Chapter Eight
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Isabella
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I miscalculated. I needed eleven business days between each kiss, not five minutes. My god. How am I going to survive them when I can barely stand?
I'm not even given a reprieve to change my soaked panties before Emilio strides into my apartment, the epitome of sophistication. He is picture-perfect in every way. Not a hair out of place.
"Emilio," I say, and again it's a whisper. I don't waste time. I hand him his glass before he can say my name, and when he does, I swear my clit pulsed.
Emilio takes two sips of his drink. His gaze remains fixed on mine.
After a moment of his intense perusal, he sets his glass down and closes the little distance between us.
His fingers tilt my chin at just the right angle so that the column of my neck is exposed.
He runs his thumb down the side of my neck before his lips touch mine.
He isn't rushed. Not Emilio. He starts with the softest press of his lips, deliberately making me go mad before he tastes the seam of my mouth, and then I part my lips for him helplessly.
His tongue traces the inside of my swollen lower lip, thanks to Lorenzo, with slow, meticulous strokes, until I whimper and a satisfied growl vibrates from his chest. He pulls me closer, just like Lorenzo. His free hand slides down my side, coaxing my legs apart.
Dear god, I'm even wetter now. How could he not feel the evidence of my drenched panties? More so when his kisses grow deeper, harder, changing who I am yet again.
I'm burning up. Wet. Desperate. And he knows it. I can't... I can't let them know.
I pull away from him the same way I did with Lorenzo, and Emilio offers me a smile, but again there's a glint of suspicion in his gaze, just like there was in Lorenzo's.
By the time I get Emilio out of the door, I'm contemplating barricading myself inside or escaping through the window of my apartment, which is a penthouse, means the math about how many broken bones I’ll have doesn’t add up.
I'm so screwed. I pace the floor, a complete wet wreck until Marcello enters my apartment, and immediately, I'm transformed into an even bigger wet wreck.
Oh boy. Oh boy. Oh boy.
I pull myself together at the sight of Marcello. The man is a god. I don't even stop my body from hungrily taking every inch of him. And just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I'm overcome with the violent need to kiss him, to complete the circle that is Lorenzo, Emilio, and Marcello.
His name leaves my lips in a breathy whisper. I practically shove his drink in his hand, but then he toasts me, saying my name with that devilish grin on his face that melts underwear.
He downs the drink in one go.
Okay then. Not even seconds later, he gives me the same look as his friends before him had. A wicked sparkle shines in his eyes. My stomach capsizes.
"Come here, tesoro," he says and pulls me toward him.
He bends his head and buries his face into the curve of my neck and shoulder before he lays kisses all over my skin, traveling to behind my ear, over my jaw, and by the time he gets to my lips, I open for him immediately, my body vibrating at his dark chuckle before he kisses the virtual life out of me.
My brain may have escaped out the window because I can't think anymore. He teases me, then kisses me with such indulgence I do the only thing I can and whimper. He forces me to arch into him, his thigh slipping between mine.
It's out of the bag now. I wouldn't be surprised if I left a wet stain on his suit pants.
I feel myself drowning, but I catch myself before I'm completely under, pull away and send him off just like I did Lorenzo and Emilio.
With the door closed behind me, I slide down to my butt in my wet panties and my achy nipples and my flushed body, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I pulled it off. I got them to my apartment. They drank the potion mixed in their drinks. They kissed me. They kissed me. Then I sent them off. Now I have to wait no more than twenty-four to forty-eight hours before one of them proposes.
Just one of them.
Only one of them.
Either Lorenzo. Or Emilio. Or Marcello.
Just one.
"Right," I say loudly to bring me back to reality. I have to marry an Onyx in order to save my family. I can't get sidetracked. That will just not do.
But as I drag myself to my bedroom, I can't help the dull ache in my chest. What? No. There is no dull ache in my chest. What am I saying? The only dull ache in my chest should be that I have to marry one of three of my biggest enemies ever.
Surely my universe is just a mean bitch to bring them back around to me this way.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
I get myself nicely mad at them all over again as I take another shower and get into bed. Then I can't sleep, so I wake up in the middle of the night and write them a letter. The same letter handwritten three times because that's how I do it.
They're the worst kissers in the world, I write.
The absolute worst. I now have to get lip replacement surgery—if that doesn't exist, I'd like to be a candidate for it.
I have to bleach my mind so I can forget their stupid, horrible kisses in order to move on with my life.
And if I have to marry one of them, I will never be kissing them again. Ever. Good night and goodbye.
Feeling slightly better about myself, I finally fall asleep.