Chapter Four
Mia
I watched, open-mouthed, as the helicopter touched down inside the grounds of a magnificent walled estate perched above the city.
From the bus tour I had done with Evie and our friends on our first evening in the city, I knew Naples had a history of occupation, and its architecture reflected that—from elaborately decorated Baroque churches to the Renaissance finery and Mediterranean practicality of the city’s historic homes—but as Vito escorted me down the steps of the helicopter, and I got my first look at the house, I’d never seen a building here as elaborate or well maintained.
Four stories of ornate plaster were lit by torches and covered in bougainvillea, a selection of wrought-iron balconies and tall, mullioned windows adding to its imposing grandeur. He had referred to his home as a villa, but the building’s neoclassical splendour made it look more like a palace.
Becca had said Vito was phenomenally rich, but I hadn’t expected anything this elegant or awe-inspiring.
We walked up the marble staircase at the front of the house, which led to an arched entrance flanked by Doric columns and two stone lions, almost as striking as their owner.
Three men appeared from inside the house.
Vito spoke to them in Italian. All three of them bowed while one replied, his tone low with deference, ‘Si, Don Vito, mio padrino…’
Vito exuded power and arrogance, but as he led me past his staff, their subservience was a little unnerving…not to mention weirdly hot. Who knew I had a thing for powerful men?
‘Why did he call you padrino?’ I asked, recalling how Lorenzo, the bodyguard on the boat, had addressed him the same way.
Vito headed through the main entrance. ‘It is from respect,’ he said as I rushed to keep up with him.
Okay, what?
Was Vito some kind of prince? I knew Italy had become a republic in the forties and the state no longer recognised the titles of the aristocracy—but according to our bus tour, there were still aristocratic families that owned estates in the region.
Two people appeared in the mansion’s cavernous entrance hall to greet us. An older woman dressed in black and a man in a linen suit. I recognised him from the men surrounding Vito when he’d given me ‘the look’.
Again, they both bowed and addressed him as Don Vito. After a brief exchange in Italian with the woman, Vito turned to me.
Tugging me close, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes dark with the same hunger that had been burning inside me since ‘the look’.
‘Do you wish to eat?’ he asked.
I shook my head, surprised he had offered—almost as if this were a date instead of a booty call—but knowing I was way too hyper to eat anything.
‘No, I’m not hungry,’ I said.
His gaze raked over me, the fierce approval in those pure blue eyes making me dizzy.
‘Bene,’ he said. ‘There is only one thing I am hungry for too, and it is not food.’
The intense expression made his meaning clear and a wave of adrenaline hurtled through my system. He turned back to his staff and dismissed them both.
But while the woman disappeared again, the man spoke—his voice low with what sounded like concern or even disapproval as his gaze flicked to me.
Although Vito didn’t raise his voice, I could hear the sharp reprimand in the tone when he replied in Italian. The man had obviously heard it too, because his colour heightened, but instead of arguing the point, he only nodded, bowed again, then left us, too.
‘Is there… Is there a problem with me being here?’ I asked.
‘The only problem is that you are not naked yet,’ he said, his voice rough with amusement.
‘You’re not very subtle,’ I murmured, suddenly needing to slow him down just a little.
I knew tonight was about hunger, passion, getting off, and I was more than okay with that.
But I didn’t want this to be over too soon.
And me to be left feeling unsatisfied, or worse, used.
Because I’d already had enough of that feeling to last me a lifetime.
But instead of taking the hint, he chuckled. ‘Subtlety is not one of my virtues,’ he declared. ‘But when I make you come until you scream my name, you will not be complaining,’ he finished, marching down the entrance hall and then taking the wide, sweeping staircase to the next floor.
Giddy excitement raced through me as I was dragged along in his wake. ‘And super arrogant to boot,’ I added, trying to sound as if I wasn’t already melting into a puddle of pheromones at his demanding tone.
When had I ever met a man who took what he wanted without bothering to wait for an invitation? On the one hand, it ought to be a turn-off. I wasn’t used to being told what to do. On the other, this was already the hottest night of my life. Bar none.
He pushed open a door at the end of the landing and tugged me into a huge room, with a balcony at the far end which looked out over the gardens and the city below.
The view was breathtaking, but that wasn’t why I was struggling to breathe when he let go of my hand, strolled across the expanse of silk carpet and opened the terrace doors onto the night.
A scented breeze brushed over my exposed skin, which, thanks to my mini-dress, was a lot.
Instead of returning to me, he sat in an upholstered chair that looked antique, crossed his ankle over the other knee, and smiled at me, the feral light in his eyes as tempting as it was intimidating.
‘My arrogance is part of my charm, Mia,’ he said before flicking his index finger to indicate my dress. ‘It is time for you to show me everything that is under that dress.’
‘But… I’m…’ The words seized in my throat as I stalled. I’d never done a striptease before, and as bold as I’d felt up to now, I was suddenly struggling with a serious case of performance anxiety. ‘Really?’ I managed. ‘That’s not very seductive…’
‘And yet you are already wet for me,’ he replied.
My thighs quivered as the evening breeze chose that precise moment to make me aware of how damp I was. For him.
‘How do you know that?’ I blurted out, challenging him to cover my mortification.
He crooked his finger at me. ‘Come.’
I walked towards him, aware of the swollen spot between my thighs every step of the way. He unfolded his legs and spread his knees. Placing a hand on my hip, he positioned me between his muscular thighs.
Every part of me trembled as he tucked a knuckle under my chin and forced my gaze to his. ‘If I find that you are wet, Mia, I will have to punish you for lying.’
My eyes widened as the need pulsed and throbbed between my legs. His hand trailed under the hem of my dress. He cupped me to run his finger along the seam of my sex.
I sobbed and grabbed hold of his shoulders in a desperate attempt not to collapse into a heap, his dominating caress so sure, so entitled it was electrifying. His knuckle brushed my clitoris, and I bucked against his hold, shocked by the brutal sensations radiating outwards. Already.
But just as I felt myself shooting towards orgasm, he denied me the touch I needed and gave my bare buttock a stinging slap.
I jolted upright. ‘You bastard,’ I managed, my throat dry.
‘I said you would be punished,’ he said, his eyes dark with hunger and bright with satisfaction.
‘I never said I wasn’t aroused…specifically,’ I said, trying to justify myself but losing ground fast. I wanted what he was offering, his power and dominance pushing me out of my comfort zone in the most delicious way possible. I’d never been so close to orgasm before so quickly.
‘Then do as I demand,’ he said.
‘I don’t like being ordered about.’
‘Yes, you do…’ He brought his finger to his lips, my juices glistening in the moonlight and calling me a liar, then sucked his fingertip. ‘Delicious,’ he murmured, the gruff approval making need grip me again. ‘Take off the dress so I can feast on you, Mia.’
I shuddered as heat poured through me—his dictatorial tone as hot as that sure, entitled caress.
A part of me knew I really ought to tell him no. I was a feminist, which meant I shouldn’t be turned on by his bossy tone, or that stinging slap. But in that moment, my poor neglected libido was making all my decisions for me.
Dave had never gone down on me, because he said he found it repulsive. So I’d locked that desire away with all the others. But Vito didn’t just look like he wanted to eat me. He looked as if he would punish me again if I didn’t let him…
I lifted the dress over my head and threw it away, feeling bold, and more belligerent myself. No point in being coy, or contrary. I could subjugate my equal rights for one night, for the greater good—i.e., discovering what it was like to have a man actually want to fulfil my biggest sexual fantasy.
‘Brava ragazza,’ he said, the low tone and that fierce gaze raking over my breasts and making me painfully aware of my nipples poking the red lace. He inclined his head. ‘The bra,’ he announced. ‘Lose it.’
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I reached behind me but struggled to unclip the hook. It took me a few painful seconds, but he made no move to help me. Once I’d finally unclipped the bra and let it drop, I was shaking—with need or mortification, or possibly both.
But then he adjusted his trousers and unzipped himself to reveal a pair of black stretch boxers with an obscene bulge which had to be the thick ridge I had felt earlier.
Desire swelled and throbbed, my need painful as my sex ached with emptiness—the desperation to feel that bulge inside me all I could focus on.
Before I had a chance to contemplate how quickly I was losing every one of my inhibitions, he curled a hand around my waist and tugged me closer. He blew across my bare nipple. My back arched, offering the swollen peak to him.
He licked at the tip, swirled his tongue around the edge. I thrust my fingers into his hair. But before I could start begging—just as he had said I would—he reared back, dislodging my hands.