Chapter 17
ROSALINA
"I am telling you, Lina, the pot was like that when I started," Luca says, gesturing with the plate still clutched in his hand, water dripping onto the floor. "It is a defective pot."
"The pot is not defective. Your cooking skills are defective." I scrub harder at the burned bits stuck to the bottom, my nose wrinkling. "What were you even trying to make?"
"Pasta carbonara."
"Luca. Carbonara does not require burning a pot."
"It does when you are trying to multitask." He finally sets down the plate and picks up another one, running the towel over it with lazy, distracted movements. "I was on a phone call with one of Frank Lucas's guys and the heat got away from me."
"The heat got away from you," I repeat, glancing at him with raised eyebrows. "That is your excuse?"
"It is not an excuse. It is an explanation." He grins at me, dimples flashing, completely unrepentant. "There’s a difference."
"The difference is you burned a pot and will not admit it."
"I did not burn it. I caramelized it."
"You caramelized the bottom of a pot." I abandon my scrubbing to look at him fully, one hand on my hip, the other still dripping soapy water. "That is not a thing, Luca."
"It is now." He sets down the dish towel and moves closer, crowding into my space with that easy confidence he wears like a second skin. "I am starting a trend. Caramelized cookware. Very avant-garde."
"Very stupid," I counter, but I am smiling now, unable to help it when he looks at me like that—all mischief and warmth and barely contained laughter.
He reaches out and boops my nose with one finger, leaving a small soap bubble behind. "You have something right there."
"Luca!" I swipe at my nose with the back of my wrist, which only succeeds in getting more soap on my face. "Stop that."
"Stop what?" He does it again, this time catching my cheek. "I’m helping. You are covered in soap."
"Because you keep putting soap on me!"
"Prove it." He is grinning outright now, green eyes dancing with amusement, and I can see him preparing to do it again.
I don’t give him the chance.
I plunge my hand into the sink, scoop up a handful of soapy water, and splash it directly at his chest.
The water hits him square in the middle of his black t-shirt, soaking through the fabric immediately and leaving a dark, spreading stain. He looks down at himself, then back up at me, his mouth falling open in exaggerated shock.
"Did you just—"
"Yep." I turn back to the sink, trying very hard not to laugh. "That is what you get for—"
I don’t get to finish the sentence.
Luca moves fast, his hands finding my waist and lifting me clean off the ground before I can even process what is happening.
I let out a startled yelp, my hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders for balance, and then I am being deposited on the counter beside the sink, my legs dangling, soapy water dripping from my hands onto the granite.
"Luca!" I am half laughing, half protesting, my heart suddenly racing. "What are you—"
"Teaching you a lesson about starting water fights you can’t finish." He steps between my legs, his hands settling on my thighs, and the heat in his eyes makes my breath catch. "That was very rude, Fiorella."
"You deserved it," I manage, but my voice comes out breathier than I intended.
"Did I?" His hands slide higher on my thighs, thumbs tracing patterns through the denim of my jeans. "Because from where I am standing, you are the one who escalated things."
"You put soap on my face!"
"And you dumped water on my shirt." He plucks at the wet fabric with one hand, pulling it away from his chest. "Look at this. Ruined."
"It is water. It will dry."
"Maybe." He leans in closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with dish soap and something uniquely Luca. "Or maybe I should get you just as wet. Fair is fair."
"Don’t you dare." I press my hands against his chest in warning, but the movement is half-hearted at best. "Luca, I am serious, if you dunk me in that sink—"
"Who said anything about the sink?" His mouth curves into a wicked smile, and his hands slide higher, fingers digging into my hips as he pulls me forward until I am perched on the very edge of the counter, pressed against him. "I have much better ideas."
My breathing picks up, my hands sliding from his chest to loop around his neck without conscious thought. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He leans in, his nose brushing against mine, his breath warm against my lips. "Want to hear them?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe," he repeats, and I can hear the laughter in his voice. "Such enthusiasm."
"I am very enthusiastic," I protest weakly, and then I can’t protest anymore because his mouth is on mine.
He kisses me like he has been thinking about it all afternoon—which, knowing Luca, he probably has. His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer, and I arch into him, my fingers threading through his hair and tugging slightly the way I have learned he likes.
He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through both of us, and deepens the kiss until I am dizzy with it, until I forget we are in the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon with dishes still in the sink and water dripping onto the floor.
His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, kissing a trail down to my neck, and I tilt my head back to give him better access, my eyes fluttering closed.
"Luca," I breathe, and his name comes out almost reverent.
"Right here, Lina." His teeth graze the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders through his wet shirt. "I’ve got you."
His hands find the hem of my t-shirt, fingers slipping beneath to find bare skin, and I shiver at the contact. He traces patterns on my lower back, each touch deliberate, teasing, making me want more.
"Luca—" I start, but whatever I was going to say dies when I hear footsteps.
"Are you two ever not seconds from fucking?
" Gabriel's voice cuts through the haze of want, dry and amused.
I jerk my head up to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching us with those sharp gray eyes that miss nothing.
Dante is right behind him, his dark eyes immediately zeroing in on where Luca's hands are on my body.
Heat floods my cheeks, but Luca does not move. His hands stay on my waist, his body still pressed between my legs, and when I glance at his face I see no embarrassment. Just heat. Just want. Just that wicked grin that means he is up to something.
"Don't be jealous when you could join instead," Luca says, his eyes never leaving mine. He slides one hand higher on my thigh, making me gasp. "Right, Rosa? You'll be a good girl and let Dante and Gabe play too, won't you?"
"Yes," I manage, my voice slightly strangled with desire.
"Look at how generous you're being, Bella," Gabriel says, pushing off the doorframe and moving into the room with that predatory grace he has. Dante follows, slower, more controlled, but his eyes are just as dark, just as hungry.
"Very generous," Dante agrees, his voice a low rumble that sends heat pooling in my belly. "Though I'm not sure 'generous' is the word I'd use."
"What word would you use?" Luca asks, tilting his head, his fingers tracing patterns on my inner thigh.
"Greedy," Dante says, stopping beside Gabriel. The two of them together—watching me with identical expressions of controlled desire—makes my mouth go dry. "Our girl wants all of us at once."
"Is that true, Flower?" Gabriel's eyes search mine. "Is that what you want?"
The air in the kitchen has changed. Gone thick and heavy with something I can't quite name but can definitely feel. The way they are all looking at me—Luca with open heat, Gabriel and Dante with controlled hunger—makes my skin feel too tight.
"I—" I start, but Luca's hands tighten on my thighs, holding me in place.
"Don't think," Luca murmurs, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosts across my lips. "Just feel. Just tell us what you need."
My heart is hammering now, desire and nervousness warring in my chest. I look between them.
Luca, still pressed between my legs, his wet shirt clinging to his chest, his green eyes bright with want.
Gabriel, standing a few feet away, his controlled exterior cracking to show the desire underneath.
Dante beside him, darker, more intense, his jaw tight with barely restrained need.
All three of them waiting. All three of them giving me the choice.
"What do you want, Bella?" Gabriel asks, and his voice is rough, strained with the effort of control.
"Tell us," Dante adds, his voice lower, rougher than Gabriel's. A command wrapped in a question. "We need to hear you say it."
I bite my lip, considering. Dante was supposed to be at the compound dealing with his father, but clearly those plans changed. We have the house to ourselves. Romeo is gone. And I want—God, I want—
"I want—" My voice comes out breathy, uncertain. "I want all of you." I force myself to meet their eyes, one by one. "All three of you. Together. Now."
Luca's grin turns absolutely feral. "Fuck yes."
"Are you certain?" Gabriel's question is quiet, serious, even as his eyes blaze with want. "Once we start, we won't stop until you're thoroughly satisfied. Until you can't walk. Until you're so full of us you can't think straight."
"I'm certain," I breathe, my pulse racing.
Dante crosses the distance in three long strides, his hand coming up to grip the back of my neck, possessive and sure.
He doesn't ask permission. He just takes my mouth in a kiss that is all dominance and barely leashed hunger, his teeth catching my bottom lip hard enough to sting, hard enough to make me gasp against his mouth.