Chapter 34 #2
“While you’re wearing that dress? No way. I told Luigi to call Luc if he wanted orders tonight.” His mouth tightened. “Anyway, after that display out there—fuck, duci. I wanted to kill him.”
He grabbed a plush towel from the sideboard and dried off by wringing the defenseless piece of fabric like it was that guy’s neck.
My lips curved as I straightened his mussed sports coat once he turned to face me. “You going to take this off?”
“I’ll take it off if you want, amore mia.”
“You gonna be my private dancer?” I managed to tease—the endearment getting thrown back at me had me swallowing down nerves.
“If you’ll dance with me too.”
Interest piqued, I hummed. “Maybe we could go to your ballroom.”
“Our ballroom. And I told you, you never have to go to that house again.”
“You shored up the security, didn’t you?”
“I did.” He cupped my chin. “You want me to fuck you on our ballroom floor, liunissa.”
“I do.” I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “Feels like it’d be good for me. You know, to reclaim our space.”
Triumph roared to life in his expression, but he merely tapped my nose. “That can be arranged.”
Snagging both his hands in mine, I bridged them and then tugged him into moving with me.
The tension in his shoulders abated as we swayed to another of my favorite songs—this sleeping with the owner stuff came with definite perks—and gradually, the disruption faded into the past and all that mattered was now.
His lips caught mine as he dove in deep, tasting me, exploring me, thrusting his tongue against mine as he fucked me there while our bodies writhed to the beat.
I pushed into him, ensuring as much of us connected as possible—needing more, needing pressure, needing to touch him. All while knowing that this need would never be fulfilled. Not in a decade or a century.
When he relinquished his hold on my fingers, I yanked on his jacket, whimpering until he helped me remove it. I immediately toyed with the buttons on his shirt. There was no way he’d let us get fully naked, but part way? I’d take it.
With his shirt unfastened, my hands sought the muscles on his back. Of course, I dug my nails in deep.
“That’s it, liunissa. I love it when you show me your claws.”
I ignored him to dot kisses over the ink on his chest, sliding my tongue along the lines, savoring his taste which beads of perspiration only amplified.
Any other guy, I’d have puked a little in my mouth at the prospect of licking his sweat.
Stan, not so much.
God, he smelled delicious.
A part of me questioned if that meant we were immunologically compatible. Another part accepted it without confirmation of the truth.
When his hands returned to my hips, digits back to dragging up my skirt, I shimmied against him in encouragement. He tucked the hem into the waist of my panties, then slid his fingers over my ass cheeks, tugging them apart as the tips delved deeper.
He found my core, already weeping for him, and I burrowed my nails into his back again, scoring his skin once he found my clit.
Pumping my hips, I sought release—he owed me that much after handing that man his ass downstairs—I chased his lips and thrust my tongue between his this time.
As I fucked his mouth while he finger-banged me, I shimmied against him in the semi-darkness, reveling in the roars from the crowd, my favorite songs playing, and the possessive fury of this man who was mine.
I exploded, then screamed as he continued plunging two fingers into me, hunting down my G-spot like it was prey, palpating it over and over and over until I found a second release.
I sagged in his hold, but my nails remained buried in his back as he pummeled me with pleasure. Unyielding until I was a moaning, mewling mess.
Finally, he relented.
Finally, he petted my pussy.
Finally, he pulled back from the kiss to end all kisses that started with me dominating it, only for him to prove he owned me.
Deep down, deeper than my core, deeper than my heart, I knew he always had.
Stan proceeded to suck on his fingers while my dazed eyes struggled to flutter open.
I felt his erection branding my stomach, but the strange gleam in his expression caught my attention. He’d been in a weird mood all day, so floating on a nebulous cloud of orgasmical hormones or not, I knew when something was going down.
“What did you do?”
His brows lifted at the odd question.
It wasn’t so odd—we might only have dated one another a short while, but I recognized that expression.
I’d grown up around too many boys not to recognize mischief when I saw it.
“Come with me, gattaredda.”
My brows lifted too. “Been a while since you called me that.”
Humor danced in his eyes, which came as a shock. I figured he’d be fucking me into the floor by now.
“Can you stand, duci?”
“You want to fuck me standing when there’s a perfectly good table over there?”
“You’re right,” he agreed, then I yelped when he swung me into his arms again. After he straightened out my dress.
Only, instead of taking me to the table, he carried me out of the box and into another room.
A bright one.
I pulled a face at the light, blinking back spots as he deposited me on a couch.
“What’s going on?” I complained because he didn’t tumble me into the cushions. If anything, he straightened.
When I peered around, I frowned at what I saw.
Then, I glanced at him and took note of that strange fire again—it was more prevalent in the light. Fiercer. Those chestnut orbs glittered. Any other guy, I’d have said he was high.
But not Stan.
I knew his ‘high look’ better than most.
This was something else entirely.
He held out his forearm. Veins, thick and prominent, bulged from his earlier aggression. Muscles pumped from carrying me around.
“I want your teeth in me, Kitty.” He motioned to a piece of skin that was free from ink. “Right here.”
“Hey! I’m Quin.”
I jumped in bewilderment, my head whipping around until I noticed a guy in the corner waving at me before continuing to set up his tattoo station.
“Hi, Quin,” I greeted, feeling the heat rise on my cheeks from how I must’ve looked.
Never mind that Stan was half-naked and I was three-quarters there!
“He knows not to look at you, duci,” Stan assured me.
“Yup. Eyes on him only,” Quin chirped. “Part of the gig.”
I licked my lips. “What are you doing, Stan?”
“I want your marks on me forever, bedda mia.”
“You’re insane.”
“Se.”
I huffed then folded my arms across my chest. “Which marks in particular?” He’d said marks. Plural.
Turning around, he stripped out of his shirt, revealing the two sets of five stripes where my nails had dug into his back.
“You can’t ink onto open wounds,” I chided, wincing at how raw they looked in parts.
“You pick the side that’s best.”
“Stan!”
“Yes, duci?”
I studied him. That glitter. Felt his possessiveness. But also felt my own stir to life.
My marks on him.
Forever.
“You’re going to do this anyway, aren’t you?”
“My Kitty has claws. I want reminders.”
Though I rolled my eyes, he was saying the right shit to make me dig this.
“Okay, but only if you reciprocate.”
That gleam made another reappearance. “Where?”
Knowing it’d rile him up, I taunted, “My inner thigh.”
It worked.
“Quin, could you leave us for a couple minutes, please?”
“Your dime,” the other guy cheered.
The second the door closed, Stan dropped to his knees and my skirt was around my hips.
Eyes locked on me, he spread my legs and began peppering kisses down one of them, his tongue tracing the muscles and sinews he found along the way.
“I’d never let a man near your pussy, liunissa, but Quin doesn’t count.”
“Why doesn’t he?” My back arched as his touch began to work its magic on me.
“Because his Old Lady makes me look like sanity itself.”
“Old Lady?”
“He’s a Satan’s Sinner. He’s famous for his portraits.” He kissed my inner thigh, inches away from my core. “What do you want, liunissa?” His tongue dug into the triangle between groin and inner thigh.
“Does the house of Valentini have a crest?”
His head rocked back like I’d kicked him in the face.
“You’d wear my brand?” His jaw tightened.
I rubbed my fingers over those clenched muscles. “In my world, brands are for whores.”
“You’re no whore,” he thundered. “You’re mine, liunissa.
” He pressed a kiss to my stomach. “You’ll mother my children.
Be by my side until the day I die.” His hand snagged mine and he made no noise about proposing, his thumb simply playing with the ring he’d given me in Texas. “Only mine. Per sempri.”
“I like the sound of that,” I admitted huskily.
“No more than I do.” He anointed my thigh with another kiss. “Here? Or somewhere else?”
I ran the backs of my fingers over the inner curve of my breast. “Near my heart?”
“Those scratches on your back won’t last forever,” Quin called out. “I need to at least draw them on.”
Stan grunted. “He has a point.”
“You’re still insane.”
He tangled his fingers with mine. “Isn’t this insanity mutual, duci?”
A smile danced on my lips. “It wouldn’t be fun if it wasn’t…”