Chapter 10 #2
The drive to Lincoln Park passes in charged silence, the city lights streaming past the tinted windows like falling stars.
Her hand rests on my thigh, warm through the fabric of my suit pants, her fingers tracing idle patterns that make concentration impossible.
Heat builds with every stroke, every casual touch that she probably doesn't even realize she's making.
By the time we reach the mansion, my blood runs hot and my restraint hangs by threads.
She reaches for me the moment the bedroom door closes behind us.
Her mouth finds mine with desperate hunger, her fingers tearing at my jacket, shoving it off my shoulders.
It hits the floor with a muffled thump that neither of us acknowledges.
Then her hands attack my shirt, fumbling with buttons, yanking fabric free of my waistband.
The kiss tastes like desperation and need and something that feels dangerously close to trust.
"Ilona." Her name scrapes from my throat as she shoves my shirt off my shoulders, her palms spreading across my bare chest, nails dragging lightly through the hair dusted across my pectorals. "Slow down. Let me—"
"I don't want slow." She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her chest heaving beneath the blue silk, her pupils blown so wide her eyes look black in the dim light. "I want you. I've wanted you all week, and I'm tired of waiting, and I need—"
I silence her with my mouth. I don’t need to hear anything else.
The kiss turns molten, consuming, a conflagration that burns away every rational thought.
My tongue sweeps against hers and she moans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest. My fingers find her zipper and drag it down, the metallic whisper loud in the heated silence.
The dress pools at her feet in a cascade of sapphire silk, leaving her in nothing but scraps of white lace that make my vision blur.
"Fuck." The curse escapes me before I can stop it. "You're so goddamn beautiful."
Her laugh is breathless, shaky, her fingers working my belt with clumsy urgency.
"Less talking. More touching, Dante." She crooks a finger in my direction.
Then her hands still on my buckle and her eyes lift to mine with a curiosity that cuts through the heat.
"Why Dante? Of all the names you could have chosen that night, why that one? "
The question catches me off guard, her timing impeccable. She’s asking the one thing I didn't prepare for in the middle of a moment where my defenses are already on the floor with my shirt.
"Dante Alighieri. The man who mapped Hell." I brush a strand of blue-tipped hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I've spent most of my life walking through dark places. Seemed fitting to name myself after the only man who made the journey and came out the other side."
Her fingers resume their work on my belt, slower now, more deliberate. "And did you? Come out the other side?"
"Not until you." I lower my mouth to the curve of her throat and feel her pulse jump beneath my lips.
Her fingers slide into my hair and she tilts my face down until our eyes meet, her gaze soft with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
"Then I'm glad you found your way out, Devil.
" She presses her lips to mine in a kiss that carries the warmth of a woman who has no idea how literal my words are, and the sweetness of her trust guts me in ways I refuse to examine right now.
"Now stop being poetic and take me to bed. "
The way she drags me mentally back to the first time I took her shoots a fresh wave of need through me.
I oblige.
My hands map the terrain of her body as we stumble toward the bed, learning her curves by touch, cataloging every gasp and shiver. The backs of her knees hit the mattress and she falls backward, pulling me down with her, our bodies tangling together in a desperate press of heated skin.
But when I settle over her, something shifts.
The desperation fades into reverence.
I trace the curve of her jaw with my lips, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint sweetness of whatever lotion she used after her shower.
She shivers beneath me, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging the leather cord free until the strands fall around us like a curtain.
My mouth travels lower, pressing kisses to her throat, pausing at the pulse point that flutters wildly beneath my lips, feeling her heartbeat against my tongue.
“Luca,” she purrs sweetly, dragging her fingers through my hair.
"Let me worship you." The words come from somewhere primal, somewhere true, rumbling up from my chest like a prayer. "Let me show you what you mean to me."
Her eyes glisten in the candlelight, tears she's trying not to shed. "Luca..." she tries again.
"I promised." I kiss down her sternum, my beard scraping lightly against her sensitive skin, drawing goosebumps in my wake.
I pause at the swell of her breasts, pressing my lips to the lace still covering her nipples, feeling them peak beneath the thin fabric.
"At the courthouse. I promised you a celebration worth remembering. "
I reach behind her and unclasp her bra with fingers that have steadied through sheer force of will.
The lace falls away, revealing breasts that make my mouth water, full and perfect with nipples the color of dusty roses.
I capture one between my lips and suck gently, rolling the peak with my tongue, and her back arches off the mattress.
"Oh God." Her voice breaks on the words. "Luca, please."
I release her nipple with a wet pop and kiss lower, trailing my mouth down the soft plane of her stomach. My lips find the slight curve where our baby grows, the evidence of what we created, and I press a reverent kiss there that makes her sob.
"Mine," I murmur against her skin. "Both of you. Mine."
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and drag them down her legs, revealing the glistening center of her, the proof of how much she wants this. Wants me. Her scent fills my lungs, musky and sweet, and my cock throbs against the confines of my remaining clothes.
I settle between her thighs and worship her with my mouth.
The first stroke of my tongue makes her cry out, her hips bucking against my face.
I pin her down with one arm across her lower belly, holding her still as I feast on her, licking and sucking and driving her toward the edge with single-minded determination.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting.
Her thighs tremble against my ears. Her moans fill the room like music, each one higher and more desperate than the last.
"I can't—Luca—I'm going to—"
I seal my lips around her clit and suck hard, and she shatters against my tongue with a scream that echoes off the walls. Her whole body convulses, inner muscles clenching around nothing, her arousal flooding my mouth as I drink her down like a man dying of thirst.
I don't stop.
I ease her through the aftershocks with gentler strokes, then build her up again, two fingers sliding inside her slick heat while my tongue returns to her sensitive bundle of nerves. She writhes beneath me, overstimulated and desperate, begging for mercy I have no intention of granting.
"Again." I curl my fingers against the spot that makes her see stars. "Give me another one, jungle flower."
She comes again with a sob, clenching around my fingers, her body bowing off the mattress like she's been electrified. I work her through it, my free hand stroking her hip, murmuring praise against her swollen flesh until she collapses boneless against the sheets.
Only then do I rise over her, shedding my remaining clothes with desperate efficiency. My cock springs free, hard and aching, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. I position myself at her entrance, the head of me nudging against her slick heat, and pause.
"Look at me."
Her eyes flutter open, glazed and unfocused, pupils so dilated I can barely see the amber ring around them.
"You are not a mistake. We are not a mistake." I push forward, sliding into her inch by devastating inch, feeling her stretch around me. "This is not a mistake."
Her breath catches. Her eyes widen. Questions form behind those pretty lashes that I'm not ready to answer.
I seal my mouth over hers and sink into her channel until I’m fully seated inside her warmth.
The pace is slow, deliberate, nothing like the frantic coupling at the masquerade.
I withdraw until only the swollen tip remains inside her, then slide back in with aching gentleness, filling her completely, giving her time to feel every hard, throbbing inch.
She wraps her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper.
"Faster." Her nails rake down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "Please, Luca, I need—"
"I know what you need, my love."
I give her faster. Harder. My hips snap against hers in a rhythm that builds toward something devastating.
Sweat slicks our skin, making us slide together, our bodies speaking a language older than words.
Her inner walls grip me like a fist, hot and wet and perfect, and I know I won't last much longer.
"Come with me." I reach between us and find her clit, circling it with my thumb. "Come with me, jungle flower."
She breaks apart with my name on her lips, her body clenching around me in waves that drag me over the edge with her. I bury myself to the hilt and pour into her, my vision whiting out, my heart pounding so hard I'm certain she can feel it against her chest.
The world narrows to the two of us, tangled together, breathing each other's air.
I don't pull out immediately. I stay inside her, softening but still connected, pressing kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose.
She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
I dip lower and caress her belly with my lips, kissing her and the place our child grows.
Her fingers find my hair and she gently moves it to the side, not saying anything when I raise my gaze to find hers. No words are needed. For better or worse, we are a family. A unit.
"That was..."
"Just the beginning." I finally withdraw, rolling to the side and pulling her against my chest. Her head settles over my heart, her hair fanning across my skin like spilled ink. "I plan to worship you every night for the rest of our lives, jungle flower."
Her breathing evens out within minutes, exhaustion claiming her. I hold her as she sleeps, my fingers tracing patterns on her spine, memorizing the architecture of her bones, the geography of her skin.
My mind falls back to the wish in my jacket pocket.
I wish someone would make my mistake disappear.
She chose me tonight. Reached for me. Let me inside her body and gave me her pleasure and something that felt terrifyingly close to her heart.
But she also wrote those words. And I haven't figured out what to do with that yet.
I'll become the man she sees when she looks at me like she did tonight. I'll build something so solid between us that the wish in that box becomes a relic from a version of her life that no longer exists.
Her father's smile flashes through my memory, cold and calculating, a predator scenting weakness. The way he looked at her belly. The false warmth in his voice when he mentioned his grandchild.
That was an opening move.
Dread pools in my stomach like ice water, cold and heavy.
Enzo Marchetti doesn't make peace. He doesn't surrender.
He calculates and plots and waits for the perfect moment to strike.
I hope his daughter can see through his smoke screen, but love for a parent has a way of blinding even the sharpest eyes.
Whatever he's planning, I need to be ready.
But that can wait. Right now I want to hold my wife. My jungle flower.
Tomorrow, I start dismantling the man who thinks he can touch my family.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it slowly, careful not to disturb her.
A message from my informant embedded in Marchetti's organization.
He's making calls. Gathering allies. The Morellis, the Vidalis, even some of the Russians. Promising them pieces of Syndicate territory once he takes you down. He's telling everyone you kidnapped his daughter. Painting himself as the victim.
I read the words twice, letting them settle into my bones. I share the message with Rafael and then turn my phone over for the last bit of silence I’ll have until Enzo is in the ground where he can never hurt Ilona again.
Let him gather his army. Let him promise territories he'll never control. Let him spin whatever narrative makes him feel powerful.
My brothers and I have dismantled empires built by smarter men than him.
We've buried threats that made Enzo look like a child playing dress-up in his father's suits.
His trafficking operations, his money laundering, his cruelty toward anyone unlucky enough to fall under his control.
All of it documented. All of it waiting for the right moment to become his grave.
He thinks taking Ilona was an act of war. He's right.
But he's not the one who gets to decide how this war ends.
I pull my wife closer, her body warm and pliant against mine. She murmurs in her sleep, something soft and unintelligible, and burrows deeper into my chest.
Let Enzo Marchetti come. He has no idea what's waiting for him.