42. Antonio
42
ANTONIO
W hen we reach Lucia’s building, my guards separate into pairs. Goran and Mateo stay at the front of the building while Omar and Stefano announce their intention to stand guard outside Lucia’s front door.
“Take the stairs,” I order, stepping into the elevator before they can protest.
We fall on each other as soon as the doors close. I kiss Lucia’s neck, shoulders, and soft lips as the ancient elevator creaks all the way up to her apartment. I only let her go long enough for her to open the front door, then we tumble inside, and I hurry her into her bedroom.
“The dress is nice. Lose it.”
“Yes, Sir,” she says with a wink. She loosens the tie at her waist, and her dress falls open. I suck in a breath. She’s wearing a black lace bra and matching panties, and she looks irresistible.
“What do you think?” she asks, twirling around. “I bought them this weekend.”
“They’re nice. Take them off.”
“I’m sensing a theme here, Antonio,” she says teasingly. “Sounds like you want me to get naked.”
She does a slow striptease that drives me mad. I pull her to me and kiss her deeply, my hands roaming possessively over her body. She moans into my mouth, and my cock goes rock hard. I nudge her to the bed and push her onto the mattress, then undress quickly and join her.
I’m so turned on that my vision blurs. I pull her closer to kiss her again, then move down her body. I lick her nipples, then suck them into my mouth, alternating from one side to the other. She arches her back and moans with pleasure, and I do it again and again until I think I’m about to explode.
Before that happens, I move lower. I kiss her stomach and hips and then slide my fingers between her legs.
She’s already wet. Soaked.
“Antonio,” she gasps. “Stop teasing me. Fuck me already.”
“Not so fast, tesoro. What’s the hurry? We have all night.” It’s the first time we’ve had this. The first time it’s not a hurried fuck with one of us leaving when we’re done. Tonight, I get to sleep in Lucia’s bed and wake up next to her in the morning, and fuck me, the feeling of that hits me in my chest. This is what a relationship gives—more time with Lucia, falling asleep with her curled up next to me, night after night, waking up with her at my side—and I’ve wanted it from the moment she walked back into my life. And now that I have it, I won’t give it up.
I circle her clit with my tongue, and her hips jerk into my face. I laugh at her impatience, but she’s not the only one feeling it—my pulse pounds and my heart races in my chest. “You want my mouth on you, Lucia?” I growl. “Then take what you want.”
I roll onto my back and lift her over me. “Ride my face, little thief.”
“Oh God, yes.” Lucia laughs breathlessly as she shimmies up my body. Grabbing the headboard, she straddles me, her pussy over my face.
Fuck, yes. She’s a feast laid out in front of me, and I can’t wait to dive in.
I grab her hips and pull her down onto my mouth, pressing my tongue against her clit and stroking the tender nub. She throws her head back with a grown, her dark hair cascading down her back. “Antonio,” she gasps. “That feels so good.” She pulls away for an instant. “Can you breathe down there?”
I laugh, pull her back down, and press my tongue against her clit again. I could stay here for hours. Days. I could happily live here until the end of time, feasting on her, devouring her, hearing her gasp with pleasure and call out my name.
“I wouldn’t worry about me, tesoro. This would be the most pleasurable way to die.”
I focus my attention on her pussy, flicking her clit with my tongue and sucking it between my teeth. She grinds down on me, her juices dripping down my chin, and squirms on my face, trembling as I squeeze her breasts, pinch her nipples, and worship her with my mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” she moans. “I can’t hold on.” Her thighs quiver, locking my head in a vice, and her juices gush into my mouth as she comes. I hold my tongue flat against her and savor every last quiver.
She collapses against me, her chest heaving. “Once again, wow.” She looks well fucked, her eyes heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed. Well-loved. She snuggles into me and laces her fingers in mine. “Give me a minute, and I’ll return the favor.”
“Cara mia,” I say in exasperation, “You have this wrong. I’m not doing you a favor when I go down on you. I’m doing it for my pleasure.”
She laughs. “Let me rephrase, Antonio. I would really like to suck your cock.”
Well, if she puts it that way, who am I to stop her? I lean against the headboard, and she nestles between my legs. She closes her lips around me, taking my cock deep down her throat. Her mouth is hot and wet, her cheeks hollow as she sucks, her tongue swirling around my shaft. Pleasure gathers in an electric storm at the base of my spine.
Right before I come down her throat, I wrench myself free. “Hands and knees,” I growl. I want to be in her when I come. “Now. This is going to be hard and fast, Lucia.” Without waiting another moment, I sheath myself and slam into her from behind, my fingers digging into her hips.
We’ve made love before, but it’s different this time. The chemistry burns just as strong, and the sex is as raw and passionate as ever, but it still feels different because this time, I’m in love with Lucia. This time, we’ll fall asleep next to each other, and when I wake up tomorrow morning, she’ll be here in bed with me.
And somehow, that makes everything that much better.
White-hot pleasure builds inside me as I thrust into Lucia. I’m close. I flip her onto her back just in time to look into her brilliant green eyes, and then I fall apart, coming with an intensity that shakes me to my core.
I eventually untangle myself from her to dispose of the condom, weaving a little, doing my best to avoid the masses of flowers everywhere. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Yes, please.” She sits up in bed, and the sheet falls to her waist, revealing her round, perfect breasts and tight, pert nipples. She sees me staring, and her cheeks turn pink.
“You’re staring at me.”
“I can’t help myself. What would you like?”
“Water. I can get up to get it.”
“Stay in bed. Sparkling again?”
“Yes, please.”
I walk into her kitchen. I half expect her refrigerator to be empty the way it was on Friday, but I am pleasantly surprised when I open it. It’s filled with food. Something eases inside me at the sight of fresh vegetables, jars of pesto, and a half-eaten loaf of bread on the counter. Less than a week ago, Lucia had no furniture. She seemed happy to live out of a suitcase, and she felt ready to leave Venice at a moment’s notice.
But the food. . .
The food gives me hope.
* * *
I wake up before Lucia the next morning. I tiptoe out of bed, take a quick shower, and head to her kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. Silvio and Ignazio have relieved Omar and Stefano. I take them cups of coffee, and they thank me gratefully.
“I’m not planning on going anywhere for a few hours,” I tell them. “If you want to go grab breakfast, that’s okay with me.”
“Thank you, Padrino,” Silvio responds. “But we’re good.”
Translation: Leo will kill them if he finds out I was left unprotected.
Going back inside, I can hear Lucia moving around. A few minutes later, she emerges from her shower wearing a robe, her hair damp.
“Hey there.” She smiles at me. “Have you been up long?”
She looks soft and dewy and oh-so kissable. “Just long enough to make some coffee. I took some out to my guards. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You did? That’s very nice of you.”
“Try not to sound so surprised, Lucia. You could hurt my feelings.”
She giggles, then stands on her tiptoes to kiss me on the lips. “You’re full of surprises. Is there any coffee left?”
“Of course. Are you hungry? I can make you an omelet.”
“You already made coffee, and now you’re offering to cook me breakfast? Somebody pinch me. Is this guilt I hear?”
I grab her and pull her against me, and kiss her hard. “Guilt?” I ask against her lips. “What should I be feeling guilty about?”
She squirms free with a breathless laugh. “I have to be at the museum. If we start this, I’ll never get out of here.”
She’s not wrong about that. I reluctantly let her go and start on her breakfast, pulling green peppers, mushrooms, and eggs from her refrigerator.
“You returned the Titian to the museum,” she explains. “I have to find a new painting to steal, ideally in the next two weeks.”
Right. The anniversary of her parents’ death is coming up, and she always steals this timeframe.
The thought of Lucia leaving Venice, even temporarily, makes my stomach sink. We haven’t talked about what happens once her contract is over. I want to, but my instincts caution me to hold my tongue. “Do you have a target in mind?”
“Gavin Powell. He’s a British men’s rights activist who lives in Hungary.” She watches as I pour the beaten eggs into a pan and scatter the vegetables on top. “You really do know what you’re doing.”
“Thank you.” I give her a wink. “I thought I did some of my best work last night, and I’m glad that you agree.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m talking about your expertise in the kitchen, not in the bedroom.”
“Not in the bedroom? Those are fighting words, tesoro. If you didn’t have to be at work soon, I might feel compelled to respond.”
I flip the omelet, turn off the heat, slide it onto a plate, and place it in front of her with a flourish. “I assume he’s in Hungary to avoid extradition back to the UK?”
“How did you guess?” she asks wryly, taking a bite. An expression of bliss covers her face. “This is delicious.”
“You sound surprised. I’ll try not to take it personally.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t like the idea of you going to Hungary and stealing from this guy. It’s too risky. Kirkland sent every major art collector in Europe and North America a letter warning them about you. They’ll be on high alert. If you go, you’re putting yourself in danger, and I don’t want that to happen.”
Hypocrite, my conscience accuses. You don’t want her to take risks? Then answer this: is she more in danger from some asshole YouTuber or you?
She lifts her chin up. “Are you going to tell me not to go?”
I’m not an idiot: if I answer her question the way I want to, it’s going to backfire spectacularly.
“If I told you not to, would you listen?” I shake my head. “Lucia, I. . . I want to be with you. Ever since I saw Arthur Kirkland’s security footage, there’s been no one else for me. You are the only woman I want. The only woman I need.”
Her eyes go round. “I don’t want to jeopardize our relationship,” I continue. “But I really don’t like the idea of you flying into danger alone.”
A slow smile spreads on her face. “You don’t want to be with anyone else?”
“Did you not hear a word I said?” I demand. “Was any of that unclear? I’m crazy about you. Why would I want to be with anyone else?”
“I heard you.” She leans forward and kisses me again. “Maybe I just wanted to hear it again. About Powell’s painting. . . I could use a partner on this job. You’re probably a little rusty?—”
A flash of relief shoots through me, making me weak in the knees. “I’m the best thief in Venice.”
“So you claim,” she replies teasingly. “What do you think? Want to go to Hungary with me and steal Gavin Powell’s Bassano?”
“Yes.” My reply is immediate. “I would like that very much.”