Chapter 14
MELANI
I don’t know how long I stand here, staring out the window.
I must have spaced out, because when awareness returns, the sun has long since set. My ankles throb from standing in one position for so long, but it’s nothing compared to the hollow ache sitting in my chest.
Where did my family take such a catastrophic turn?
The question circles endlessly through my mind.
We weren’t exactly happy back in Sicily, but things were okay. I had college to look forward to, making new friends, and forgetting about my cheating ex, Gennaro. Mamma was excited about opening a small pastry stall, and Luciano was about to start his senior year. We had plans. A future.
So why did Papa have to steal from Emilio Sciarra? Everyone in Pietrarossa knows you don’t steal from a Sciarra. Not if you want to live. How could he be so stupid? And then to run away like a coward, leaving us behind to take the brunt of his misdeed?
Sciarra didn’t care if we knew about Papa’s decision or not.
He only cared about image. And if you want to deter people from stealing from you again, you don’t just kill the thief—you wipe out his entire family.
If Zìu Alfio hadn’t come to warn us that night, we’d be dead.
My mother’s big brother is the only reason we made it out of the country alive.
But what good did that do? Mamma is a broken shell of herself, selling her body to survive. Luciano is missing, maybe even dead. And I’m here, a captive practically burning alive with wildly inappropriate lust for my captor. What a mess.
The low electronic beep of someone unlocking the door drags me from my dark thoughts. I turn towards the sound, expecting the guard who brought lunch to come in with dinner. But it’s Vanya.
My pulse goes feral the moment our eyes clash. His blue eyes lock on me as he approaches, hot and predatory—a look that makes my stomach flip and my toes curl with equal parts anticipation and alarm.
It takes all my willpower not to shuffle back as he invades my space. Not that there’s anywhere to go. There’s just the window behind me.
“Ivan.” I lift my chin. “You can’t just—”
His palms close over my cheeks. They’re so warm. The calloused ends send lightning bolts lancing through my nerves.
“Still want to seduce me, Milani?” His voice is as dark as sin, raising goosebumps across my skin.
My heart lodges in my throat. “W–what?”
His eyes lower to my lips. “You were so eager for my kiss this morning. Perhaps I should withhold it from you a little longer. Make you so desperate for it you’d do anything I say just for a taste of me.”
Heat rushes to my face—anger at his crude words tangling with the throbbing need building low in my belly. “You arrogant piece of sh—”
But he doesn’t let me finish. His mouth slams into mine, rough and unyielding. The shock steals my breath, and any protest dies on my tongue as his kiss consumes it. It’s unexpected and oh so welcome—
He tastes like danger, like sin, with a hint of mint underneath. Basically, everything I should resist and can’t.
A heartbeat later, my back hits the window, the cold glass biting into my spine as he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
His hands lock around my ass, holding me suspended.
Then he rolls his hips forward, pressing into me.
The thick imprint of his hardness grinds against my pussy through the layers of clothing between us, and I gasp into his mouth, my core clenching so hard I see stars. Shit.
His hands become greedy, roaming over my body like he can’t decide where to touch first. Then they slide up my torso, palming my breasts through my shirt.
He squeezes and kneads the sensitive flesh, his thumbs catching my nipples and tugging until helpless moans vibrate against his tongue.
Each tug makes me arch harder into him, shameless in the way I chase the pleasure he’s offering.
“Already falling apart for me,” he growls into my mouth. His teeth catch my lower lip, pulling hard enough to wrench a cry from me. “Pathetic, how easy it is to make you want it.”
The degrading words should snap me out of this lustful haze.
I should be indignant. How dare he talk to me like that?
But instead, they wind me tighter, making the heat between my legs unbearable.
My thighs clamp around his waist, my fingers digging into his shoulders, nails scraping through the fabric of his shirt.
I’m breathing too fast—dizzy with need, drunk on his taste—when he finally tears his mouth from mine. His eyes burn into me, but before I can react, he’s moving, carrying me away from the window.
He drops into the armchair, bringing me down onto his lap so I straddle him, my chest heaving, my lips swollen and tender from his kiss. He rakes over me like he’s about to devour me whole. And I can't wait.
One hand yanks my shirt up, rough and impatient, exposing my skin to the cool air and his heated stare.
His palm covers my breast, squeezing until I gasp, his thumb circling my nipple until it pebbles under his touch.
The other hand is already pushing under the hem of my skort, slipping between my thighs.
I’m naked underneath, my panties still drying in the bathroom. So when his fingers find me, I choke on a breath. God, when did I get this wet?
He strokes me like he knows exactly what I need, parting my folds, circling my entrance, working me until I’m grinding against his hand with complete abandon. Right now, he could ask me for the moon, and I’d agree to fetch it if it meant he’d make me come.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he grunts against my ear, his voice gravel-rough and smug with masculine satisfaction. “All this because I kissed you. Touched you. Imagine what you’ll do when I finally give you my cock, sladkaya moya.”
A whimper breaks free as my hips rock against his fingers, chasing every precise stroke along my drenched folds. His thumb teases over my clit, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder, until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.
“Look at you.” He drags his mouth down my throat, biting, sucking, pulling gasps and his name from my lips.
Vanya. “Grinding like a needy little slut. You’ll come for me just like this, won’t you?
Falling apart without me fucking you. Not with my cock or even my fingers.
Just me playing your body like a fiddle. ”
The filth of his words sinks deep, tightening everything inside me, leaving me hot, slick, trembling with the overwhelming need to let go.
Clutching at his shoulders, my forehead presses to his as I give myself over to the rhythm he’s set.
Then he slides one long finger into me. My head falls back helplessly, my mouth gaping open.
My body’s burning, every single nerve ending on fire.
The desperate sounds spilling out of me won’t stop.
His name becomes one continuous chant in my head. Vanya Vanya Vanya Vanya Vanya.
He groans. “It drives me crazy when you moan my name like that.”
Wait—I was saying it out loud? Oh n—
Before the thought fully forms, his fingers flick my clit mercilessly. At the same time, his other hand tugs at my nipple. The sudden spike of pain mixed with pleasure hurtles me straight over the edge. And then I shatter.
Pleasure tears through me, violent and uncontrollable. A scream rips from my throat as I convulse against him. My hips jerk through the aftershocks, riding the fading waves until my strength gives out and I collapse forward into his chest, boneless and shaking.
I slump against him, breathing ragged, my skin damp with sweat. Every part of me hums with overstimulation, still trembling from how thoroughly he broke me apart.
And yet he’s still hard beneath me—thick and straining against the wet heat between my thighs. He hasn’t come, not even close, and the awareness of it sends another shiver down my spine.
Part of me wants to reach for him, to give him the same pleasure he just gave me. But I’m too wrung out.
That’s when his hand fists in my hair. He uses the grip to yank my head back so I’m forced to meet his eyes, and the movement makes more wetness leak out of me.
His eyes are cold now, chips of ice despite the heat still burning underneath. “What the hell are you doing here, Milani?”