18. SCARLET
"Daddy?" I cry.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Hearing his voice brings tears of joy to my eyes.
"Yes, yes, I am. Don't worry about me." Saying these words out loud, I realize that I am more than okay, but I don't need him to know why. Guilt still pokes at me, so I tell him again, "Daddy, I'm so sorry." Next to me, Antonio frowns.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."
"But I do," I choke. "If I had listened to you, you wouldn't have to… to… make deals with the mafia. I know how much your reputation means to you, Daddy. I'm so, so sorry. I should have listened to you. Been more careful, more vigilant… " I break off the quick avalanche of words rushing out of me.
"No, no, sweetheart, it's okay. I'm the one?—"
Antonio's expression is murderous when he takes the phone from me. "She's fine. Do you have any names yet?"
"Antonio?" I can still hear my dad's voice.
"No, the crown prince of Norway." Antonio snarks sarcastically. He looks so different from the man who just made sweet love to me, made me come three times—three times!—and assured me that I'm beautiful despite my scars.
The man talking to my dad on the phone is a stranger.
This is a mob man, acting as I have always imagined a Cosa Nostra Don would look and act: cold, hard, brutal.
Strangely, it neither scares nor repulses me.
It's more the opposite. This controlling, powerful man gives me something I’ve never had: security.
As contradictory as it sounds, I feel safe with him.
He's a killer, my mind reminds me. My mind is right, too, but again, the thought neither repulses nor worries me.
I saw the carnage he and his men wrought at the warehouse they freed me from, but I'm not abhorred any longer. Those men deserved what they got. Every. Little. Bit. A deeply-buried part of me is growing and finding its voice; it’s even slightly put out that I wasn't able to avenge myself.
That little voice should scare the shit out of me, but it doesn't. I wonder how much stronger I could get if I nurtured it?
Antonio's jaw is locked, and his eyes promise murder, though I can't understand why. Aren't he and my dad partners now? What is happening? I can't hear my dad's answer, but Antonio's expression only turns darker.
"She needs to rest now. I'll have her call you tomorrow."
I hold out my hands like a toddler in a gimme, gimme , gesture. I need to speak to my father again.
Antonio's expression relaxes slightly, and he hands me the phone. "Only a few minutes."
Grateful, I press the phone to my ear like it's a lifeline. "Daddy?"
"I'm here, sweet girl. Everything is going to be fine, I promise, and you don't need to be sorry, okay? Ever. You are my sweet baby girl."
"I love you, Daddy."
There is a stuttering breath before he replies, "I love you too, Angel. More than you know. It's going to be okay. I promise. Is he treating you alright?"
Automatically, my eyes move to Antonio. More than alright . "Yes."
"Good, good. I'll do what I have to, and you'll be home in no time. You'll see." He promises. "I miss you."
"I miss you too. See you soon."
"Soon, sweetheart. I love you."
The line clicks. He hung up before I had a chance to tell him that I love him, too.
I hand the phone back to Antonio. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me. You can call your dad anytime you want to. Just ask me, okay?"
Eagerly, I nod, wanting so much to believe.
"I haven't thanked you yet," I remember.
He looks startled, but then he smiles, and the smile lights up his entire face. Two dimples appear. Good grief, could this man be any hotter? My stomach flips, and my heart flutters like the wings of the sparrow he calls me.
He puts one knee on the bed, envelops my right cheek with his hand, and whispers. "I need to thank you."
Heat rises in my cheeks when I realize what he thinks I'm thanking him for.
"For saving my life," I clarify before I can stop myself.
His grin only deepens. "That was even more my pleasure." He replies smoothly.
His hand trails down my chin, traces the curve of my neck, then hovers over the swell of my breasts. My breath gets stuck in my throat. I swallow and pull together whatever clearness I still possess. "We need to talk."
His sigh is loud and deep, his hand still hovering over my skin, his fingers only slightly brushing me. That little touch is enough to make me want him again.
"We do," he agrees, pulling back his hand.
"How about you take a shower, and I'll order us some food? Then we can talk while you put some meat back on your bones, " he suggests.
The plan sounds heavenly.
He reaches for his pants, and the light catches on a round scar by his shoulder, one I noticed earlier.
It’s round and reminds me of a sun with thin, short lines spreading out from it.
"How did you get this?" I'm not sure where my question comes from.
I'm not usually a straightforward person like this.
I don't sleep with men after only knowing them for a few days either , my mind announces.
My snarky self responds immediately: only if he saves my life .
I pull my finger back, horrified by my directness. "I'm sorry."
He laughs and takes my hand, kissing my fingers. "I always want you to ask or tell me anything that is on that pretty mind of yours. I got shot."
My heart rate increases a few beats; this man is just too much.
Too nice, too intense, too thoughtful, too…
everything. Dangerous , my mind adds, he just said he was shot .
Our world and his are light years apart.
He breaks the law, and we are a museum curator .
He breaks the law. I repeat the words a few times.
No, they don't bother me at all anymore.
I've always been a good girl. It was literally pounded into me, and I'm sick of it.
I've never felt more alive than since I received a glimpse of the other side.
If Antonio is bad, I want to be bad too.
He has shown me more compassion in a few days than any of the good people in my world have in a lifetime.
"Shower, food," he reminds me, still smiling, playfully pushing me toward the bathroom door as if he hadn't just very offhandedly told me that he’d been shot. "Do you need me to carry you?"
This time, it's me who laughs. "You didn't seem worried about that when…" My face turns instantly fire hydrant red. Who is this person talking for me?
He throws his head back and laughs. "Touché, my little spitfire. I knew there was more to you than just good looks."
My knees tremble when I get up, but the tremble has nothing to do with weakness; lying in bed for a couple of days has done me wonders.
Very aware of my nakedness, I summon all my hard-earned lessons from my mom: walk erect , swing that booty and those hips.
Move your arms the opposite way . I make my exit to the bathroom, walking like a runway model and sensing his eyes on me.
His hot gaze fuels me and sends rushes of confidence through me that have been lacking for many years.
Playful, I pause by the door and look over my shoulder at him; our eyes meet, and I wink.
"Fuck!" he grumbles and rushes forward.
I squeal as his hands embrace my hips.
"How sore are you?"
"It could be worse," I answer, but I'm lying. My insides burn.
"Liar," he calls me out, taking my face between his hands. "Don't ever lie to me, passerotta."
"Alright, I'm a little sore," I admit.
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply as if summoning all his strength. He leans forward until our foreheads meet. "You're killing me, Scarlet."
He is close enough for his hard cock to poke my stomach.
"Then let me save you, like you did me," I reply, lowering myself to my knees and staring at the world's most beautiful cock.
Long and thick, I doubt I could wrap one hand around it and have the tips of my fingers touch.
It feels good kneeling in front of him, having his cock in my hands.
The way he looks at me through hooded eyes makes me feel…
wicked and good. Not as in good girl, good, but mentally good.
I doubt a lady would ever do this—this wasn't something my mom taught me—but to hell with being a lady.
"What are you doing to me?" he asks hoarsely.
"What do you think?" I mumble, stroking the velvety, thick-veined skin lovingly before I put the tip into my mouth.
He groans.
Rob didn't like to see me naked, but he did like a blowjob. I hated it. Hated how degraded I felt, being on my knees in front of him. But not with Antonio. Not at all. I feel incredibly powerful and naughty. And as the pulse returning in my clit can attest, sucking him off is turning me on.
I watch the muscles—the six-pack—on his abdomen quiver as I take more of him in. There is no way his entire cock will fit into my mouth, but I have an idea.
I bob my head up and down his length, then pull back to kiss and lick his shaft from head to hilt, massaging in the inevitable spit coming from my mouth onto his cock.
"Madre Dio," he groans, his head falls back. I look up and watch the rippling of his muscles move through him, feeling it in my shoulders as his massive thighs tremble. Making him quiver emboldens me even more. I move down and lick his balls, then gently suck them into my mouth.
"Mio Dio, fuck, Scarlet!" his groans intensify, and so does my activity on his dick.
Moving faster, massaging the parts that won't fit into my mouth, I feel tremors move through his cock.
His hands entangle with my hair. For a moment I fear he'll push me forward, deeper on his cock, but he doesn't, he's only holding on to me.
My right hand cups his balls, and I lightly squeeze.
"Scarlet!" He yells out as he comes, hot and hard inside my mouth. Greedily, I swallow his seed and lick it off the rest of his cock.
"Fuck," he lowers himself to the ground, his hands caging my head from both sides as he moves his lips to mine. A needy moan escapes me. Fuck, giving this man head has turned me on more than any sexual encounter ever has.
He pushes me to the ground. Brazenly, my legs open invitingly.
His tongue conquers my mouth while he slowly begins to fingerfuck the most intense orgasm a girl can experience out of me.
While he is watching, no less. Oh yes, I'm really starting to like my bad girl side.
I wish I had gotten in touch with it sooner.
No, no, I don't. Not really. Doing it here with Antonio is perfect.
I love the feel of the cold, tiled floor underneath me, how exposed I am, how he is staring at me.
I feel desired. I feel appreciated. Most of all, I feel free.
Uninhibited, I let him know with my moans when he hits the right spots, and I fully let myself go to the pleasure of his thumb caressing my clit.
At the same time, two of his fingers move expertly in and out of me, hitting the rumored G-spot—the one I could never find—and having me whimper underneath him.
My hips buck and my thighs clench, entrapping his hand, but he doesn't stop moving his fingers in and out. I'm panting. His tongue thrusts into mine just like his fingers do into my pussy, and I turn feral.
Never have I reacted to sex like this. Never. But I can't stop mewling, raising my hips to ride his fingers. My thighs clench harder as my entire body tenses into a blissful knot that promises the most magical pleasure.
I'm not disappointed; when I come, I do so with a howl as my entire body savors the sweet pleasure moving through me from head to toe.
Something hot and liquidy erupts from my pussy as I squirt for the first time in my life.
I see stars. My back arches and my eyes roll back as I absorb every last nanosecond of this pleasure.
"Wow!" I mumble between pants as I lie spent on the floor.
"Wow is right." He grins down at me. "Shower?"
How can his brain even function right now? What is a shower?
"You just gave me the best blowjob of my life." He kisses the top of my nose.
A response lies at the top of my tongue, but I'm too spent to open my mouth and not brave enough yet to voice it. I settle for, "Ditto."
Which makes him laugh. He rises and pulls me up with him. He smacks my ass, and it stings my already oversensitive skin in a way that surprises and turns me on at the same time. "Shower."
"Yes, sir."
His eyes sparkle, "Vixen."