Chapter Twenty-Eight
Raya
STREAKS OF PLEASURE RIPPLE under my skin, pulling me from the depths of sleep.
A moan in my throat, I hazily blink awake to the sight of Stefano crouched beside the lounge chair I’m curled up on, fondling my breasts. Pressing them together, kissing them, tonguing my nipples. Just having his own private feast with the girls.
When his gaze flicks up and finds me awake, he flashes a smug, satisfactory smile and gently tucks them back into my dress.
“No,” I protest with a pout. “I was enjoying that.”
“Just wanted to wake you,” he replies. “Felt lonely. I napped for thirty minutes. You’ve been out for almost two hours.”
I reach up and scratch at the low scruff of his beard. “So needy.”
After our little couch romp earlier, he carried me upstairs and we showered together. Messy, teasing, far too long. Then his phone started blowing up again.
With nothing to do while he took his calls, I wandered out to the pool area and fell asleep watching the rain beat down on the skylights.
“That I am,” he admits, unapologetic. “Come have dinner with me.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He straightens, scoops me right up off the lounge chair, and carries me through the house like I weigh nothing.
In the kitchen, he sets me down on a stool by the breakfast bar, which is already set with plates, cutlery, and a compact buffet warmer partitioned with mouthwatering hot dishes.
My gluttonous appetite perks up. “Where did this come from?”
He gestures to a tall hot box parked at the end of the back counter.
That was there all this time? How did I miss it?
“Cora?” I ask with a smile.
“She wanted to make sure you were fed,” he replies. “We heard from the Pink House that you’re banned from using the kitchen for almost burning it down when you tried to cook.”
A laugh bursts out of me. Damn, they really narced on me like that? But…fair. I am a disaster in the kitchen. Which is why I appreciate a well-cooked meal so much.
Side-eying him, I ask, “Can you cook?”
“I can boil water. That count?”
Another laugh tumbles out of me. “So Cora was in on this kidnapping plan, huh?”
Stefano shrugs as he takes the stool next to mine. “I’m her favorite.”
A rude, impatient growl rumbles from my stomach.
“Okay then,” he chuckles out. “Let’s get you fed.”
He lifts the glass lids off the warmer, and a wave of delicious aromas rushes out, prompting an even louder growl from my stomach.
“Gesù Cristo, she sounds angry.” He grabs the serving spoon and tongs, gripping them like he’s gearing up for battle. “Quick, talk fast. What do you want on your plate?”
“Oh, shut up.” I roll my eyes at his antics, laughing. “A little bit of everything.”
“I mean, of course,” he mutters under his breath.
Cheeks hurting from smiling so hard, I kick his leg on the stool. “Shut up and serve me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He fixes me a loaded plate, and we eat in calming silence.
But Stefano is angled toward me, just watching me as he eats.
Like I’m some abstract painting he’s gotten lost in.
A fascination he can’t look away from. Having his undivided attention is both electrifying and unnerving.
It’s like trying to sit still while being slowly, reverently unraveled.
Are my cheeks and neck hot? Yep. Am I letting it stop me from enjoying my meal? Not a chance. If he’s keeping me here all weekend, I might as well get used to him being so…unnervingly intense.
Stefano’s a picky eater. His fork is never full. A little pick of something here, a little pick there. It’s baffling how he manages to maintain all those sculpted muscles. Sure, he eats chocolate almond butter like it’s a food group, but I doubt that’s where the bulk of that mass is coming from.
Eventually, I break. “Why don’t you just go ahead and ask whatever it is you’re dying to know?”
He chews slowly. “Why bother? You’ll only lie.”
“Not because you deem something a lie does it mean that it is.”
“What’s your name?”
“Raya Michel.”
“See? Lie.”
I blink at him. “Do you think staring me down like that is going to coax some mythical ‘truth’ out of my so-called lies?”
He takes a sip of his drink, gaze unmoving. “Maybe I’m just memorizing every inch of you…because I know that as mysteriously as you showed up here, you’ll one day disappear.”
“You really make me out to be more interesting than I am.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Damn do I wish I was that girl of your imagination. She sounds sly. Mysterious. Kind of cool, honestly.”
A long silence stretches between us as his unreadable eyes move over me. Then, softly, but with razor-edge focus, he asks, “Do you like me?” Before I can answer, he adds, “Even though she betrayed him, Delilah loved Samson.”
What’s his angle now? “I’m…attracted to you.”
“Who isn’t? But that’s not what I asked.”
A giggle falls out of me. “Your humility is so…likable.”
“Humility is for broke men with small dicks.”
“Wow. You’re—”
“You want to humble me, don’t you?”
“I don’t think you’re capable of being humbled.” I sip my drink. “You could have everything you own stripped from you, your dick chopped off, and you’d still be a cocksure, egotistical menace.”
He laughs, and it’s so infectious I end up laughing too. Why is his laugh so...pretty?
“You don’t like me. Got it,” he says, but there’s something beneath it. A tinge of disappointment, the faintest trace of dejection.
And just like that, I feel like shit.
God, I’m such a sucker. Even knowing it’s emotional manipulation, I’m slipping and sliding straight into his web.
“Hey…” I extend my leg to rub against his. Weakling that I am. “Of course I like you. You think if I didn’t, I’d have sat there and watch you sleep instead of dumping boiling water on your domineering ass?”
Like a kid just told he can have chocolate cake for dinner, Stefano grins and preens like a smug peacock. This is the same ruthless king of Vegas, right? Someone didn’t body-snatch the real one? Because who on earth is this adorable, needy man?
It’s like false advertising gone right—getting something completely different from what you ordered, and somehow liking it even more. Jarring at first. But better. Unexpected, and better.
“Yeah, I like you,” I reiterate, more for myself than for him this time.
Because it’s starting to dawn on me that I’m falling for him all over again.
Not the man I thought I knew. But this version.
This impossibly complex, infuriating, tender, terrifying version.
And falling for this version of him? It will be my ruin. “I really, really like you.”
~
STEFANO FINDS ME playing pool solo in the game room downstairs. He comes up behind me and nuzzles into my neck.
After dinner, he’d gotten sucked into a string of work calls, which left me wandering again, this time to the rec room that had Lorenzo Castello written all over it. RGB lighting, slick gaming decor, and every kind of game table and machine imaginable.
Across the house is another room with just a grand piano, a lush chaise, and shelves of poetry books. No mystery who that one belongs to.
“How’s it going at Black Gold?” I ask, chalking my cue.
“Overflowing. Usually is when the weather’s like this. That’s why I can’t get a moment’s peace. Shit gets rowdy when the floor’s packed.” He hums against my skin. “But the headache’s worth it once we count the take.”
“Have you been updating Lorenzo?”
“Mhm-hmm.” His hands glide up my thighs and disappear under my dress. “Why do you keep leaving me alone?”
Gripping the pool stick tighter, I push my ass back against him. “You’re hardly alone with all those phone calls.”
“Those calls are nuisances, not companionship.” He smooths his palms over my ass before giving one cheek a light, punishing slap. “Stay where I can see you...or take me with you.”
“I didn’t peg you as the clingy type.” My breath hitches as he slips a hand between my thighs and strokes my lace-covered pussy. “I th-thought a big, strong macho like you would n-need your—mhmm…your space.”
“Who said I was a big strong macho? And so the fuck what if I want to burrow under your skirt like a lost and needy little pup?” One finger circles the area where my clit’s pulsing against the fabric, and the teasing motion has me rotating my hips, holding back a moan as I rub my ass against him. “Who knows how long I’ll have you for?”
Why does he keep alluding to me leaving? What does he know? Or thinks he knows?
Flattening a warm palm between my shoulder blades, he urges me forward. “Bend over for me, beautiful.”
No hesitation. I drop the pool cue, roll the balls to the other end of the table, and lay my torso flat across the felt.
He lifts my dress, gives my ass another sharp slap, then lowers to press slow kisses across the heated sting.
“You smell so good,” he murmurs from below, sliding his hands between my thighs again.
Two fingers sweep my panties aside, and then his mouth is on my pussy, sucking on my clit.
“Ohhhh!” A violent current of heat zaps up my spine and coils tight in my belly. My knees damn near buckle as a shudder runs through me. “Ahhh…mhmmm.”
Gripping my ass, he works me over with smooth, languid strokes of his tongue. Intermittent little suctions that tease, tantalize, drive me mad, but never quite let me fall.
Stefano Castello eats pussy like ancient poetry. Like classical music. Slow and measured. Gentle and exact. In stanzas and verses. Strumming all the right nerves, lulling me into a kind of drugged euphoria where pleasure builds and builds with every lick, every pull, every flick.
Holy shit, he’s good.
His deep groans vibrate against me, rumbling through my core, through every nerve ending. It’s as though he’s getting off on this more than I am.
As my orgasm builds and hovers just out of reach, my hips start to roll, my body writhing for more. “Stefano...” I whimper. “Ohhhgod, you’re so good...so good...”
In response, he suckles my clit like it’s his favorite sweet, and the intense jolt of pleasure has me shooting up onto my toes. “Ahh!”