17. Athena
SEVENTEEN
ATHENA
I had no idea how much time had passed. One minute it was just the two of us, and the next, men dressed all in black waltzed in through my window, clearing my room of any evidence—bodies, blood, bullets—of what had transpired. I sat against my headboard, watching in awe as they worked in total silence. Literally—not a sound came from them. They were obviously professionals, but I couldn’t help cringing thinking about how many crime scenes they’d had to work in order to become so skilled.
Leaving his men to do their work, Manuel snuck me into the bathroom and cleaned out my wound, then helped me out of my blood-soaked pajamas. He worked carefully and with an intensity I couldn’t describe.
Once back in the room, he tucked me into my bed and sat by my side.
“Leave the curtain partly open,” I mumbled.
He frowned but didn’t question it, opening them to give me an unobstructed view of my freedom. Did it make sense? No. But it was what I needed to feel safe.
“ Bene ?” he asked. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you,” I rasped, pressing a hand to my chest. I had to release some of this pressure or I’d suffocate.
“Breathe, amorina ,” he instructed. “Nobody will hurt you.” He took my hand off my chest and put it over his heart. I focused on his heartbeats and followed with my own. “That’s right. Breathe in. Breathe out.”
Eventually, my terror eased and oxygen came easier.
“Are you okay?” I startled at Manuel’s voice and found him studying me with a frown.
“Am I okay?” A strangled laugh, bordering on hysterical, escaped me. “Am I okay ?” He shifted me so I was sitting on his lap. “No, I’m not okay. What the fuck was that?”
“The Triads.”
A tremor rolled through me. It had taken eleven years to convince myself what had happened was a one-off. It took all of thirty minutes for that bubble to burst.
“Are you okay?” I croaked, my eyes roaming over him.
“Yes,” he gritted out. “But never—” He cupped my cheeks firmly, his eyes boring into mine. “Fucking never put yourself in harm’s way for me.”
It was my turn to study him, even as fatigue threatened to claim me.
“I didn’t,” I told him calmly as I lifted my arm. “See? Just a graze. Yours would have been a bullet in the heart.”
He snarled. “Don’t placate me. If something like this ever happens again, you hide immediately and let me handle the fuckers.”
I clutched his arm, trying not to think about how good it felt to touch him, his warmth surrounding me after weeks of trying to hold on to the memory of him.
“Okay,” I snapped, finding my own courage. “Then you cannot put yourself in harm’s way for me.”
“No,” he replied hoarsely. “It’s for me to protect you, not the other way around.” I glared at him and the corner of his mouth hitched as if he was entertained. “You can’t stay here, amorina .”
My lips twisted.
“I’m not leaving,” I said stubbornly, although deep down I knew it was reckless. “And you can’t stay here because in another few hours the girls will wake up and I don’t want to explain”—I moved my hand from him to me and back to him—“this.”
His lips twisted. “I don’t give a shit what your girlfriends think. You’ll be staying with me from now on.”
The absolute nerve.
“No.”
“Yes. I’m not leaving you vulnerable and alone.”
I looked up to the ceiling and prayed for patience. God, save me from stubborn, hot Italian men . I needed him to be gone like yesterday. I worried I’d cave. Being close to him, smelling him… It was a recipe for disaster.
“I swear to God, Manuel, you better go or I’ll… I’ll…” I must have been more tired than I thought because my mind refused to conjure a threat.
He smiled and tucked me inside the blankets and arranged my pillows. Then he kicked off his expensive Italian shoes and discarded his suit jacket before finally lying down on top of the blanket, his hands folded behind his head.
“You can do whatever you want to me. Tomorrow. Now go to sleep.”
“ Amorina .”
I tossed and turned on my bed, my head feeling heavy. I gasped, grinding against something, and a moan vibrated through the air. My eyes snapped open and I found myself on my back, slightly disoriented. I blinked several times, finally understanding that Manuel’s head was buried between my thighs.
“What—” My hoarse voice had him lifting his head, grinning as his face glistened. A shiver rolled down my spine as air clashed against my bare pussy. My T-shirt was still on but my panties were gone.
“ Buon giorno ,” he murmured, and lowered his head between my thighs again, his eyes locked on me. Goose bumps scattered over my skin at the look in his gaze, hungry and feral. “I found my favorite way to wake you up.”
His Italian accent was so thick it took several moments for the words to register. I was filled with a strange energy that traced its fingers along my nerve endings, waking my body in a way only he had ever done.
His fingers traced a path to my clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves swollen with need, then he licked me all the way to my forbidden hole. “Oh… Oh… God.”
He took me by the hips in a ruthless grip and lifted my ass as he plunged his tongue inside my pussy. My lips opened, but before a hoarse scream could pierce the silence, his hand covered my mouth and muffled my cries of pleasure.
I threaded my hands through his hair, arching my back, and he groaned against my core.
“Unless you’re willing to sign their death warrant, another human is not allowed to hear your screams of pleasure,” Manuel said, and I shuddered at my recklessness.
My heart thundered as his large hand spread my thighs wider. My breaths spilled from my lips in frantic bursts as he ate me like he was starving, his tongue spearing into my opening and wringing a gasp from me.
“Manuel, please…”
He took my clit between his teeth, and my hips bucked against his mouth, grinding shamelessly.
“Mine,” he growled against my skin.
His lips found my folds, teasing and gentle, then suddenly his tongue slid in hard and fast, and I covered my mouth with my palm, stifling my gasps and cries.
My orgasm barreled closer and I thrust my fingers into his hair, tugging to get him where I needed him the most. With one final flick of his tongue, he moved up and latched on
to my clit, sucking it between his lips, his fingers now thrusting in and out of me.
My muscles clamped down around his thick fingers, and I cried out as my climax hit. My pussy clenched around his fingers and my clit pulsed against each lash of Manuel’s expert tongue.
As the orgasm washed over me, I was a quivering mess, damp hair plastered on my forehead.
The world came back into focus, and I was met with Manuel’s smug expression. I rolled my eyes.
“Better watch it, papacito, or I’ll wipe that smug smile off your face.”
He chuckled, his dark eyes shining with amusement.
“That’s Spanish,” he stated matter-of-factly.
My brow furrowed.
“No, that was English,” I corrected him.
“Papacito is Spanish. If you insist on calling me daddy, use paparino .”
The gravelly tone of his voice told me he’d love that very much, and I feared I would too.
Maybe for my next bestseller , I snorted mentally.
I went to answer when a loud bang on the door interrupted me.
“Athena, are you still sleeping?”
It was Raven. Placing my hand over Manuel’s mouth, warning him to stay quiet, I answered with, “Not anymore. Do you have to bang like a maniac so early in the morning?”
“It’s almost noon.” She scoffed loudly, and my door rattled. “Why is your door locked?”
My eyes widened as I checked the clock on my nightstand. Holy shit. No wonder I felt rested.
“Maybe I wanted privacy for once,” I told her, rolling my eyes and shuffling Manuel into my walk-in closet. “I didn’t realize I slept in.”
“ Amorina , you’re not hiding me. I’m not some teenage boy you’re going to keep from your friends and family.”
Raven kept rattling the door handle. “Did the noise from the street keep you up last night?”
“Huh?” I had a hard time listening to Raven’s babbling and focusing on Manuel as I mouthed, “Please.”
His wall of muscle wasn’t budging from his spot.
“Yeah, like a fucking grand central station on our street in the middle of the night. And then I’m pretty sure someone picked our door and waltzed right through the front door.”
My eyes widened as I met Manuel’s smirk.
“Why didn’t you come through the window?” I whispered.
He simply shrugged. “I’m too old to be climbing windows, playing Romeo.”
I slapped a hand to my forehead. “Let me deal with my friends, you can make your own way out of here. And that means through the window —don’t even think about going back the way you came.”