Chapter 37
Lennon
As I gain consciousness, I feel Sandro’s presence like an invisible blanket. His arm heavy, possessive, draped over my waist, his breath fanning my cheek. I don’t move for fear it’s just a dream. I want to bask in it just a few seconds longer.
“Morning, Angel,” he croaks sleepily.
I smile. Not a dream. My eyes flutter open. His bedroom has blackout curtains, so I have no idea what time it is. I roll over and take in the beauty of his full mouth, morning stubble and long lashes resting against his cheeks. “How did you know I was awake?”
He tugs me closer against his body, and his warmth seeps into my bones. I’ve never felt safer. “Your breathing changed.”
The memory of the car accident and kidnapping hits me and ends the blissful moment. On its heels, the events of last night rush in. My new half-brother. My Irish mob father. So much to process.
I pull back and rest my hand against his cheek. “Were you hurt in the accident?”
He presses his forehead against mine. “I’m fine, now that you’re back where you belong.”
The tenderness in his voice almost crushes me. Because no, this isn’t where I belong. I don’t belong in his bed or in his life.
He must feel the shift in my mood because he sighs and strokes my hair. “Tell me.”
“I should go,” I whisper. “I have to call work.”
“They’ve already been informed of your car accident and that you’ll be out for the rest of the week.
” His jaw tightens as he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I want my doctor to look at you first.” He kisses me tenderly and then slips out of bed.
He’s walking stiffly. Hiding an injury from the car accident, most likely.
“Go ahead and use my shower. She should be here by the time you’re finished. ”
She? A stab of jealousy makes me sit up.
I watch as he slips on a T-shirt, the hard muscles in his back rippling beneath a large tattoo of a snake, its mouth stretched wide around an apple. I wonder if that’s a Garden of Eden reference. There’s so much I want to learn about the man he’s become.
He grabs his phone, runs a hand through his hair and then turns to me. Even in the dark room, I can see the haunting sadness in his eyes. “Breakfast will be waiting when you’re done.”
After he steps out, I force myself from the warm bed and into the bathroom.
The bathroom is white marble and chrome with a tiled shower big enough for six people. Slipping off my clothes, I step into the shower and play with the knobs, trying to get the water to turn on. Suddenly it does… from four different directions, and it's obviously piped in straight from Antarctica.
I squeal and jump back.
The door bangs open and Sandro rushes in. Our eyes lock, and then his slowly travel down my naked body. He visibly swallows and forces his gaze back on mine. “You okay?”
I wrap an arm around my breasts and motion helplessly at the icy sprays that just hit the top of my head, my chest, between my legs and shins at the same time. “I was violated by your shower.”
The most beautiful grin stretches his mouth, popping his dimples. “Fuck it,” he growls. His eyes sparkle deviously as he pulls off his shirt and then drops his black boxers.
“What… what are you…” My gaze catches on the deep purple bruise over his ribs, but then drops to his heavy cock, which is becoming harder by the second.
With just a few steps, he adjusts the temperature and stands between me and the offending water. Resting his hands on my hips, he digs his fingers into my soft flesh. With a touch of humor he says, “My eyes are up here, Angel.”
I blink and tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. “This isn’t a good idea.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip as my brain goes to war with my body.
Don’t do this. It will only make it harder to leave.
One more time. You deserve one more memory to revisit when you’re lonely.
“I disagree. Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about fucking you in this shower?” Before I can even process that thought, he leans down and captures my mouth. It’s pure possession, both hands moving to grip my hair, his tongue exploring with an urgency I understand and embrace.
My palms are on his chest, over the rose tattoo of my name. I slide them down and feel him wince when I brush the bruise. “Sorry,” I whisper and pull away.
“You never have to be sorry for anything.” He kisses my nose and flips us around, so my chest is to the water. I’m grateful it’s warm now and only coming out of the top faucet like rain.
He gathers my wet mass of hair, and I catch the scent of his shampoo as he squeezes some into his palm. Gently, he lathers it into my hair, massaging my scalp with expert fingers.
“Mmmm.” I lean back into him, my ass against the top of his thighs. My core contracts as I feel how hard his cock is against my body, and I can’t help but wiggle against it.
“Is that an invitation?” The question is a low whisper in my ear. One of his hands drops between our bodies. “Because if it is, I accept.” He slides a finger through my slick folds, then pushes deep inside me, sending a white-hot jolt of pleasure up my spine.
I gasp, and he mumbles something in Italian. “Your body was made for me.”
“Sandro,” I moan, pressing my ass against him harder.
“I could get used to you begging me to make you come.” He nips at my neck right above my shoulder blade, sending another jolt of lightning straight between my legs. “Turn around.”
I obey, tilting my head back to rinse out the shampoo.
He grabs the bottle of body wash and squeezes a dollop into his palm. His eyes are a bright blue inferno, burning with desire.
I know he sees the same fire in mine.
Rubbing his hands together, he places them on my breasts, kneading and pulling until I’m about to come from the stimulation alone.
His gaze is flicking from my eyes to my mouth, paying attention, and repeating the actions I react to. He scoots me back a few inches under the water, rinses my now overly sensitive breasts, and then drops to his knees.
Squeezing another dollop of body wash into his palm, he runs both hands down my flat stomach, over my hips, and then my thighs, avoiding the part I need him to touch.
I squirm and bite my lip.
He chuckles. He knows what he’s doing to me. “What’s wrong?” he asks with a feigned innocence.
I pout and rest my hands on his broad, muscular shoulders for balance. “Stop torturing me.” His palms caressing me, the scent of his body wash, the steam surrounding us, the water glistening off his hard, tan body—it’s sensory overload.
“Mm, so needy,” he whispers, fighting a smirk. He lifts one of my legs and places my foot on his thigh. Then he looks up as he sinks his fingers into my hips. “You’re going to come on my tongue and then my cock, Angel.”
“Is that an order?” I ask breathlessly.
One corner of his mouth quirks up. “That’s a promise.” With his thumbs, he spreads my lips open and runs the flat of his tongue over my swollen clit.
When he begins a soft suckling, my whole core clenches.
I arch into his mouth and whimper. He grips my ass, holding my body in place, and I lose track of time, lose track of everything except the pleasure his clever mouth is creating, pushing me higher and higher up the cliff toward an impending orgasm.
My breath is coming in choppy gasps by the time his tongue slides down and thrusts deep inside me.
Throwing my head back, I cry out as stars explode behind my eyes. Wave after wave of ecstasy has me thrashing against his mouth. “Oh god,” I choke out, my arms and legs trembling.
I feel him hum in pleasure as he licks me gently through the orgasm, then rises from his knees with a satisfied smirk plastered on his face.
I reach between us and wrap my hand around his engorged cock.
He sucks in a breath, the smirk disappearing. With a growl, he lifts me and presses my back against the tile.
“Kiss me,” I demand, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
He obeys. His tongue massages mine with rough, needy strokes as I taste my own release. As his large hands knead my ass, I rub myself on his rock-hard cock.
He presses into me. “I need to feel your bare pussy, Angel. I’m clean.” His voice is a husky murmur.
“Me too. And I’m on the pill,” I whisper into his mouth.
He plunges his tongue back into my mouth with a throaty moan of satisfaction, as he lines up the crown of his cock with one hand and thrusts inside me.
I whimper as my core spasms around him. Then force myself to relax.
“Fuck, you feel so good. So so good, baby.” He rolls his hips, sinking deeper. The slight burn quickly turns to pleasure with each inch that fills me. When he’s seated all the way in, he growls, “Hold on tight.”
I tighten my arms around his neck.
He drags his length out and then slams back into me.
My breathing comes hard and fast, matching his as the powerful snap of his hips drives his cock deep inside me over and over.
The sounds of our pants, moans and sighs fade into the background as our bodies fall into a fast rhythm pulling us both toward the edge of oblivion.
I begin to rock my hips against him as the waves of pleasure build to a crescendo.
He lifts me, changes the angle of his deep thrusts, and hits a spot inside me that makes me see stars. A throaty moan escapes me.
Sandro lifts his head and holds my gaze. “That’s it, Angel. I feel you drenching me, squeezing me. Come on my cock, baby.” He lifts a hand and wraps it around my throat, slamming his mouth into me, and the orgasm hits.
I’m washed over the cliff by a massive wave of euphoria.
He’s swallowing my screams as he pumps harder and deeper inside me, his rhythm growing irregular. Then he stills and his head falls back. A roar sticks in his throat as his cock pulses, and then his warm come fills me.
Breathing hard, he presses his forehead to mine. “You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect.” His words drift out on an exhale.
I don’t miss the note of melancholy in them.