” I place my cue against the table and lean into her, caging her against the felt. I need to know they didn’t break her. That she’s the same, fearless woman that fucked me senseless. “It’s not my pleasure I’m interested in. It’s yours.”

“Is that right?” She quirks a brow, acting immune to my advances even though her breathing increases. “I wouldn’t have taken you as the selfless kind.”

“No?” I shift my weight, testing her, pressing my thigh between hers and earning an almost inaudible gasp. “Then allow me to prove you wrong.”

“No, thanks.” She plasters herself against the pool table, trying to gain space I’m not willing to give. “Olivia has spent the last few hours warning me away from you. Not that I needed it. I’m kinda smart where stranger danger is concerned.”

“Yet the first thing you do after leaving your best friend is come in search of me.”

“Because you arranged a stylist I don’t need,” she argues.

“Who you could’ve easily sent home without my permission.” I stare into her eyes, getting lost in her tempting tenacity. “Admit you’ve been waiting for an excuse to come see me.”

She swallows. Quickly licks her lips.

She’s not broken. A little out of practice, maybe, but the tension still crackles between us.

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d ever admit to.” She clings to the table in a white-knuckled grip. “I can understand why you’d want me to, though, given your obvious obsession with me.”

I don’t think I’ve ever had a reason to smirk as much as I have since knowing this woman. Everything she says hits right. “Is it that obvious?”

She shrugs. “I’m sure parasites are less clingy.”

“So much for discretion. I guess my cover is already blown. I suppose there’s nothing else I can do but bask in my downfall.” I slide a hand over her hip, fucking delighted at the way her nipples pebble beneath her blouse.

She grasps my wrist. “Send the stylist home.”

“I will. Once she’s done dressing you to reflect your worth.”

“That defeats my point.”

“We can discuss it later.” I grab the waistband of her jeans and casually undo the button. Testing. Scrutinizing. “My priorities are elsewhere.” I lower the zipper so fucking slowly my patience is savaged, while anticipating a protest that doesn’t come.

There’s nothing but tenacious eye contact and the slightly defiant angle of her chin.

She might think I’m bluffing. That this is a reckless game of chicken—one she’s destined to lose.

“I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you.” I inch my fingertips beneath the elastic of her panties, my self-control on lock in case her trauma flares, while adrenaline floods my veins. “I’m sure you already know that, though.”

“Salvatore.” There’s a warning in her voice, one that lacks adamance as she squares her shoulders, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths.

It isn’t panic.

I’m not sure how I know, but I do. What she’s experiencing is failing restraint, her composure unraveling like smoke trying to hold shape in the wind.

“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been for you?” My fingertips gently brush her trimmed pubic hair, cautious, almost meek, until I reach the smooth skin of her pussy, my nostrils flaring in appreciation. “My nights have been spent reliving the sounds you make when you come. I can’t wait to hear them again.”

Her back arches slightly and she grabs for the pool table again, her grip clenched tight. This strength of hers after the devastation of unimaginable cruelty only makes me crave her more.

She’s a goddess.

A true fucking queen.

“I, um…” she whispers.

“I, um?” I delve lower, gliding through the heart of her. She’s fucking wet, the slick heat of her pussy blowing my goddamn mind. “It feels like you’ve missed me.” I lean closer, my cheek brushing hers while I murmur in her ear, “Maybe not as much as I missed you, but it’s a start.”

She closes her eyes, a gentle moan escaping her as her thighs tighten around my wrist. I tease in slow strokes, back and forth, light and tormenting, luxuriating in her subtle whimpers.

Every fiber of my being burns with the need to bring her pleasure, my tainted soul craving the chance to make hers whole again.

“What’s wrong?” I nuzzle her neck, grazing my teeth along the soft skin that erupts in goose bumps. “You’re usually mouthy, Ivy. Where’s all your audacity gone?”

“It’s still here,” she pants. “Waiting for you to fail.”

I snicker. “I won’t fail, mi reina . I won’t stop until you come.” I slowly inch a finger inside her, lazy and smooth. “But I think you already know that. You’re well aware I won’t leave you wanting.”

She huffs in feigned disbelief. Yet there’s no protest. No sass as I begin working my finger inside her, curling my fingertip to brush against her internal wall in search of that sweet spot.

“Tell me you’ve never been this wet before. That it’s never felt this good.” I add another finger, lazily pulsing the digits inside her. “Because I swear, Ivy, if any other man has made you feel like this, he won’t live to do it again.”

“It’s hormones.” Her breasts brush my chest as if in search of friction. “My cycle is crazy at the moment.”

“It’s your cycle?” I raise my free hand to palm her delicate throat, testing her, gauging her trust. Last time I was here this skin was mottled and bruising, the sight of her injuries inspiring vengeance I’d never felt before. Now it’s perfectly smooth and soft, without a hint of the pain she endured. “Are you sure about that?”

Her eyes flutter open, the lust-drunk haze teaming with something mildly panicked, the euphoric concoction sinking under my skin to wreak havoc on my control.

How does one woman get to be so menacingly enthralling? It’s problematic, yet I still want more of her. Want all of her.

“Tell me to quit holding you like this and I will.” I graze my thumb along her neck, adding pressure to her carotid, taunting her mental scars to determine their depth.

I need to understand the damage Gabriel left behind. To establish a baseline to the suffering she hides.

Instead, she raises her chin, as if offering more of her vulnerability—or maybe boldly rebelling against it.

She’s fucking brilliant.

A defiantly unyielding warrior.

The need to kiss her becomes maddening, the allure tightening my throat and drying my mouth.

“If you’re going to do this, the least you can do is quit wasting time and make me come.” Her arms strain with their grip on the table. “Or don’t you know how, ninito ?”

I smirk, invigorated by that insolent mouth as I slide my thumb over her clit. “My apologies.”

She gasps, the walls of her cunt clamping down like a vise.

“You like that?” I stroke her, inside and out, drawing more pleasure-filled moans from her lips.

“Quit talking.” She plasters a hand over my mouth. “It’s hard to pretend you’re someone else when you won’t shut up.”

I press harder on her clit and bite down on her fingers.

She squeals, dropping her hand to my shoulder, the breaths that escape her coming out fractured and frantic. She clings to me, her nails digging into my jacket, her hips rolling as she grinds her pussy into my palm.

“That wasn’t nice, mi reina. Especially with how hard you’ve made me.” I lean my cock against her. “You’re my undoing.”

She whimpers, closing her eyes and arching her back so those fucking breasts graze against my chest again.

“Eyes on me,” I growl.

She shakes her head.

“You can degrade me all you want, Ivy. But you’ll do it while knowing I’m the one who makes you come.” I release her chin to cup her breast, pinching the hardened nipple between finger and thumb. “ Eyes. On. Me .”

She obeys, those dark lashes snapping open to reveal the starkness of her gaze. She looks at me in a daze, cheeks flushed, desperation clear.

I work my thumb in tandem with the fingers inside her, massaging her, coaxing her. “You’re close to coming already, aren’t you?”

“No,” she pants. “Of course not. It takes more than that to?—”

I slide another finger inside her, stretching her out.

“ Wait .” She turns rigid, her breath held for the briefest second, before a defeated moan escapes her. “Oh, God .” She gasps for air, her pussy fluttering around my fingers, one hand clinging to my shoulder, the other finding my hair to tug , tug , tug .

She comes undone in a symphony of subtle whimpers and needy inhales, her eyes on mine, her cunt saturated.

I’m digging my own grave as I watch her, the hooks of infatuation sinking deeper.

Her pleasure does funny things to me. Makes me feel ways I’m not used to feeling. Protective. Possessive .

Those sentiments are only further provoked at the sound of shuffling feet across the room.

“Ivy, are you in—” Olivia’s voice cuts through my live-in fantasy, her sharp inhale carrying from the door. “Oh, shit—what the—holy fuck.”