8. Vito
8
VITO
The tension between us is a steel wire as we ride to my house. Dark shrouds the back of the car, with flickering yellow from the streetlights.
Now we’re alone, I’m kicking myself, because there’s no reason to fake, is there? I let go of her hand as we got into the car, and the chasm of thick black and silence between us makes it impossible to reach across and touch her again. To do so would be saying I deserve her, and I don’t.
I’ve returned to being her boss.
I’m old enough to be her father, I remind myself.
“I thought you were taking me home.” The whites of her eyes glint when we stop outside my London city residence and one of my men opens the door for her.
“We’re celebrating our engagement, aren’t we? Mustn’t have your friends thinking I’m not serious. I assumed you’d want to stay. Just tonight.” That sounds reasonable. Not at all like I’m obsessed with getting her into my house like I’m Beast stealing Beauty.
“Just for show, then?” she checks. “So my housemates don’t realise because I’ve gone straight home.”
A sound that could be agreement or denial comes from my throat as I lead her into the house. I tell myself I take her to my room because I know for sure that there are towels in the bathroom and clean sheets, and she’s tired and shouldn’t have to wait. I’m pretty sure the housekeeper keeps a dozen guest rooms pristine at all times, but I want her in my space. I’ll enjoy torturing myself with the image of the one time she was in my house.
“I thought you’d want to clean up,” I say as she looks around my bedroom. By sheer willpower I don’t add anything about helping her out of her wet clothes, or being happy to help her get dirty again. But I repeat the cheesy lines in my head.
I point out the ensuite. “There’s a shower, or bath. Just take whatever you need. Help yourself to anything from the wardrobe to sleep in.”
She snuggles into my suit jacket, pulling it tighter around her as though I might try to take it away. No chance. What’s mine is hers. Peeking up at me from beneath her lashes, she says, “Where will you be?”
“Downstairs in the lounge.” I’m too wired to sleep. “Good night.”
Then I practically run from the room. There’s only so much temptation a man can resist.
It takes a while to hear the report from the men I had with me tonight. Sev, it turns out, only gave the man who was harassing Cassie at the bar a scare, and ripped bits off him that will grow back. I instruct Tony to keep an eye on him and ensure if he pushes unwanted attention on a woman again, that will be the last time.
I feel very superior for not actually having him murdered. Perhaps I should join the London Mafia oo-but-we-don’t-kill-people-unless-we-have-to Syndicate, after all.
Eventually, I collapse onto a sofa in the lounge, the late summer night still not fully dark outside and I field a few obnoxious texts from Sev, and curious ones from my other triplet, Rafe, who is with his wife. She was his assistant, and now they have a baby on the way. Fucker. I’m not jealous of his happiness. Except, I am.
A beer sits on the table next to me, untouched, as I sit back and think about Cassie this evening. Of her sweet lips and her adorable laugh. She’s the only one I want.
There’s a little bird tap at the door, and a gorgeous brown-blonde head peeks around the frame. “Hello.”
She’s barefoot as she slips into the room, and wearing nothing but my pale blue shirt. My heart sticks in my throat. Like the suit jacket, seeing her in my clothes again is just as powerful as last time. Her legs are fabulous, and I can’t help but stare. Then I drag my gaze to her face and find she’s got hope in her eyes.
I don’t understand.
She tugs on the hem of the shirt. “Is this okay?”
My throat is drier than a houseplant without my staff.
“It’s longer than the dress I was wearing.” She smiles ruefully.
“Why are you down here, amore mio dolce?”
She presses her lips together and approaches, before curling onto the sofa next to me. “I was thinking in the shower.”
I watch her, even as my pulse ticks up along with the way my shirt has tugged up to reveal more of her biteable thigh.
“That’s the place where the best ideas happen.”
“Yes!” Her face lights. “That’s where I had this idea.”
“What was that?” I’m a bit afraid of what my tipsy girl might have thought of.
“You helped me once this evening, by pretending to be my fiancé.” She takes a deep breath. “Would you help me with something else?”
“If I can,” I reply cautiously.
“I wanted to get rid of my V-card this evening.” She says it in a rush.
And that’s when my heart stops. Because this gorgeous woman who has been in my fantasies since we met—the image I’ve jerked my cock to, the name on my lips as I’ve come, my obsession—is untouched?
“Just as a favour,” she adds. “Purely practical, like pretending to be my fiancé. You were really good at that, and I wondered if you’d be kind and help me with this too.”
“You’re a virgin?” I croak.
She blushes and closes her eyes. “Mmm.”
“That’s…” So hot that she’d be mine alone. I’d be the first one to breach my lovely girl. “Not possible tonight.” It’s taking all my strength to not say that I would be honoured to help her with this. That I will do it right now, and she’ll come on my cock over and over again.
“Vito…” She puts on an ingratiating voice and opens those pretty pale eyes to entreat me. “Will you?—”
“No.” Absolutely not. If I take her virginity, I’ll never let her go. I don’t think I’d allow her out of my sight. She deserves better. At the very least, she should make the decision when she’s got a clear head.
“Please. Please, pretty-please, fiancé.” She crawls over me and my arms come up without my volition. They settle on her waist. It’s perfectly nipped in, her hips flaring out and my mouth waters as I regard the swell of her tits. My shirt has ridden up, and a scrap of white is visible between her legs. Her knickers. I bite back a groan. She was made for my hands and my cock responds with the inevitability of being near her.
“Cassie…” I can’t help but tighten my grip. She’s so incredibly sweet.
“Mr Blackwood.” Her eyes sparkle like sunshine on a lake.
“Vito.” If I’ll be damned for this night, I will have my name on her lips this once.
“Vito,” she repeats, and it’s everything. I could listen to her on a loop forever. I groan. How am I ever going to return to calling her Miss Meadows and keeping my distance?
“We can’t. You’re drunk.” Who am I trying to convince? No one. It’s a fact. She wouldn’t be doing this if she was thinking straight.
“I’m not. I’m very sober.” She sounds so uninhibited—not drunk but definitely tipsy—that I laugh, and she looks at me as though I’m sunshine, and that breaks me.
“Amore mio dolce,” I breathe.
“You will?” She makes a little purring noise and pushes closer, wrapping her arms around me and wriggling her hips, trying to get friction on her needy clit.
“No.”
She stills, and her face falls, the spark gone from her and the sexy confidence hissing out like a punctured balloon.
I allow myself the pleasure of combing my fingers into her hair. It’s incredibly soft. I tilt her head up to look at me again. “But I will let you use my fingers to make yourself come.”
That’s an acceptable compromise, isn’t it?
The way she perks up says, yes. Yes, this is the right thing.
“I will if you tell me what to do,” she whispers, as though this is a secret between the two of us, and if she speaks too loudly, she’ll break the spell, or someone else will hear.
“Take off your knickers,” I tell her. “And sit on my lap.”
She wriggles off, giving me a delicious view of the swell of her soft tits as she pushes her white cotton underwear down her thighs. So. Perfect.
“Can I touch you too?” she asks as she toys with the buttons of my shirt that she’s wearing.
“No.” That’s a temptation too far. Her small hand trying to clasp my length? Too much, and I can’t be sure I wouldn’t take more than I ought. But my curt response makes her hesitate, and no. None of that. So I just tell her the truth. “I’m yours to do with as you wish. But let me spoil you first.”
“Except take my virginity.” Her pout is so kissable.
“Except that.” Though I want it. I really, really do. But more than I crave her tight, wet, hot little pussy over my cock, I need her to never regret anything we do. If we have sex, it’ll be a forever promise with a ring and making a baby. “I will make you come so hard you’ll feel the echo in a week.”
She makes a needy little sound.
“Now.” I crook my finger. “Come here and kiss me.” That glimpse I had of her pussy lips glistened, and I’m keen to discover if she’s as eager for this as she seems.
I slide my palm down her thigh as she settles on my lap again. Between us, my cock is a steel rod, thick and heavy.
She’s tentative as she leans in. Our lips touch.
It’s fire. I nibble and suck and she presses her palms to my chest, shifting closer as our mouths engage in a leisurely dance. It’s like we’ve done this thousands of times before, so natural. The crackling chemistry between us is undeniable.
This time as I sink my hand into her hair, she arches as I tug and reveals her neck. I kiss down it, making her shudder. I indulge in that, with little bites that make her gasp, and will leave marks.
Then, taking her hand, I rub my thumb over her small palm and then twist my hand so her fingers cover mine, partly at least. She blinks as I lower our hands together to rest lightly on her thigh.
“Show me how wet you are.”
She makes a needy sound and squirms and pushes my hand down, until my fingertips brush her mons.
“Brave girl.” And I see she glows with my praise before she kisses me again and presses my fingers into her slit. Slick, warm arousal drips onto my knuckles.
“Absolutely soaked,” I observe. “That’s so good. Now show me where you need me to touch you, Cassie.”
“Here,” she whispers back. “Stroke me. Make me come. Please, Mr Blackwood.”
“Vito,” I remind her.
“Vito.” Pressing her mouth to mine, she kisses me desperately as I explore her folds with infinitesimal slowness. “I’ve never done this before. Help me.”
“You’ve never made yourself come?” I ask in disbelief.
She shakes her head, and I gather her closer to me, kissing her with all the pent-up desire of the last month.
“I never wanted to until…” That statement is left hanging.
“Innocent girl. Amore mio dolce.” I whisper other romantic and filthy words in Italian. Around kisses and in a language she doesn’t understand, I tell her how hot and perfect her little pussy is, and that I didn’t think I could love her any more, but her being this innocent fills my heart with pride and engorges my cock beyond what I thought possible.
All the while, I caress the bare nape of her neck and slip my fingertips over her slit, circling and gradually approaching the little untouched nub.
As my finger brushes her clit she gasps, I smirk. “That’s right. I’m going to make you fly.”
She grasps my lapels, and while I rub over her clit, she holds herself to me.
“That’s a good girl.” And because she squirms and pants more, I add. “You’re being such a good girl for me.”
“Vito.” Cassie is losing it, slumping against me and open-mouth kissing my neck.
“Reach for it. Feel that pressure building inside you? Drag it towards you.”
She’s keening now as her climax approaches.
“You’re my good girl.” I increase the pace of the thrusts of my fingers inside her, rubbing that sensitive inside wall hard, and feeling how she shudders in my arms.
She screams, convulsing on my fingers.
“So beautiful.” I hold her to me as she breaks, pulsing on my fingers again and again, before eventually slumping as her climax drops off. “This is what you wanted when you wore that tease of a dress, wasn’t it?”
Her sigh is music. Exhausted, sated.
I shift her and stand, bringing her with me, and she only lets out a little squeak before nestling into me. I carry her upstairs, and tuck her into my bed, allowing myself the indulgence of kissing her forehead. Then I wrench myself away, and fall back into a chair. To keep watch over her until morning.