Page 111 of Promised to the Don of Naples
"Valentina…"
"I said no."
Luca stopped, looked at my hand, looked at me. I felt my blood heat.
"You can't hide things from me."
"I'm not hiding anything from you, bella mia."
"Yes, you are."
"Va bene. I am."
It was his mouth that came first.
Brutal. No leave, no sweetness, no warning. He grabbed me by the back of the neck with his right hand, pinned me against the wall of the room, and kissed me as if he wanted to tear the fight out of me with his mouth.
The sheet fell.
"Luca. I'm angry."
"Lo so."
His hand moved down my waist, found my hip. He lifted me without effort, the way he did, and pressed me deeper against the wall, his robe falling open between the two bodies.
"Luca."
"Bella mia."
"I'm not done fighting."
"Finish later."
I closed my eyes.
Cazzo, I thought. Even angry I want him.
It was fast, hungry. It was the first time in our whole history that I didn't ask for slow and he wasn't slow.
My feet didn't touch the floor. My back hit the white Positano stone wall three times. I bit his bare shoulder once, out of anger, and he let out a sound that was half laugh, half growl against my neck.
And then, low, against my neck, he said a word I'd never heard from him:
"Scusi."
Forgive me.
I closed my eyes, and he carried me to the bed in his arms.
He sat down with me in his lap on the edge of the mattress, still wrapped around him, both of us still breathing hard. I rested my forehead on his shoulder.
"The other two," I murmured.
"Tomorrow, bella mia."
"Tomorrow."
"Lo prometto."
