Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Pfeiffer
Nine nights to go.
I’m feverish when I enter the club. Fiero’s text messages have been swirling around me like ice cold fingers caressing a burning ember. I felt every word inside my ribcage and between my legs.
Every surface I pass reminds me this is not a good place. The carpets are tainted with blood; the walls have witnessed death, destruction and debauchery; every smile hides an ulterior motive or a dark desire. And its owner is the darkest of them all.
Fiero Bellucci is not a good man. I know I’m treading in perilous waters allowing him to get so close, but I can’t help myself.
I’m drawn to him irrationally. Sparks fly across my skin when we touch, fire burns between us when we kiss, and entire worlds explode in my brain when he’s inside me. And his words…
God…
I don’t stand a chance.
It’s so intoxicating, I think I’ve already decided: I don’t want good.
I want more of him.
More, more, more.
“Are you okay?” Hallie asks with a concerned dip in her brow.
“Yeah, why?” I reply, breathily. Everything I’ve said this evening has been said breathily.
“You look hot. Like, ‘you might have a temperature’ hot.”
I think ‘permanently flushed with thoughts of sexual debauchery’ is a more apt description but I don’t correct her.
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
As Hallie walks away with an arched brow, Vivienne takes her place.
“Pfeiffer,” she clips. “You’re needed in the basement”
“The what?” I stare at her blankly.
“The basement,” she repeats with an impatient sigh.
“Um… I’ve never been down there.”
She stops an eye roll half a second too late. “No one has. Only the Belluccis, and… special guests.”
That sounds ominous. “So, why me?”
She clicks her tongue, evidencing her distinct unhappiness about this instruction. “Il Diavolo’s request.”
My stomach turns to liquid. It’s been close to melting point all evening but all it’s taken is that one mention of his name and I’m ready to strip off my clothes just to cool down.
“Okay. How do I get down there?”
“There are some stairs at the back. Dante is on the door—he’ll let you pass.”
“And… and what do I do when I’m down there?”
“Whatever Il Diavolo asks of you.”
My heart jumps up my throat and she gives a slow blink while peering down her nose. “He’ll probably just ask you to fetch drinks and food.”
Right. Nothing too important, thank God.
I make my way to the back of the club.
Dante smiles when he sees me, which soothes my nervous system a little. But it spikes again as I descend the stairs to the basement.
It’s cold down here and blisteringly quiet. I follow the glow of light to another doorway. A second security guard is standing outside but he pushes open the door when I approach.
Holding my breath, I look inside.
There’s a round poker table in the center with a large lamp hanging down from the ceiling. Eight people are seated around it in varying states of tension.
A heat on my collarbone makes me glance up. Fiero is pacing slowly around the table, thumbing his rough stubble and dragging his gaze over me like he’s deciding which part to consume first.
The players don’t look up. Their focus is singularly on the cards in their hands and the people seated around them.
I recognize Cassio Bellucci, also standing, but he too is undistracted by my entrance.
Fiero lifts a hand and beckons me to him. After his texted threat to fuck me in a public place earlier, I’m nervous about what he might do. Though I doubt he’s going to bend me over in this room, when there seems to be a lot of something at stake here.
I arrive at his shoulder and he leans into my ear.
“Fetch some water for the table please and a case of cigars,” he whispers low. “José has them behind the bar.”
I pull back, nod, and walk quietly from the room, returning a few minutes later with fresh water and a sizable wooden box.
Fiero beckons me over once more and brushes his lips over the shell of my ear.
“Now, go back upstairs, but take the trade exit. Meet me outside in ten minutes.”
My flesh crackles with electricity.
Again, I nod and walk out of the room.
I feel Cassio’s gaze lift as I leave—curious and detached but with an unmissable edge of tension. I put it down to the seriousness of the game playing out in the room. Hardly anyone seemed to be breathing, it was so strained.
The night air is cool against my sizzling skin and I stand for a moment soaking it in. My hands are shaking with trepidation. I want to see Fiero, I do, but I’m afraid of what he’s going to ask of me.
I’m still extremely inexperienced and out of my depth. I mean, I’m simply an ER nurse who only just lost her virginity; he’s an actual mafia boss who probably has a virtual Rolodex full of fuck buddies.
Nerves worm through my limbs until I feel light-headed.
Then I sense him behind me. Hot muscle, ravenous eyes, grinding jaw. I should be terrified, but instead I’m restless.
I dare not look around so I remain still, pinning my gaze on the gray, derelict building opposite.
The heat on my back intensifies until I feel his chest pressed up against it, his breaths drifting over my neck.
“Why the fuck can’t I put you down, Pfeiffer?” he breathes, hotly.
I don’t know how to answer that, but there’s barely time for a breath before he continues.
“You know how hard you make me just wandering the fuck around? If I have to look at those thighs for longer than a minute, I need to either fuck you or kill someone.”
Oh God. Why does that make my panties dampen so hard?
I tip my head slightly, needing his scorching breath on my neck. “Please don’t kill anyone. Not on my account.”
His fingers pinch at the fabric of my dress and pull it up and over my hips, soothing my heated thighs with the cool breeze.
“Can I touch you through material?” he asks. I notice his voice is strained, like he’s desperate for me to answer in the affirmative.
I turn my head slightly toward his and nod once.
“Thank fuck,” he grunts.
When he lightly touches me through my panties, my eyelids drift shut.
“Eccoti. Ti ho trovata,” he murmurs, applying pressure to my already throbbing clit.
I don’t know what he’s saying but I don’t care. Not when his fingers are stroking me unhurried through the lace.
Touching myself in front of him was hot, but having him touch me down there is so much hotter. It’s obvious he has a lot of experience giving women pleasure but I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to think about the feel of his fingertips drawing circles through my panties.
He slides two fingers south, until they reach my pussy, then he pushes them into me as far as the fabric will allow. Then he fucks me shallowly with his clothed fingers. I squirm against them, needing them deeper.
“I’m not going to put my hands on you until you ask me to,” he rasps in a mild threat.
My heart pounds. I’m not ready for that yet. I give my head a short shake.
“It’s okay, cucciola.” He slides his fingers back up to my clit and my underwear grows heavy with moisture.
He rubs me gently and persistently, all the while lowering his lips to my neck. I tilt my head further, giving him more skin to caress with those wicked lips.
I feel each kiss and lick right between my legs.
The sensations are so overwhelming I have to lean back against him, letting him take my weight. He doesn’t seem to mind, moaning into my skin as I let him envelope me completely.
I whimper as the pressure builds.
“That’s it, baby. I want you to soak my fingers when you come.”
There it is again. Baby.
My pussy swells at the word and the orgasm slams into me, just as he bites down on my neck and sucks.
The sharp pain and the delicious high intertwine magically, sending me spinning before I wilt against him.
“Oh fuck, yes,” he whispers, smiling, into my bitten skin. “You’re soaking, cucciola.”
When he’s sure I can stand without aid, he steps back. “Take them off.”
I turn my head lazily. “What?”
“Take off your panties.”
Slowly, I push them down my legs and step out of them. He holds a hand in front of me and I place the damp material in his palm. In the corner of my eye, he lifts them to his face and breathes in deeply, before shoving them into his pocket.
Oh God, that alone nearly makes me come.
He places his palms on my hips and I feel the heat of them burn through the fabric. Then he walks me forward until I’m a couple of feet within the derelict building.
“Bend over,” he says firmly. “Put your hands on the wall.”
My fingers shake as I press them into the cold concrete.
“You are fucking exquisite,” he murmurs behind me. “I love that only one dick has been inside you, and that’s mine.”
The sound of his zipper fills the dull space and the velvety head of his cock strokes against my pussy. Instinctively, I cant my ass backward.
“You’re hungry, baby,” he slurs. “Hungry for my cock.”
I groan impatiently.
“Spread your legs for me, cucciola.”
I push my feet further apart, opening myself to him. Two hands come down on my waist, holding me still, and he dips inside me a couple inches.
I start to pant from anticipation. I’m still a little sore, and he is well-endowed, but I just want him in all the way. He senses this from my sharp intake of breath and slides all the way to my hilt with ease.
“Oh G-god,” I splutter.
“We’ve talked about this,” he says, mildly irritated.
“I mean… Fiero,” I gasp.
“That’s better. Now, tell me to fuck you, cucciola.”
My eyes roll back. “Fuck me, Fiero,” I rush out.
Don’t waste another second, I want to say. Fuck me, change me, ruin me. This feels so good I’ll give him anything in this moment.
He withdraws agonizingly slow and I grip my walls around him for punishment. His response is to chuckle darkly then piston into me so hard I nearly headbutt the wall.
“Cazzo,” he murmurs. “Sei il paradiso sulla terra.” Like heaven on earth.
He thrusts into me harder and harder, until it’s taking everything I have just to remain upright. It feels like he’s unleashing his demons onto me, and the low growls behind me only echo that suspicion.
“Fuck, cucciola,” he snarls. “You were never supposed to feel this fucking good.”
I’m way too gone to question what he means by that, my hands braced on the wall as he fucks me from behind.
His palms slide down to my hips, gripping them as he pistons into me, long, thick and terrifyingly hard.
A gnarly sound ejects from his throat and I come around his cock. He feels the contractions and punches so deep I feel the ache in my lower stomach. He digs hard, his hips jerking as he unloads into me.
His forehead drops to my spine and we both still, catching our breath.
“Are you on birth control?” he rasps.
“I am now,” I say, breathless. “But we should still… be careful.”
I feel him nod.
“I used to wear condoms all the time. I don’t know why, but with you, I can’t.” Over the fabric of my dress, his fingers squeeze my hips sweetly. “The idea of it just… it doesn’t feel right. Not with you.”
I shiver around him and he presses a hot kiss between my shoulder blades.
“As long as you’re clean,” I whisper, “then I don’t want you to either.”
He kisses me again through the fabric. “I’m clean, cucciola. And I’ll stay that way.”
My lids ping open. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says, in a deep husky timbre, “I won’t be fucking anyone else. Only you.”
My knees feel like they’re about to buckle. Thankfully, he keeps hold of me when he pulls out, smoothing my dress back down over my hips, then he turns me around.
I open my mouth to speak but his lips come down, hot and needy, taking away my words, my thoughts and my consciousness.
Then he pulls back, rakes his dark eyes over me one more time, then heads back inside.
I stay outside a while longer trying to cool down. But ten minutes pass and I admit defeat. I have a fever—there's no denying it. And apparently, there is no cure.