Chapter 15 #3
“I don’t know,” she says, her legs still wrapped around my waist, keeping me close, my dick pressed against her, hard and needy. “But I want the truth.”
“I did it,” I admit. “I didn’t want you leaving with any of those guys. I couldn’t stand the thought. That guy Brandon’s an asshole. He—”
“You couldn’t stand thinking about it because Brandon’s an asshole?” she asks, her face so close to mine. So pretty. So damn kissable.
“I was jealous,” I confess.
It’s apparently the right answer, or at least not the wrong one, thank God, because she kisses me again, sucking on my bottom lip. I grind against her as I kiss her back, my breath nearly knocked out of me when she starts rolling her hips into me.
Need spirals through me, coiling tighter and tighter, making me feel like a teenage boy sneaking around and making out in the stockroom.
Been there, done that, got caught too. This time we’re out on the main floor, but there’s only a minimal chance that one of my brothers is going to show up this far past closing.
My grandmother is hopefully asleep in her bed.
I break our kiss, panting, and say, “Can you push down your stockings? I want to feel you. I need—”
To feel how wet I know she is, but I don’t want to call it out there.
Sucking on her bottom lip, she lifts up and pushes her stockings down, showing the creamy expanse of her rounded thighs.
I swear under my breath, then swear again as she parts her legs for me, inviting me in again.
I slide between them, then touch her, groaning when I feel the slickness of her need for me. “Oh, Lucia, you feel so good.”
She gasps and lifts her hips into my fingers as I thrust them inside of her and rub a spot that has her arcing her head back, giving me the perfect opening to dip my head and kiss her there.
Her skin is soft and smells like heaven, and right now, I don’t have any objection to being in Hidden Italy.
Right now, it’s my favorite place in town, in Maine, on the planet.
I move my fingers, my dick hard as stone, because she’s so tight and wet, and I want this.
I want her. Fuck me, I can’t remember ever wanting anyone like this.
It must be this dance between us that’s gotten under my skin.
It’s only gone on for a week, but it’s been the best foreplay I’ve ever engaged in, making me desperate.
Her hips rise to meet my hand, and she makes a sweet moan. I capture her bottom lip in my teeth and nip on it, then suck as I continue to move my hand, wanting to give her pleasure. Needing to feel her come.
I lean back so I can watch her face: her eyes closed, her lips parted, her head tipped back so her hair sweeps the table.
“You are exquisite,” I say, working my fingers. I lower my head so I can brush my mouth over her breasts through her dress, and even though there’s fabric barring my way, I can feel the points of her nipples. I run my tongue over one and then the other, and she bucks on the table.
“Oh my God, that feels good. So good.”
“And I haven’t even gotten onto my knees yet,” I say, giving her a wicked look, knowing she’ll appreciate the reference.
I’ll be damned if she doesn’t instantly get wetter.
“But you said…”
“I know what I said,” I say, moving my fingers frantically now, because I want that look on her face to stay there. I like being the man who put it there, just as much as that smile earlier.
With her next moan, I get to my knees. A plastic fork digs into me, but I don’t bother to move it—I just angle her legs over my shoulders and bury my face in heaven.
I need the breathy, surprised sound she makes more than food. More than water.
I suck and lick as I push her closer to the brink, worshipping her body the way it deserves, and she buries her hands in my hair. She’s tugging hard enough for it to hurt, and it hurts so good—too good—that I’m in danger of coming in my pants just from pleasuring her.
“I’m going to come,” she says. Then: “Enzo.”
Hearing her say my name like that, her voice tight with pleasure, is a revelation. I instantly need to hear it again.
I suck harder as she bucks her hips, her body going taut before it relaxes, and I lay a soft kiss before I pull away and look up at her.
She’s staring down at me, her eyes full of wonder.
“Not such a bad lover after all, am I?” I ask.
I meant it as a teasing remark, a continuation of our banter, but her face shuts down. “So that’s what this was about? Proving you can make a woman come? Well, congratulations.”
She pushes away from me and pulls up her stockings.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Lucy,” I say, a frantic feeling growing inside of me. She can’t leave like this. She can’t leave at all.
She gets to her feet, putting her hand on her luscious hip. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how you meant it.”
“This wasn’t about proving anything,” I say. “I want you.” I gesture down to my dick straining against my pants. There’s a crushed french fry stuck to my knee, and I fling it off. Jesus, what’s become of me? “Obviously, I want you.”
She studies me for a moment before her posture relaxes slightly. “It was a shitty remark.”
“Yes. I’m an asshole who says dumb things, but I can do better. I want to do better.”
She looks unconvinced, but then she shocks the hell out of me by reaching forward and running her fingers over the bulge in my pants.
I swear under my breath, the sensation of her hand on me unearthly, even with the layers of fabric separating us.
“You’re so hard,” she says, some of the wonder from earlier seeping into her voice. “I’m not totally inexperienced, you know. I’ve gotten to third base before a few times.”
“I don’t need to hear about the other men who’ve had the pleasure of touching you or putting their mouths on you.”
She smiles, shaking her head, but continues to move her hand over me. “Do you have any condoms here?”
My mouth falls open. “Condoms?”
“Oh, what am I talking about? Three hot Italian men work here. Of course you have condoms hidden away somewhere.”
“Lucia, I’m not going to take your virginity in the dining area of my family business.”
Anger flashes through her eyes, and regrettably, she pulls her hand from my straining dick.
“You said you wanted to be the one, and I’m agreeing.
I don’t need dinner and candlelight, Enzo.
I know you don’t want to romance me, and I don’t want you to.
We would never work out as a couple. I want to be with a nice guy, and you don’t want to be with anyone.
You just want sex. I thought that was the whole point. ”
It was. But this doesn’t feel right. All that talking earlier made me feel connected to her. Besides, if I’m going to fuck her, I want to take my time and do it right. I want her to come multiple times, and not just on my face.
“We don’t need candlelight and dinner, but I’d like to have a bed.”
“And I wouldn’t. I want to do it here. I want you to take me right here on this table.”
My pulsing dick tells me to do as I’m told, but that nagging voice in my head insists I need to do better. She wants to get this over with, but I want to make it an experience that’s good for her—one she’ll remember fondly when she moves on to her nice guy.
Her fingers dance over my dick again, a hot, excruciating tease. It feels so good a groan seeps out of me, and I kiss the side of her face, her neck, luxuriating in her. Nothing The Haven offers could feel as good as this woman. Everything about her is soft and lush and delicious.
I want to take what she’s offering. I’m desperate to. But I can’t give Lucy what she wants, not like this.
Then her phone starts to vibrate on the floor.
Oh, fuck, I must have swept it off with the food.
She stoops to pick it up, inspecting the screen.
“Any cracks in your screen?” I ask.
She ignores me, though, and I peer over her shoulder to see the spiderweb cracks on her screen. Shit. I scarcely have a chance to notice the mess I made before I see the name flashing on it—Hudson Firehose.
Shit, shit, shit. My pulse starts hammering for a different and much more unpleasant reason as she answers the call. Is Hudson calling to tattle on me?
Sure enough, Lucy’s face settles into an angry look, which gets madder the longer she listens. “He did, huh? Okay. Yeah, thanks for calling. I would love to get together again sometime. You’re a good guy, Hudson.”
She hangs up and tucks the damaged phone back into her purse before looking at me with hard eyes.
“Turns out your brother’s the one who caused the fire emergency that pulled Hudson away from our date tonight. He left his popcorn in the microwave for too long. Are you insane?”
I lift my hands. “I know how to microwave popcorn. It’s not my fault if Giovanni never learned.”
Her expression turns fierce. “I didn’t even say which brother.”
Shit, she’s got me there.
“What if he got hurt?” she asks tightly.
“I’d never do anything to hurt my brother. He set off his fire alarm manually. His neighbor calls the station every time an alarm goes off in the building.”
“Right, you wouldn’t mess with your brother because he’s blood-related. But you’d do anything to destroy my date.”
She’s furious now, anger practically sparking off her.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this,” I say. “You didn’t care about the power thing. Are you mad about your phone? Because that was my bad. I’m going to replace it.”
“No. You’re not. It’ll be my reminder not to make terrible decisions.”
“I figured the flyer with an X over my face would do the trick. Let me replace your phone.”
She shakes her head as she picks up her coat, shaking off a couple of french fries. “This was a huge mistake. You’re controlling and manipulative, and basically everything my mother ever warned me about.”
“It’s not a mistake,” I say, suddenly frantic. Because she’s going to leave angry—and not angry in the way she’s been for the last week, but actually angry.
“Why do you even care?” she asks, her tone cold. “I’m sure you can find some tourist to sleep with. You don’t need to fixate on me just because you know my secret.”
She’s waiting for an answer, her body a taut line now.
But I don’t have one. All I know is that I do care. I’m interested in her, maybe even a little obsessed. It might have been her search for a man to sleep with that ratcheted up my interest, but it isn’t the reason for it.
She wants a nice man, though, a man like Hudson. And I don’t want anything else to hold me here in Hideaway.
Still, I say, “I don’t want you to leave like this.”
“But you don’t get to control me, Enzo. I’m going.”
“You’ll let me walk you home. It’s dark out.”
“I won’t. This town practically has a subzero crime rate, and it’s lit up with thousands of Christmas lights.”
“I don’t like this,” I say darkly. “I shouldn’t have done that with Hudson. It was a step too far. But you were taunting me at dinner. I figured it was fair play, a part of our game.”
“Goodbye, Enzo.”
She makes it to the door before I grab my things and stop her with a light hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t touch me right now,” she says, turning to glare at me.
I hand her my scarf. “Please. It’s windy.”
She gives me a bewildered look but takes it, thank God, almost as if it’s reflexive. She’s not a woman to turn away a well-meant gesture. “Only if you promise not to follow me.”
“Call me when you get home.”
Her lips press into an unimpressed line. I’d like to kiss it, but she’s made her disinterest in more kisses clear. “I don’t have your number, and I don’t want it.”
“Call me,” I insist. “I just need to know you got home okay.”
She narrows her gaze. “I don’t want you having my home phone number. I’ll text you. The signal’s been pretty good for me today.”
She holds her hand out, and I grab my phone from my pants pocket and hand it over so she can plug her number in.
“Don’t follow me,” she sneers.
“I won’t,” I promise. “But if I don’t hear from you, I’m going to have to call Eileen, and we both know that Eileen will have plenty to say if she knows we were together tonight.”
“Everyone in town probably does since you insisted on walking in together, through the front entrance,” she says, aggrieved.
“And you’ll tell them you agreed to interview me for your project, angel that you are. And that I was just as much of an asshole as usual.”
She gives me a look I can’t read, then says, “Why were you on the Wishing Bridge last week?”
I’m not sure what answer she’s looking for, but I stick with honesty. She already knows the truth, after all, might as well call it out. “I wanted to save Hidden Italy so I could leave.”
“I thought this place was your family,” she says sarcastically.
“You can love something and hate it at the same time,” I reply.
She nods, her expression serious, then turns on her heel and leaves through the door, disappearing into the night.
If she didn’t want people to wonder if we’re together, she probably shouldn’t have taken the scarf, which most Hidies would recognize as my mother’s handiwork—made from two needles, not a hook.
But that’s not the main reason I gave it to her.
I have a strange need to know that she’s safe and warm. Protected.
It’s only after the door shuts behind her that I look down at my phone screen. She’s listed her number with the name “Your Worst Nightmare.”
Fuck me, I can’t help but laugh.