68. Ana
68
ANA
By the time Angelo walked me to my bedroom door, I’d made my decision. If I didn’t force him, he’d never admit how he felt, and time was ticking. Eventually, the mafia families of Yorkfield would end the ceasefire Sofia Russo wrought when she murdered my father and begin the cycle of violence anew as they fought for my hand.
I’d die before I’d allow a single death in my name.
“Angel?” Angelo questioned against my lips.
“Shut up and kiss me,” I answered, twining my arms around his neck and pressing closer to him, as if I squeezed my body against his tightly enough, I could do the same to our souls, making it impossible for me to leave him ever again.
Angelo whirled around, pressing his back against the door and holding me by the hips. “Don’t fucking tease me, Ana,” he growled. “Don’t give me this and then snatch it away again because you don’t know what you want.”
“I want you,” I breathed. “I need you,” I continued. “Like fucking life itself.” I yanked his head back by his hair, lifting his lips from mine. “But not as your toy.”
Angelo blinked, desire turning his stormy eyes dark and his gaze hooded. “All right, angel. Tell me what you need.”
“You.”
His lips tilted in a crooked smile, and he nuzzled his cheek against mine, his beard gently scratching at my skin, as comforting as it was arousing. I tugged him back so I could watch his eyes as he answered.
“Please don’t change your mind, mia cara ,” he begged, vulnerability shining in his eyes for a second before he ruthlessly repressed it, lust taking its place.
“I won’t.”
“Angel,” he rasped, tugging my hair so he could angle my mouth better for him to devour me.
“No, stop,” I said and pulled away.
“Angel, you promised?—”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I reassured him quickly, “but I need—” Fuck! How could I articulate how I needed this to go?
I wrapped my fingers in the fabric of his button-down shirt then turned, dragging him down the hallway and into my bedroom. His eyes never strayed from me, as if our surroundings didn’t matter, only me.
“Kneel,” I commanded, lifting my chin.
Angelo sank to his knees, never taking his eyes from mine. “I’ll give you anything you need, angel. I swear it.”
When I propped my sneaker in the center of his chest, he didn’t flinch, just waited silently with his hands on his knees, as though he were unable to move without a command.
“Take off my shoes.”
Reverently, Angelo stroked his hands up my calf, digging his fingers into muscles I hadn’t realized were sore until he massaged the ache from them, then worked his way down. He untied my shoe and slid it off, lifting my foot so he could kiss my ankle before placing it back on his chest. Lust careened through my veins, wild and out of control at the thought of commanding this powerful man.
I set my left foot on the ground and planted my right foot in its place. His eyes flicked between his task and my face before wrapping around my ankle so he could brush his lips over the top of my foot when he finished.
“Be my filthy fucking queen and tell me what you need.”
Angelo, on his knees, begging me to tell him what to do, begging me to take back the control that he’d wrested from me the day Valentin took me into captivity, was fucking hot. So fucking hot.
“Undress me.”
He rose, never taking his gaze from mine, then skimmed his hands up my sides so he could slip the straps of my sundress over my shoulders, leaving the dress around my hips. He groaned when he revealed my breasts clad in a simple cotton bra. His breath skimmed up my torso, and then he was reaching around me to unclasp my bra.
Angelo groaned when he tugged the cups down, dragging the straps over my shoulders. “Fucking gorgeous, a dirty girl who knows exactly what she wants,” he said, kneeling once again before me.
He stilled, then wrapped his tattooed hands around my hips and pressed his face to my belly. I froze, wondering if he’d guessed my secret, then relaxed. I would tell him—all of them together—in the morning, when I confessed my love and prayed they agreed to take me back on my terms.
Slowly, tentatively, I brought my hands to his hair then gently scratched his scalp, content to hold him while he held me. He turned his face so his cheek rested against my stomach, the delicious scratch of his beard combining with the heat of his touch, comforting and warm, everything I’d missed over the last several weeks.
I lost track of time as I combed my fingers through his hair, absurdly grateful that he allowed me this, that he was willing to subsume his need to control so that I could indulge my own.
Finally, he slid the dress over my hips, placing soft kisses down my legs until he carefully lifted each foot so I could step out of it. When he hooked his fingers around my panties, a whimper escaped me, the anticipation of standing before this man naked and commanding him to pleasure me overwhelming me.
His callused fingers scraped against my skin as he lowered the scrap of cloth, smiling as it clung to my nether lips, drenched with the evidence that I wanted him.
My cheeks flushed.
“Don’t be embarrassed, tesoro . Look how fucking hard I am for you.”
My eyes swept downward to take in his cock, straining against his pants, thick and long. I wanted him inside me, wanted him to fuck me, wanted to own all of him just as he—no. Not yet.
When I was naked, he rocked back on his haunches, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I hummed, his praise hitting me in the middle of my chest and warming me from the inside out. I was bruised and scarred and in pain, and this man was looking at me like I’d hung the moon in the sky.
“Ana, please, I have to taste you,” he rasped.
I backed up against the wall and beckoned him by crooking a finger. To my shock, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled the two steps to me before dropping his head to the ground and brushing his lips over the tops of each foot.
A woman could get used to this sort of worship.
“A goddess,” he corrected against my skin. I must have said it out loud.
I stared down at the man prostrate before me, whose lips whispered up my legs, and told him, “Make me come,” in the most authoritative voice I could muster.
Angelo didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted one of my legs and draped it over his shoulder so he could kiss my mons. He nuzzled his cheek in the soft blonde hairs there, then hunched his back and lapped at my slit.
I moaned with pleasure at the wet heat of him as he explored my pussy. “Such a wet cunt, so fucking delicious, and all mine to devour,” he said, never stopping the quiet stream of praise as he licked and kissed my folds. I didn’t correct him about the ownership.
“Angelo, don’t fucking tease me,” I growled, then dragged his face deeper into my pussy by his salt-and-pepper hair. “Fucking get me off.”
He chuckled against my skin, then lifted my leg higher so he could angle his face in closer. He slid a finger inside me, then a second, while he latched his lips around my clit, sucking hard.
I cried out in shock as my attention focused on my core, on the bliss he evoked with his steady, measured touch. “Angelo,” I whined.
He didn’t answer, just increased the speed of his fucking, sucking on me with hard, rhythmic pulls that made me lose my mind with lust until my entire world shattered around me.
“Daddy!” I whimpered as I sagged against the wall, only for Angelo to sweep me up into his arms and bring me to the bed. He set me on the edge, then stepped away, stopping only when I reached out, holding onto his belt with the tips of my fingers.
Weak and trembling with the aftereffects of my climax, I tugged him back toward me. “Daddy,” I said again, tasting the word, wondering if I was really ready to do this.
Angelo knelt beside me on the floor, taking one of my hands in his and stroking my temple with the other one. “Yes, angel, anything.”
“Daddy, please,” I said, praying I wouldn’t regret my words. “I want you to fuck me like you own me.”
Angelo’s eyes lit with unholy glee, and he stood to strip, shedding clothes and revealing the powerful body they hid—colorful tattoos, the sharp vee of his pelvis, and the shape of an angel that I loved so much.
“Are you sure, angel?”
I raised an eyebrow and tried to convey what a stupid question that was. “I know what I want.”
He slid between my knees, kneeling before me. “And what about what I want?”
“Did you like that? Ceding control to me?” I asked curiously, reaching to trace the hard ridges of his muscles with my fingertips.
He took one of my nipples in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and then kneading it, driving me wild with desire.
“Angel, I’ll do anything you want if it means I can have you,” he said against my skin before lashing me with his tongue. “But you and I both know that you don’t want to be in control.”
I moved a strand of hair out of his eyes, meeting his steady grey gaze with my own, but unwilling to admit that he was right. Not yet.
Instead, I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he shoved into me in a single swift motion, filling me abruptly at the same time he stood and reversed our positions, sitting on the bed so I could straddle him. I whined at the fullness, at the pain that quickly morphed into pleasure when he rubbed my clit with his talented fingers.
“Yes, oh my god, yes,” I whined.
“My name is daddy, sweet angel, not god,” Angelo teased me as he fucked me, sure and steady, driving his fat cock into my pussy like he owned it.
Because he did.
“Just keep fucking me like that, and I’ll call you anything you want,” I promised.
“Oh, you think you’re still in charge?” he asked, adjusting our positions.
I moaned at the angle that allowed him to drive deeper into me, hitting that magic spot. “I’ve owned you since I was sixteen,” I gasped.
“ Sì, tesoro ,” he agreed. “And you’ll own me until the day I die.” He slowed down his rhythm and dropped my leg so he could lay on top of me. The sting in my back served as a reminder that I was alive, that I’d survived the worst humanity had to offer, and I’d fucking won . And my prize, a life with the men I loved, was so close I could taste it.
I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him to me, as he stroked his fingers through my hair and down my cheeks.
“You fucking better,” I told him.
Angelo’s smile was slow and sweet as he drove me higher and higher with his steady thrusts, refusing to be hurried. Pleasure rose in my center, a tidal wave of bliss and happiness mixing together.
“Look at me, Ana,” Angelo growled as an inexorable wave of euphoria crested through me. “I’m yours. You’re fucking mine,” he said. “I love you, and I’m never letting you go.” His hips stuttered as he plunged into me, painting my insides with his release. “Mine,” he growled a final time before wrapping his arms around me and collapsing on his side, dragging me against him with one leg thrown over my hip.
I could let him guess what I wanted and let him take charge, make the decision for me. Or I could be clear about what I needed.
“Stay with me tonight,” I said.
Angelo tugged me nearer, as if it were possible for our bodies to be closer, and nestled my head on his bicep.
“How about always?”
I closed my eyes and snuggled closer, refusing to give him the answer he wanted.
I needed more than just Luca and Angelo. I had to convince Valentin too.