Page 25 of Captive Heart: Armani
“Yes,” I gasp.
Letting myself get carried away, I start moaning louder and longer, reveling in the sound. I’m high on his cock right now, my heart racing, my whole body strung tight as flames of ecstasy lap at my center. He hitches my legs around him and then looks down into my eyes while he fucks me. But even though he’s looking at me, I can tell he doesn’t see me. He’s somewhere else, lost in his head. I’m not sure he recognizes my pleasure or cares if he gives it to me. He’s too busy chasing release, relief, from something.
“Fuck me,” I command. I want him to see me. Hear me. Acknowledge me. “Fuck me, Armani, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
I don’t know if my words have any effect on him, but suddenly he pulls out again and repositions me on my knees. I’ve barely gotten myself balanced when he’s gripping my shoulders and pounding into me from behind. The bed rocks, the headboard tapping against the wall. Pushing back against him, I chase my own release and find it before him, shattering and crying out in a hot rush. He comes forcefully but quietly, choking back his grunts, as if keeping his orgasm completely for himself.
He immediately disengages and lies back against his pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes. Moving to my stomach, I turn my face away from him and catch my breath. I’m not surprised when his weight leaves the mattress and I hear fabric rustling as he gets dressed.
“The Russian survived the fire,” he says, shocking me. “If he survived, maybe your friend did, too.”
My heart flutters. Rolling over to look at him, I gape to find the bedroom door closing behind him. Where the fuck is he going? He can’t drop a bomb like that and just leave.
But the important thing is, Juliana’s fiancé is alive. Could he have gotten her out as well?
Pushing off the bed, I scramble for my phone. It’s stupid, and I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I do. I dial her number one more time.
It rings. Anticipation flares in my chest. Maybe her phone is back on.
Click.
Voicemail.
I listen to Juliana’s outgoing message, closing my eyes as I soak up the sound of her voice. And even though she didn’t answer, I let myself believe that she will soon.
10
ARMANI
We’re backto business as usual around the Bellanti Vineyards, but everything feels wrong.
It’s been two days now, and I haven’t heard anything more about the fire, neither victims nor survivors. Nor has Sergio Bruno made contact to let us know that he’s aware of our involvement. It’s only a matter of time, however, and I need to be prepared.
To that end, I’ve increased security around our properties to ensure that the family and our winery employees are all safe. Additional guards are covertly watching every entry point, as well as the activity around the Bellanti offices and the winery buildings. I ran extensive background checks on everyone we hired, and had one of my hacker associates do an additional background check of her own. The way things are going, I can’t be too paranoid.
It’s unnerving to expect something to explode or gunfire to come from the shadows or some other act of violence to happen when I least expect it. Tit for tat, I know. It’s all part of the game. But I hate it.
And my need to protect this place has compounded. I’m going to have a child, and that changes everything. The stakes are higher than they’ve ever been.
I’m in my office with the door locked and the blinds closed. It’s gloomy and gray inside, but it suits me as I sit behind my desk and ponder my next move. Riggante isn’t being forthcoming with information, and I’m sick of nagging him for intel five times a day. He was downright ornery during our last conversation, and my gut tells me it’s because Orloff survived and Riggante isn’t the type to take a failure in stride.
Normally, I would have insisted that I take over as the head of this (failed) operation already, but I can’t risk causing offense when I know I’ll need Riggante’s cooperation again in the future. Because the fire didn’t successfully neutralize our target, we’ll have to come up with a new plan to erase the Bratva threat. Pissing off Riggante would be like shooting myself in the foot. The man holds a lot of sway with the other families, too.
My cell rings. It’s Clayton. Adrenaline surges through me. Maybe he’s dug up some news about the boat accident.
“Yes?” I answer gruffly.
“Maxim Orloff is here.”
Well, shit. That’s definitely not what I was expecting.
“Herewhere?” I ask, immediately on high alert. “On the property?”
“Security has him on camera in line for a wine tasting.”
This gives me a serious pause. “A wine tasting? Is this a joke?”
“No, boss.”
