14. Gio
Gio
Her words are the spark that finally burns the thread of my control.
"Say it again," I growl, my fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of her waist, pulling her so close our chests collide.
"I want you," Lina gasps, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely focused on my face. She wraps her legs tighter around my hips, her bare thighs warm against my trousers. "Gio, please. Fuck me."
I don't say another word. I stand up, hoisting her effortlessly into my arms. She lets out a soft, startled cry, her hands instantly locking around my neck, her face burying into my shoulder. I stride out of the dark living room, down the narrow hallway, and kick my bedroom door open.
I throw her onto the mattress.
She lands on her back, her green sweater riding up to her ribs, her dark hair sprawling across my gray sheets like a wild web. I drop down between her knees, my hands going to the hem of her sweater. I rip it up and over her head in one smooth, violent motion, tossing it onto the floor.
She is wearing nothing but a thin, white lace thong.
I look down at her, my chest heaving, my cock throbbing so violently against my zipper it feels like a physical ache. She is beautiful. Soft, pale, and shivering with a mixture of cold and pure, raw want. Her nipples are rigid, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps.
"Gio," she whispers, her hands reaching up for me. "Come here."
"Not yet," I murmur, my voice a quiet, gravelly vibration in the dark room.
I reach down, my fingers hooking into the thin lace of her underwear.
I slide it down her legs and toss it aside.
I slide my hands up her thighs, moving them wide apart, opening her up to the cold air and my dark, burning gaze.
Her skin is flushed pink, the wet, slick heat of her core glistening in the dim light of the streetlamp outside the window.
I strip my trousers and boxer briefs off, my rigid, thick length springing free, pulsing with a raw, unspent frustration that has been building for three weeks.
I lean down, my mouth capturing hers before she can speak.
The kiss is hot, heavy, and completely consuming. My tongue slides deep past her lips, tasting of neat bourbon and the sharp, clean scent of the rain outside. At the same instant, I align the crown of my head with her wet entrance and drive myself deep inside her in one heavy, solid thrust.
Lina lets out a loud, broken scream into my mouth.
The friction is tight, thick, and absolute.
I freeze, my jaw clenching so hard my back teeth grind, my chest heaving violently against her breasts as my body adjusts to the suffocating heat of her.
She claws at my bare shoulders, her fingers sinking into my muscles as her hips roll instinctively against mine, trying to pull me deeper.
"Oh, god," she gasps, her head flinging back into the pillow as I pull my mouth away. Her breathing is ragged, her eyes tightly shut. "Gio... it's too much."
"Look at me, Lina," I command, my voice dropping to a low, warning purr.
She opens her eyes, her pupils blown out so wide there is barely any amber left in her gaze.
"You wanted this," I say, my voice flat, holding her hips steady with iron-hard fingers. "You wanted the don. Now take him."
I pull back, nearly sliding completely out of her, and then drive back in, hard.
A sharp, high-pitched gasp escapes her lips.
I establish a hard, relentless pace, my boots digging into the mattress as I thrust into her, over and over.
The bed creaks violently, the sound echoing in the quiet bedroom.
The friction is a wild, raw wave of heat that climbs higher and higher.
She moves with me, her body aligning perfectly with mine, her thighs locking around my waist to take the full force of my weight.
"Gio... please... I'm going to..." she sobs, her eyes rolling back as the tight coil of her climax begins to squeeze around me.
"Cum for me, piccola," I growl against her ear, my chest brushing her nipples, the friction sending a sudden, electric wave straight to my core. "Do it now."
She screams my name, her body shuddering violently as the waves of her release crash over her, thick and unyielding.
The tight, pulsing spasms of her core grip my cock, pulling me over the edge.
I let out a low, guttural roar, driving deep inside her one last time as my own release explodes, hot and heavy, filling her completely.
But I don't stop.
I stay inside her, my breathing heavy and ragged, my heart slamming against my ribs. I look down at her face. She looks spent, her eyelids heavy, but her lips are parted in a soft, dazed smile.
"I want more," I whisper, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
"Gio..." she mumbles, her eyes half-closed. "You’re insatiable."
"You’re right," I whisper, my hands going back to her waist.
I roll her over onto her stomach, pulling her hips up onto her knees.
She lets out a soft, whimpering moan, but she doesn't fight me.
I slide back inside her wet heat, the angle deeper, harder, making her gasp and claw at the headboard.
I take her again. And when she is spent from that, I roll her back onto her side, lifting her leg over my shoulder, and take her a third time in the early morning light.
I wear her out completely. By five o'clock in the morning, the rain outside has stopped, replaced by a pale, gray dawn that filters through the curtains.
Lina lies limp beneath me, her dark hair tangled across my chest, her breathing slow, deep, and steady. She has passed out from sheer physical exhaustion, her head resting on my shoulder, a tiny, peaceful smile touching the corner of her swollen lips.
I run my fingers slowly through her hair, my chest rising and falling beneath her cheek.
The guilt is a rot in my chest, but as I look down at her soft, sleeping face, the possessive beast in my head is quiet for the first time in years. She is mine. The lie is heavy, but the heat of her skin against mine is real.
If the last chapter left you looking around, that is normal.
Have a quiet browse through Lokepub when you want another book.
"The coffee on private jets is always terrible," Lina says, looking out the oval window of the cabin.
We are sitting in the leather swivel seats of my Gulfstream, flying thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic.
The sky outside is a brilliant, blinding blue, a stark contrast to the gray fog we left behind in Maine.
She is wearing a soft, beige wool dress Vivienne chose for her, her hair pulled back in a neat, elegant twist that exposes her collarbone.
She looks like a woman who belongs in this luxury, even if her fingers are still clenching the armrest of her seat every time the plane hits a pocket of air.
"It is espresso," I say, sliding a porcelain cup toward her. "I had them bring the machine from the apartment."
She looks at the cup, a small, knowing squint touching her eyes. "You are ridiculous, you know that?"
"I like consistency," I say.
"No, you like control," she says, but she takes a sip anyway, her face relaxing as the rich cream hits her tongue. "Where are we going, Gio? You said 'abroad' for the deal, but you didn't give me a city."
"London," I say, leaning my head back against the leather. "Neutral ground. The New York capos are meeting us at a hotel in Mayfair. We close the shipping merger, sign the transit agreements, and then we return."
"And your uncle?" she asks, her voice dropping, her fingers tracing the gold rim of her cup. "Will he be there?"
"Matteo does not have the clearance for London," I say, my voice flat. But his scouts do. "The Commission is keeping him in Palermo for the monthly audits. We are secure."
"And the guards?" She points a thumb toward the front of the cabin, where two of my tall, stone-faced New York shooters are sitting quietly by the galley. "Are they going to shadow me to the bathroom in London, too?"
"They are there to keep you safe, Lina," I say, my voice carrying a quiet weight.
"They make me feel like a prisoner," she mutters, looking back out the window.
"You are not a prisoner, you know that,” I say, my hand reaching across the small wooden table to cover hers.
Her skin is warm, her fingers instantly curling around mine.
The physical tension between us is different now—less chaotic, but twice as heavy since last night.
"You are my partner. And in my world, partners are targeted first."
"Because they are a weakness," she says, her eyes meeting mine, sharp and intelligent.
"Because they are the only thing that matters," I say.
The words slip out before I can stop them.
It is a tactical lie, the enforcer in my head whispers.
A way to keep her compliant. But as I look at the small curve of her fingers locked in mine, I know it's the truth.
I am no longer pretending. The strategy, the merger, the throne in Palermo—they are all starting to feel like noise.
The only real thing in my world is the girl sitting opposite me, wrapped in five thousand dollars of wool, looking at me like she wants to trust me.
"I'm going to stretch my legs," she says, releasing my hand with a soft, reluctant touch.
"Do not go near the rear cabin," I say. "The luggage is loose."
"Yes, Don Giovanni," she teases, rolling her eyes as she slides out of her seat and walks toward the private restroom at the front of the plane.
The moment the door clicks shut behind her, the warmth leaves my face. I pull my encrypted phone from my pocket and dial Dante.
He answers on the first ring. "We're in London, Gio. The hotel is secured."
"How many men do we have on the tarmac?" I ask, my voice dropping to a low, cold whisper as I glance toward the front of the cabin.
"Four," Dante says. "And the local transport driver."
"Double it," I order. "I want eight shooters in the cars, and I want four more stationed at the hotel entrance. If Salvatore’s men from New York try to access our floor without my permission, I want them stopped."
Silence hangs on the line for a second. "Gio, that is a massive security detail for a neutral-ground meeting. The New York capos will think you are paranoid. Or weak."
"I don't care what they think," I growl, my jaw clenching as my eyes lock on the restroom door. "Matteo’s scout escaped in Maine. He knows she is with me. If he leaked the coordinates to the London cell, they will be waiting at the airport."
"We checked the perimeter, Gio. There is no sign of Matteo’s men in Mayfair."
"Check it again," I snap, my possessive protectiveness flaring into a dark, suffocating rage. "And Dante?"
"Yeah?"
"If a single camera, a single window, or a single stranger looks at her the wrong way when we land, I want them in the dirt. Do you understand me? She is my woman. Protect her like you would protect me."
"Understood, Don Giovanni," Dante says, his voice going solemn. "The men will be ready."
I hang up the phone, sliding it back into my pocket just as the restroom door opens.
Lina walks back into the cabin, her face pale but calm, a soft smile touching her lips as she looks at me. She doesn't know about the shooters waiting on the tarmac. She doesn't know about the war waiting for us in Mayfair. She thinks she is just a bookstore girl playing a game for a neighbor.
And as I reach out to take her hand, pulling her back into the seat beside me, I know I will kill every man in London to keep her thinking that way.