Chapter 11 Aurelia
Aurelia
I wasn’t sure what time it was, but it was the dead of night when he returned to the room.
He was quiet with the door, kept his footsteps light on the carpet and hardwood floor when he came inside.
I heard the shower come on distantly from the bathroom in the other room.
It was quiet, like the trickle of a fountain, and should soothe me enough to go back to sleep.
But now, I was wide awake.
I’d just left my hotel room and joined his, and the second I arrived, I knew him a little better. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, tapped the screen, and saw that it was almost five in the morning.
He’d been gone all night.
I returned the phone and lay there with sleep behind my eyes, feeling a twinge of fear because there were only two explanations for him being out all night.
He was either with someone else, which I highly doubted with all the fucking we did.
Or . . . he was doing that private security he mentioned before.
It was common knowledge that Cosa Nostra had been here as early as the mid-1800s. They were still active today on the west side of Sicily. They kept a low profile and stayed to themselves, so they didn’t seem to be a problem among the general public—if you didn’t cross them.
That was too much of a coincidence.
I’d wonder if Constantine was a member, but if he lived in Rome, that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t exactly a work-from-home type of gig. But he might be associated in some way, and that was terrifying . . . and a little thrilling.
Minutes later, Constantine left the bathroom and came to bed. A small amount of dull light came from the tiny crack where the two sides of the curtains met, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to fall back asleep at this point.
He took a drink of water from the nightstand, then got between the sheets beside me.
He didn’t try to be quiet like he had when he’d first come in—like he somehow knew I was awake.
He moved to the center of the bed, hooked his big arm around me, and pulled me close into his core, dropping his chin and pressing a kiss to my exposed shoulder.
I should be wary of this man, but the second he grabbed me like that, I was fucking spineless.
I melted into him like he was heat and I was butter.
I felt safer in his arms than I had in the embrace of my nine-to-five, aboveboard boyfriend.
I was just as obsessed now as I’d been before he’d told me his plans for the evening.
He tugged up my shirt underneath the sheets to expose my ass in my little thong. His big hand squeezed one of my cheeks before he pressed his hips into me, shoving his big dick right between my ass cheeks.
He should have been exhausted from his long night, but his dick was so hard, it was as if he’d had the greatest night of sleep in his life.
He turned and grabbed one of his pillows, then placed it in front of me before he gently rolled me on top of it, placing it beneath my hips and getting me onto my stomach.
My lower back arched, and when I looked at him over my shoulder, he was already tugging my thong down my thighs.
He wetted the head of his dick, then mounted me, sliding inside my tight entrance that barely had any warning of his intentions.
He gently pushed, eventually getting past my entrance, then sinking the rest of the way, releasing a quiet moan when he was fully sheathed.
His weight drove me into the pillow, my clit against the silky cotton, and when he started to thrust inside me, it hit just right, the pressure and friction against my sex enough to make me moan right away.
He took me at an even pace, not nailing me hard like he did at other times, but at a speed that was about enjoyment rather than a rush to the high.
I’d never been taken this way in my life, so I could barely handle the fullness of his big dick, could barely handle the stimulation against my clit.
It was one of those rare times when I didn’t want to come, just wanted to hold on to this anticipation as long as I could before the explosion made my body jerk in odd and uncontrollable ways.
“Fuck,” he said from above my ear. “This pussy hits better than coke.” He started to thrust harder, giving me his full length even though he felt the dead end inside me, wanting me to take it all before he came.
It hurt, but fuck, it felt so good. “Yes . . .” It made me come, hard, and the tears that sprang to my eyes were instant. “Come inside me,” I said breathlessly, wanting to hit an even greater high. “Please.”
“Fuck,” he said in a rush, pounding into me as he finished, making the mattress bounce with his rhythm. Then he came to a stop, giving me his full length and ignoring the way I winced in pain when I took it all.
He breathed above me, his breaths deep and slow, his hands balled into fists as they propped his body above mine. When he started to soften, he pulled out of me and lay back on the pillow. He gripped my ass and gave it a smack before he closed his eyes, drifting off right away like he was spent.
I looked at the crack between the curtains and saw that the light had changed, growing brighter as the sun rose farther in the sky. I turned back to him, seeing him already asleep in just seconds, his normally hard expression a little softer when he was relaxed.
With the heft of his come inside me, I turned over and fell asleep quickly, somehow spent when I just lay there and he did the rest.
Tomorrow was my last day.
Then I had to go back to reality. I had to move everything out of my apartment so my replacement could move in—with her two kids in tow.
I suspected she might already be there because her husband may have thrown her out on her ass.
Now she needed Enzo to provide for her since he was knee deep in this with her.
Or balls deep, I should say.
I already had gigs lined up with clients who had booked six months in advance.
Weddings on the weekends, private events, engagement photos, all sorts of things.
I had enough clients and a strong enough brand, along with word-of-mouth marketing, that I could afford an apartment by myself, but not the one I’d shared with Enzo.
That was a three-bedroom apartment with a full kitchen and a large living room, a mansion for a place like Rome.
I’d have to move outside the city center, which meant I’d have to commute to every gig.
I usually walked everywhere, but now I’d have to get a motorbike because a car was too expensive and too difficult to navigate on those kinds of roads.
I didn’t want to think about all those things, but I had to. I should have done it sooner, because now when I picked up my stuff, I’d have to crash with a friend or get a room at a cheap motel until I could find a new place to live.
But fuck it, I’d rather enjoy my fuck-cation.
Constantine took me to an outdoor bar called Daiquiri, down the stairs off the main street, with a full menu of fruity drinks and cocktails that made it special. The outdoor terrace had a string of lights overhead, colorful chairs on the pebbled terrace.
They brought our drinks, bringing him a glass of wine and me a pina colada, because why the hell not?
They also brought a bowl of potato chips, two plates of appetizers of potato coquettes with shredded beets on top, and then fresh bread slathered in fresh ragu.
They gave you so much food that it could easily spoil your appetite for dinner if you went overboard.
So goddamn handsome and utterly fuckable, he sat there relaxed in the chair and just stared at me, in a dark-gray collared shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and exposing the ink of his forearms. A damn tree that anyone would love to climb, he was a behemoth of a man.
He was so hot that I didn’t care what he was doing last night. Killing people, selling drugs, whatever. He might be the most dangerous man in Sicily, and I still didn’t give a damn. Because Jesus Christ . . . look at him.
His focused stare remained on mine, his confidence piercing my gaze with bullets. “What are you thinking?”
That you’re fucking dangerous, and I don’t care. “That you’re so fucking hot,” I said with a sigh because it was painful to look at him. It was the truth—at least half of the truth.
A hint of a smile moved into the corners of his mouth. He grabbed his wineglass and took a drink.
“And you’re a great tour guide.” I grabbed the frosted glass of the pina colada and took a drink out of the reusable metal straw before I returned it to the coaster. “What was supposed to be the worst week of my life has turned into the best. I’d just hit rock bottom when we crossed paths.”
He gave me his complete focus like he always did when I spoke. Like every word out of my mouth mattered. Like he found me utterly fascinating.
“I completely lost myself . . . but I found her again.” Found the woman who didn’t tolerate bullshit.
Who wouldn’t put up with a man who didn’t give me what I deserved—even if I still loved him.
“It just makes it easier to get my stuff and move on with my life.” To carry everything I’d learned into the next relationship .
. . if and when I was ready to be in one again.
I imagined he broke a lot of hearts as he passed through life.
I could easily be the type of woman who expected and hoped this would be something more, and he’d have the painful task of explaining that the situationship had a deadline.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me to imagine him replacing me with his next fling in just a couple days or a week—or if he already had a line of regulars back at home who were happy to settle for casual.
But I accepted it. “So, thanks for spending the week with me.”
He said nothing, elbows propped on the armrests, his hands clasped together with his fingers stitched.