Chapter 37
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Rodrigo's office, painting warm rectangles across the worn Persian rug and the massive desk.
Outside, the lockdown remained in place, with guards patrolling the perimeter in teams since the ambush near Siena.
Rodrigo leaned back in his desk chair, the creak of leather loud in the stillness. His grazed arm throbbed dully beneath the fresh bandage, a constant reminder of the close call.
On his laptop screen, encrypted messages flickered with intel from Leo on the mercenary hire trail, fragmented chatter intercepted from Sicilian channels, and a blurred satellite image of the farmhouse outside Treviso where Luca had met his contact.
The identity of 'The Old Man' remained frustratingly elusive, a shadow lurking just beyond his digital reach.
A low mutter of frustration rumbled in Rodrigo's chest. He hated loose ends. Hated threats that slithered in the dark like fucking cowards.
He thought of Giana as he had all day, and his frown shifted into a grin. His queen. The reality of it, after years of solitary control and enforced distance, still felt surreal, like a precious, dangerous gift.
The door to his office opened without a knock, and Giana stepped inside like his longing had made her magically appear. She closed the door softly behind her, and the distinct click of the lock engaging echoed in the quiet room.
She was still dressed for shooting practice in dark, fitted tights that hugged her legs.
A simple black tank top revealed the toned lines of her arms and shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat still visible at her temples and collarbones.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
Rodrigo leaned back further in his chair, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face as he took her in.
"Well, well," he rumbled, his voice a low purr that vibrated in the quiet room. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, amore mio? You get into an argument with Fred at the range?"
Giana didn't return his smile immediately.
Her dark eyes, usually so expressive, were completely focused as she crossed the room toward his desk.
She moved with a new kind of assurance, and the nervous tension that had often crackled around her was gone, replaced by a calm purpose that was infinitely more captivating.
She stopped just in front of his massive desk, resting her hips on the polished wood. Her gaze locked with his, unwavering.
"There were no arguments. Fred's terrifyingly good and patient. Well, mostly." A ghost of a smirk touched her lips, then vanished. "I came to ask you something."
Rodrigo arched a dark eyebrow. "What's on your mind?"
Giana pushed off the desk and came to stand directly beside his chair. He could feel the residual heat radiating from her skin, smell the gunpowder and sunshine tangled with her familiar jasmine scent. Her eyes held his, dark and serious.
"I want you to teach me something," she stated, her voice dropping slightly, gaining a husky edge that sent a jolt straight to his dick.
Rodrigo's gaze sharpened, his smile turning predatory. "Oh? Did Fred and Athena neglect some crucial aspect of close-quarters combat? Knife work? Pressure points?" He purposely misread her, enjoying the flush that crept up her neck.
Giana placed one hand lightly on the armrest of his chair, her fingers brushing against the fine wool of his suit sleeve. Her other hand rested on his thigh, just above his knee, the touch feather-light but searing through the fabric.
"Not combat," she murmured, her gaze dropping pointedly, lingering for a heartbeat on the growing bulge tenting the front of his tailored trousers before lifting back to meet his eyes.
A spark of pure, feminine challenge ignited in their depths.
"I want you to teach me how to please you. Specifically… how to give a blowjob."
"What?" Rodrigo coughed in surprise. A wave of heat, primal and possessive, surged through him, tightening his gut and making his cock throb insistently against the confinement of his zipper. Dio. "Giana…" It was half warning, half plea.
"Teach me," she repeated, her voice dropping to a whisper that vibrated with intent. Her hand on his thigh slid higher, applying gentle pressure. "Show me how you like it. I want to know."
The command, softly spoken, shattered his last shred of resistance. With a low growl, Rodrigo nodded. This woman would kill him, just not in the way he always thought.
"Kneel," he rasped out.
A spark of triumph flared in Giana's eyes as she obeyed, sinking gracefully to her knees on the thick rug between his spread legs.
The position was inherently submissive, yet the expression on her face was anything but. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide and luminous, waiting.
"God, maybe you should use a gun to kill me instead," Rodrigo whispered, running a thumb over her cheek.
"Where's the fun in that?" she replied.
Rodrigo chuckled softly. "Mio Dio, start slow. Use your hands first."
Giana nodded, her gaze never leaving his. Her hands, cool and sure, rose to the fastening of his belt and pants. Her fingers undid the button, then slid the zipper down.
She pushed the dark fabric aside, then reached into the opening of his boxer briefs. Her fingers brushed against the hot, hard length of him, and Rodrigo couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath, his hips jerking involuntarily.
Giana wrapped her hand around him, her grip firm but not tight, her skin cool against his burning heat. She began to stroke him slowly, her gaze fixed on his face, watching his reactions. Her touch was tentative at first, learning the weight and thickness of him, the silken skin over hard flesh.
She explored the sensitive head with her thumb, circling the slit where a bead of moisture had already gathered.
Rodrigo groaned, low and deep in his chest, his head falling back against the headrest, his eyes closing for a moment as pure sensation washed over him. Her touch was innocent yet devastatingly effective. Fuck he was going to blow before they barely started.
"Like this?" she asked softly, her breath warm against the fabric covering his thigh.
"Sì," he managed, the word a strangled gasp. "Just… just like that. Good."
Encouraged, Giana continued her exploration. She used both hands now, one stroking the length of his shaft, the other cupping his balls, rolling them gently in her palm. She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over the head of his cock.
Rodrigo forced his eyes open, needing to see her. Her expression was one of intense concentration, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. She looked like an artist studying a complex subject, utterly absorbed.
"Now?" she breathed, her dark eyes lifting to meet his, seeking permission, guidance.
Rodrigo nodded, unable to speak. He watched, mesmerized, as she dipped her head, her tongue flicking out tentatively. The first touch of her warm, wet tongue against the sensitive head was electric.
A ragged groan tore from Rodrigo's throat, his fingers digging into the leather armrests of his chair. "Fuck, Giana…"
She hummed softly in response, the vibration traveling straight through his cock to his spine. Emboldened, she opened her mouth wider, her lips closing around the swollen head. She sucked gently, experimentally, her tongue swirling over the sensitive ridge beneath the crown.
Rodrigo hissed, his hips lifting off the chair, pushing himself deeper into the warm haven of her mouth.
"Easy, bella," he rasped, fighting for control. His hand moved almost of its own volition, tangling in her ponytail, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. "Don't try to take too much yet, just the head. Use your tongue. Like… like that."
Giana followed his whispered instructions and focused her attention on the engorged head, her lips forming a tight seal, her tongue dancing and swirling, lapping at the pre-cum beading there.
Her free hand continued to stroke the base of his shaft, her touch firm and rhythmic.
The hot, wet suction on the sensitive tip and the firm grip below were going to ruin him.
Tension coiled deep in his belly, the familiar pressure building. He watched her through hooded eyes, transfixed by the sight of her dark head bobbing slightly between his thighs, her lips stretched around him, her eyes closed in concentration. It was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed.
He guided her gently, his voice thick with desire. "A little deeper now, slowly… yes… use your hand to keep stroking… God, your mouth…"
His fingers tightened slightly in her hair, not forcing, just guiding the rhythm, feeling the pull of her lips, the slide of her tongue. The wet, sucking sounds filled the quiet office, mingling with his ragged breaths and her soft, focused hums.
Giana took him deeper, inch by torturous inch, her mouth stretching to accommodate him. She relaxed her throat, allowing him to slide further in. Rodrigo groaned, a guttural sound of pure need.
The sight of her, the feel of her, the utter trust and surrender in her actions, even as she maintained control of the pace, was shattering him. He was hurtling toward the edge, the pressure building to an unbearable peak.
With a strength born of desperation, Rodrigo tightened his grip on her hair, firmly enough to still her movements.
"Stop," he gasped, the word raw. "Stop, amore."
Giana froze instantly, pulling back with a soft, wet pop, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes wide and questioning, slightly dazed. A thin strand of saliva connected her lower lip to the head of his cock, which throbbed angrily, leaking pre-cum.
"Did I… Was it wrong?" she asked, her voice breathless.
"No," Rodrigo breathed, his chest heaving. He released her hair, his hand sliding down to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing her slick lower lip. "Too perfect. I want to fuck you senseless."