Chapter Thirty
Raya
STEFANO EMERGES FROM HIS closet with two neckties in hand, considering them carefully.
A yawn pries my mouth open as I stretch beneath the covers. “You’re up early.”
He glances up from the ties, his lips slanting into a half-smile as if he’s happy to see I’m awake. Tossing the ties onto a nearby armchair, he strides over and leans down to kiss my nose. “Up early for Mass.”
“Oh.” I pout a little, then quickly cover my mouth to block my morning breath. “You’re leaving me.”
Chuckling, he kisses my nose again. “I’d take you with me, but Cora told me you’re an atheist…?”
“Agnostic,” I correct. “Which means I’m still curious, so…I’ll tag along.”
“Up you get, then.” He flips the sheets off me, dips down to kiss my bare stomach, then scoops me out of bed. “We leave in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
We shower together, get ready together, and every few minutes, he stops whatever he’s doing to give me a little kiss on my neck…
my cheek…my nose…my forehead. As though he can’t help himself.
As though he’s drawn to me on instinct. All while I’m trying not to dissolve into a puddle of soft goo.
He’s so utterly aware of me. Of where I am in every moment, every move, every breath, every step.
It’s as if he adores me or something.
I bite back a smile at the thought, my heart swelling fatter and fatter in my chest.
“Are you sure this isn’t too short?” I tug at the ruffled hem of the only dress from the rack that’s even remotely appropriate for church. A wine-red chiffon wrap piece that falls mid-thigh.
“It’s fine,” Stefano assures me for the third time, leaving a quick kiss on my neck.
Hey, he’s the churchgoer here. If he says it’s fine…
When we arrive at the cathedral, Mass is already in session. Stefano reaches for my hand, trying to lace his fingers with mine as we head inside, but I keep dodging him.
Visibly frustrated, he stops and stares at me, confused.
I tip my head to the left, subtly nodding toward the pew at the back right, occupied by only three men, two of them Sodalti stationed at each end. Because of course the king of Vegas has his own pew in a cathedral. “Your men will talk.”
Stefano merely blinks at me, as if he doesn’t understand what the problem is. But now is not the time or place for an argument, so I move past him and slide into the pew, right next to the third man sitting between the guards.
Gio Bellanti. Who doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me.
Stefano unbuttons his jacket and settles beside me, leaving me snugly sandwiched between the two of them.
“I see you’ve made your choice,” Gio mutters under his breath.
“I wasn’t aware there was a choice to be made…?” I whisper back.
He huffs, broad shoulders rising and falling with displeasure. “Good luck keeping up with that moody headfuck.”
If Stefano overhears our exchange, there’s no indication. His focus is trained straight ahead on the priest, Vale Fontana, reading scripture.
Fifteen minutes in, I’m already regretting tagging along. Good grief, this is dull. And why does everyone look so dazed and miserable? Aren’t churches supposed to be about joy?
Bored out of my mind, I reach over and take Stefano’s hand from his lap.
He slides me a side glance, brow arched. “What, you want to hold my hand now?”
He’s such a sulker...
In response, I pull his hand across to my lap and discreetly slide it under the ruffled wrap of my dress, then rest my purse above it.
“What are you doing?” he asks, voice quiet, swinging his attention back to the front.
“It’s what I want you to do...”
“In here? That’s sacrilegious.”
“Only for people who believe. I don’t.”
With the things I’ve seen, the things I know, it’s hard to believe in any god. And even if there is one, he’s not in this building. No loving deity would choose Vale Fontana to lead his sheep.
Stefano tries to pull back his hand, but I hold tight. “Please. I’m bored.”
“Not here.”
“Okay, I’ll ask Gio, th—”
His head snaps toward me, eyes black with warning. “Don’t piss me off.”
“Then get me off.”
His glare darts past me to Gio, who appears thoroughly focused on the front, then comes back to me.
Innocently, coquettishly, I flutter my lashes.
A sigh, low and defeated. “Those eyes are going to be the death of me.”
In complete surrender, he slides his hand further beneath the parted fabric and slips his fingers inside my panties, finding me already slick and ready.
He gives me a disbelieving glance, as if he can’t believe the nerve of me to be this wet in the Lord’s house.
He’ll soon learn that all it takes for me to become hot and bothered, a complete mess, is simply to be in his presence.
I bite down on my lip to stifle a moan as he circles my clit.
He starts slow, gradually shifting pace and versatility, building with subtle pressure and maddening precision.
“You’re a bad influence,” he whispers under his breath, fingers expertly working me over, giving me exactly what I need.
Doing my best not to writhe, not to moan, not to give myself away as my hips rock involuntarily against the pew, I whisper back, “Your god is a forgiving god, no?”
But he’s working me too good, so good I can’t keep still.
Pleasure swells, overwhelming me, building inside me like a wave I can’t outrun.
I don’t realize how hard I’m biting down on my bottom lip until I taste blood.
I want to tell him to stop because I don’t trust myself not to cry out, but I don’t want him to stop. I need it.
“Shh,” he hums at my ear, a warning and a tease.
“I’m...I don’t know if I can...ohhhgod—”
As the orgasm surges toward me, I feel long fingers lace through mine, grounding me.
Fingers that aren’t Stefano’s.
I peek over at Gio to find him watching me, eyes like liquid silver, burning with unfiltered lust. His fingers squeeze around mine in what feels like encouragement, like support, like…
“I’ve got you,” he mouths at me, eyes locked to mine as Stefano hauls me to the brink.
Stefano must notice and approve, because he ups the ante. He pinches my clit between two fingers and rubs with lethal purpose, pushing me right off the cliff.
Right there, in the middle of the sermon, I come undone. My orgasm detonates through me in sharp, staccato pulses. Burying my face in Stefano’s shoulder, I sink my teeth into his expensive jacket, riding out the ripples of ecstasy tearing through me.
Gio’s tight grasp is exactly what I didn’t know I’d need. He anchors me through the blissed-out chaos, his hand squeezing mine like he’s bracing too.
Minutes pass before I’m able to pull myself back together and sit upright again like a normal, composed person.
Stefano furtively withdraws his hand and mutters, “Happy?”
“Mhmhm,” I hum, still dazed. “You’re the best, my king.”
He pulls out his pocket square, wipes his fingers, then lifts the cloth to his nose and inhales with a satisfied sigh. “My new favorite smell.”
His gaze drops to my lap, where Gio’s fingers are still laced through mine, and a scowl darkens his face.
“You can let the fuck go now,” Stefano grits out.
Gio clears his throat and untangles our fingers. “I’m gonna, uh…” He clears his throat again and adjusts his tie. “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom and, uh…be right back.”
“Oka—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Stefano whisper-hisses. “She’s mine. Her sounds are mine.”
Gio’s responding grin is devious. “Shouldn’t have let me hear her, then.”
“I’ll end you,” Stefano grinds out as Gio rises from the pew.
“Well,” Gio says with a smirk, “I’ll make sure it’s really good, then, since it’ll be my last.”
As Gio strolls away, I lean into Stefano and whisper, “Is he going to—”
“I’m going to kill him,” Stefano promises through gritted teeth, glaring straight ahead. “He’s dead.”
Yep. Gio’s gone to jerk off to me.
And if there’s a Hell…then at the end of this life, I’ll be catapulted straight into the deepest, hottest, most soul-frying furnace it has to offer.
No mercy for a wretch like me.