Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Tre
The hottest man I’ve ever met has his hand resting precariously low on my hip as we ride the elevator up to my suite.
He’s standing slightly behind me, and it feels possessive and protective as fuck.
Like he could twist, pushing me into the corner to shield me or back me against the side wall to fuck me.
Definitely the booze.
I’m not completely drunk, but neither am I completely sober.
I’m a fuck ton closer to drunk than sober. I must be to have basically invited him back to my room. I’ve been in other weddings, and I’ve never been the drunk bridesmaid looking to hook up with the groomsmen.
He holds the door open for me as I pass through. My heel gets caught in the gap between the elevator car and the floor. It makes me pitch forward. When I take a step to catch myself, I wind up stepping on my dress. I lurch off balance until Joaquin pulls me against him and away from the elevator.
I look like a fucking sloppy drunk.
Cute. Real cute.
“Are you all right?”
“I misjudged the step and nearly got my heel stuck.”
“The car shifted.”
Thank God. I thought it was my head making it seem like the floor moved.
“Thank you for catching me.”
“I’d never let you fall.”
There’s something in the soft way he says that that makes me think he truly means it. Like we might be around each other in the future. His hushed tone also makes him seem shy—like he’s nervous I’d reject his pledge.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I strain on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His surprise is obvious, but he doesn’t appear displeased. A moment later, his grip on my hip tightens.
“Those shoes must be even more uncomfortable now.”
I nod as my mouth goes dry. I lead him down the hallway as I fish out my key from my pocket.
Bless Vittoria for her practicality. I hate having to carry a purse at these sorts of events.
When we reach my suite, I tap the card against the sensor, and Joaquin presses down on the handle.
He holds the door open enough for me to step through, but then he eases past me as he lets the door shut.
I recognize what he’s doing. He won’t leave me alone in the hallway, but he also doesn’t want me to enter farther into the room without him sweeping it.
It must be force of habit because he can’t think there’s a reason for anyone to lurk in here.
He’s unobtrusive as he looks around, and I’m glad I’m a naturally neat person when I travel.
I don’t like to run the risk of losing something, so I keep my belongings tidy.
When I’m certain he’s satisfied, I walk to the closet and open it. I purposely bend forward with my ass in the air as I reach for the ballet flats. I hope he likes what he sees. I hope it gives him some ideas.
“Oh!”
I’m unprepared for him to slide his arms around my waist as I straighten. I didn’t hear him step behind me as I reached forward. The man’s a fucking jaguar. Dark, sleek, light on his feet, and an apex predator.
I like being his prey.
He draws me against his front, and I feel how much he enjoyed the view. He slips the shoes from my hands and lets them drop to the floor. He nuzzles my neck, and I tilt my head. His lips trail from the crook of my neck up to behind my ear.
“Things will be winding down by the time we return to the ballroom. Then I’d just have to escort you right back up here.”
“Have to?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He nips at my earlobe before kissing along my jaw. I turn my head toward him, but the angle’s awkward. He guides me to face him. He cups my jaw and sweeps his thumb over my cheek.
“You’re a gorgeous woman, Tre. You tempt me like none other, but we’ve both had a lot to drink tonight. Are you sure?”
“Extremely.”
He leans forward, and our lips brush together.
Mine tingle, and it’s not the remnants of the aguardiente.
It’s a sexual sizzle. A “I need more” sizzle.
His hand slips from my jaw to cradle my nape.
His other arm lifts me off my feet as we continue to kiss.
My feet dangle against his shins as I wrap my arms around his neck and drink him in.
The longer we kiss, the more intense it gets.
He steps back from the closet before carrying me to the bed.
He puts me down by the edge and pulls away.
He’s giving me another chance to end this, but that’s the last thing I want.
I slide my hands under his tux jacket’s lapels and push it off his shoulders.
He catches it as it slips down his arms, then tosses it behind me onto the foot of the bed. I yank at his bow tie as he does that.
I’m just as impatient as he is when I tug his shirt free and begin working the buttons from the bottom up. He helps by unfastening the collar and working his way down until we meet in the middle.
His chest…
His abs…
It’s like a master sculptor took a chisel and carved out each curve and dip.
Then a master painter covered him in tattoos.
It’s not like there isn’t an inch of skin between them, but there are several.
I trace my fingers over a line with arrows at the top and bottom.
It runs along the dip between his left and right abs. There are angel wings on each side.
Up to heaven—a saint.
Down to hell—a sinner.
Angel or devil?
Both?
There’s a triangle over his heart with a pair of eyes. I’ve never seen that before—only ever the single eye.
“Mamá and Papá watching over my brothers and me.”
I shift my focus up to his face before looking back at the tattoo. I want to touch it, but it seems sacrilegious to do that.
“That’s a beautiful sentiment. I love that.”
There’s a hawk and a dove flying toward three clouds. I’m tempted to brush my fingertips over that too, wanting to show reverence since I suspect it represents his parents and his brothers too. But I don’t want to cover it at all either.
“Mamá’s the hawk.” He chuckles as he draws my hand up to run my fingers over it.
“She watches you like one. I saw that look as we walked by.”
I watch him withdraw, and I don’t know why. I didn’t mean to insult his mother or him, but he shifts his weight and looks over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry if she embarrassed you.”
His voice is softer like it was when he promised to never let me fall. I study him, and I realize it’s not disinterest now.
He’s shy!
I wouldn’t have guessed that from the bravado he presents to the rest of the world, but I get why he does. In our world, a lack of machismo means a lack of life—as in life’s short if anyone thinks you’re weak. He’d be a target and so would his family if anyone believed he’s a pushover or timid.
But that forceful presence isn’t natural for him.
Interesting.
“Do you have any tattoos?”
“I found yours by looking. I suppose you’ll have to do the same.”
I reach back to unzip my gown, but he gently draws my hands away before he eases my dress open.
It’s strapless, so it slips down my body and pools around my feet.
I have a sapphire front-fasten bustier and thong on but no garters because I avoid panty hose and thigh highs when it isn’t the middle of a frozen Boston winter.
It’s Joaquin’s turn to brush his fingertips over my chest. He runs them over the swells of my breasts that are practically popping out of the top of my lingerie.
I’ve been dying to adjust it for hours, but now he’s undoing each hook.
He spreads it wide before it lands on the bed with his suit coat, bow tie, and shirt.
I step out of my gown, and he picks it up for me.
He’s more careful as he drapes it over the bed.
I’m unprepared for his arm to go around my waist again and lift me onto the bed to sit.
He sinks to one knee and unfastens my high-heeled sandals.
He runs his thumbnail along my instep, and my foot twitches.
He grins and does it to the other foot. He unties his dress shoe before rising to do the other.
He’s not going to fuck me with his socks on, is he?
I reach for his belt as he toes his shoes off. I’m unfastening his pants as he shifts from one foot to the other to take off his socks.
Phew.
His hands grasp my hips and pull me to the edge as he lowers himself to his knee again.
He nudges my legs apart, his shoulders making me spread them more.
He tugs again until my ass is practically hanging off the bed.
He kisses along the inside of my left thigh before grazing his teeth over the same path.
Each movement causes a flutter in my belly.
I’m eager to see whether he’s going to continue along this course or change paths.
I ache for him to touch me in the one place I’ve craved his attention all night.
My tits ache for his touch too. I close my eyes for a moment, picturing him sucking my nipples and the sensations that would shoot from them to my cunt.
He nips at the bottom of my thigh where it’s not muscle or bone.
He playfully bites the place I dislike. It’s not like I think about my less-than-toned thighs all that often now that I’m not a teenager, but if he didn’t seem to enjoy what he found, I wouldn’t be thrilled at the attention he’s paying that spot.
He does the same thing to the other leg before kissing the top of my pussy that’s still covered by the satiny thong.
He cups my breasts before licking each nipple. He whirls his tongue over each until they’re both tight little darts. He sucks on the right one as he pinches the left.
“If it hurts, and you don’t like it, tell me to stop.”
“More.”
He obliges until it’s almost more than I can take, but I breathe through it. I sense he’s probably kinky as fuck. Vittoria and Serafina have both hinted their husbands are into kinky sex just like both of them. Matches made in sexual heaven.
It wouldn’t surprise me if the men in all Four Families are all literally kinky fuckers. Apparently, that’s the unofficial name for the Diazes, the Mancinellis, the O’Rourkes, and the Kutsenkos along with their Andreyev cousins.
I’m kink-curious.