11. Lina
Lina
"Are you trying to lead me to hell, piccola?" John growls, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that rattles straight through my bones.
His eyes are burning, locked onto the bare skin of my hip where the short white towel has ridden up too high. The gold firelight from the stove catches the hard, severe angles of his face, making him look less like a neighbor and more like a predator about to claim what is his.
I look up at him, my heart hammering a wild, frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't be sitting half-naked on his marble counter, staring at the broad line of his shoulders and the dark, thick veins standing out on his forearms. He is dangerous.
He is a liar. He just broke two men's bodies in an alleyway.
But as I look at his full, arrogant lips and the raw, heavy heat radiating off his bare chest, my throat goes completely dry.
I want him. The thought is visceral, unpolished, and terrifyingly real.
I want his hands on me. I want to feel the weight of his body pinning me down until I can't think about the alleyway, or the blood, or my mother's warnings.
"And what if I am?" I whisper, my voice breathier than I want it to be. My chin tilts up, my stubborn pride refusing to let me back down. "What if I am leading you to hell, John? Will you follow?"
"I am already there, Lina," he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp.
He takes one massive step forward, closing the remaining distance. Before I can even gasp, his hand shoots out, grabs the tuck of the white towel under my armpit, and yanks it completely off my body.
The cold air of the bathroom hits my bare skin, making me let out a sharp, startled gasp. But the chill is gone an instant later as he lunges forward, his hands slamming onto the marble counter on either side of my hips, trapping me completely between his massive frame and the stone.
"John—" I start.
He smothers the word with his mouth.
His kiss is hot, heavy, and completely consuming.
He doesn't hold back. His tongue slides past my parted lips, tasting of neat bourbon and the sharp, clean scent of rain.
I let out a soft, whimpering sound into his mouth, my hands rising instinctively to grab his bare shoulders, my fingers sinking into the hard, rigid muscles of his back.
He groans, the sound vibrating straight through my chest. He pulls his mouth back a fraction of an inch, his lips dragging across my cheek, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. He kisses my neck, his mouth biting gently at the sensitive curve of my shoulder, making my entire body shiver.
"You are so beautiful," he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with a dark, heavy hunger. "So small. So perfect."
He slides his hands down my sides, his thumbs dragging across my ribs with an agonizingly slow pressure.
He kisses my ears, his teeth grazing the lobe, and then slides his mouth down to my collarbone, his kisses leaving a trail of fire on my skin.
His hands move lower, his fingers brushing the soft curve of my breasts, his thumbs circling my rigid nipples until I arch my back, my chest pressing hard against his bare, scarred chest.
"John... please," I gasp, my head falling back against the marble mirror behind me.
He drops to his knees on the tiled floor between my legs. His hands go to my knees, his grip iron-hard as he yanks my thighs apart, forcing me to open up to him completely. I look down, my eyes wide, my breath catching as he kneels in the gold light of the stove, his dark eyes locked onto mine.
Slowly, with a deliberate, agonizing pressure, his hand slides up my inner thigh. His fingers are burning hot, a sharp contrast to the cold marble beneath my hips.
"Look at me, Lina," he commands, his voice dropping to a low purr.
I look. I can't look away. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts as his fingers brush against the wet, slick heat of my core. I let out a loud, broken gasp, my fingers clawing into the marble counter behind me to keep from falling.
He slides two fingers deep inside me.
The friction is tight, thick, and absolute.
I arch my back, a low, desperate moan escaping my lips as he begins to move his hand, establishing a hard, rhythmic pace that makes my brain go completely fuzzy.
Every slide of his fingers is torture, a wild, raw hunger that makes my hips roll instinctively against his hand.
Then he leans in, his mouth replacing his fingers.
The first touch of his hot, wet tongue against my clitoris is an electric shock.
My thighs convulse, my hands flying to his dark hair, my fingers tangling in the wet strands to hold him against me.
He tastes me, deep and possessive, his tongue moving with a precise, ruthless rhythm that leaves me completely helpless.
"Oh, god... John..." I sob, my head shaking, my eyes tightly shut as the tight coil of my climax begins to squeeze around me.
He doesn't stop. He reaches up, his fingers sliding back inside me, working in perfect, agonizing harmony with his mouth. The heat is suffocating, a wild, raw wave that climbs higher and higher until the tension snaps.
I cum.
My body shudders violently, a loud, broken cry escaping my throat as the waves of pleasure crash over me, thick and unyielding. My thighs shake against his broad shoulders, my fingers clenching his hair as my body rides the release, over and over, until my muscles are completely spent.
He stays there for a long, silent minute, his mouth resting gently against my damp skin, his breathing heavy and ragged.
Then, slowly, he stands up.
He steps back, his face completely expressionless once more.
The glacier is back, but his chest is rising and falling fast, his jaw clenched so hard the muscle in his cheek is twitching.
I look down, my eyes wide, and my breath catches as I see the massive, rigid ridge of his cock pressing hard against the raw denim of his jeans.
He is practically shaking with unspent, violent frustration.
He reaches for a clean towel on the rack and tosses it onto my lap, turning his back to me as he walks toward the bathroom door.
"John," I call out, my voice trembling, my body still tingling from the climax. I slide off the counter, wrapping the towel tightly around my chest. "What about you?"
He stops in the doorway, his back a long, rigid line of tight control. "What about me, Lina?"
"You're... you look like you're going crazy," I say, my hand gripping the marble counter to steady my shaking knees. "Don't you need... your release?"
Slowly, he turns back to look at me. His eyes are completely black, the pupils blown out, carrying a dark, heavy hunger that makes my stomach coil.
"I do," he says, his voice flat and dangerous. "I am going crazy with want. But I cannot touch you like that."
"W-Why not?"
"Because if I slide inside you, Lina," he says, taking a half-step forward, his voice dropping to a low, warning vibration, "if I fuck you, nothing you say, think, or fear will matter anymore.
You will have to be mine. From head to toe.
Every second of your day, every breath in your lungs, every lock on your doors. I will not let you go."
A sudden, sharp shiver ripples down my spine. The intensity in his voice is terrifyingly real. It isn't the voice of a neighbor who wants a quick hookup. It is the voice of a man who claims territory and defends it with his life.
I gulp, my throat dry, my mother's warnings flashing in my head like a warning light. Don't let them have you. No promises.
"Right," I whisper, my hands shaking as I pull the towel tighter. I quickly look down, desperate to steer the conversation away from the heat in the room. "The... the fake girlfriend thing. You said you needed a fake girlfriend to close a deal."
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John looks at me for another long, suffocating second. Then, slowly, the tension drains from his posture, his hands shoving into his pockets. "I do."
"And you're really mafia?" I ask, my voice stronger now as my natural stubbornness rears its head. "A real criminal?"
"I am a man who keeps his assets safe, Lina," he says, his tone cool and calculated.
"The men who attacked you tonight were sent by a rival faction.
They wanted to kidnap you to leverage my Palermo holdings.
If you go back to your apartment, they will find you.
If you stay close to me, my guards can protect you.
Posing as my partner gives me a legitimate reason to keep you in my perimeter. "
I close my eyes, a heavy, bitter sigh escaping my lips.
I am cornered.
The math is simple, and my quick mind registers the reality of the situation instantly.
I owe this man my life. The danger is real—the blood on his knuckles and the shattered teeth of those men in the alley are proof of that.
My cozy little apartment with its cheap deadbolt is no longer safe.
And somehow, despite the scars, the lies, and the raw, terrifying violence of his world, John is the safest dangerous thing in the room.
"Okay," I say, opening my eyes and looking him straight in the face. "I'll do it. I'll pose as your girlfriend. But on my terms."
"Your terms?" A tiny, dry twitch of amusement touches his lips. "You are in no position to negotiate, piccola."
"I am always in a position to negotiate," I snap, my chin tilting up.
"First, my coffee shop stays open. I've spent years building that place, and I am not letting your mafia drama ruin it.
Second, Maya is kept safe. Your men make sure she isn't targeted.
And third... we don't do this." I gesture between our bodies, my face burning.
"The kissing, the touching... it's only for show.
When the associates are watching. Otherwise, you keep your hands to yourself. "