Page 52 of Wicked Mafia Mistake
Her breath hitches. Her eyes lock on mine, wide and burning, and her hips roll to meet every thrust. She grips my shoulders, her nails carving crescents deep enough to sting, and rides the force of my body slamming her into the plaster.
I reach between us and press my thumb against her clit, firm and relentless, and the sound she makes is raw and broken and mine.
Her hand flies out and catches the edge of a console table. A vase tips. A framed painting rattles loose from its hook. Both crash to the hardwood and neither of us flinches.
I drive into her so hard the wall shudders.
"Massimo." My name comes out of her mouth wrecked, barely a sound, her forehead dropping against mine. "God, yes."
Her body locks around me, every muscle clenching tight, her thighs shaking against my hips. She comes with her teeth buried in my shoulder and my name trapped behind them, muffled and desperate against my skin.
I follow her. Not gently. I bury myself to the hilt and let go, filling her completely, my release pulsing hot inside her while a groan tears from my chest that doesn't sound like a man in control because I'm not. I'm not anything right now except hers.
I want this woman round with my child. The thought hits me mid-collapse and I don't push it away.
I brace one hand against the wall to keep us both upright, my forehead pressed against hers, my breath ragged and broken against her mouth. Her body shakes against mine and the aftershocks pulse through both of us, slow and deep, rolling out in waves that match the rain still hammering the glass.
We slide down the wall together. End up on the hallway floor, her in my lap, my back against the plaster, the cool hardwood beneath us grounding the heat still radiating from our skin. Both of us breathing hard. The rain fills the silence and her fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest through my ruined shirt.
"I broke a button," she says, touching the gap where the shirt pulls open. Her voice is hoarse.
"I'll make sure you pay for that."
"Add it to the contract." She presses her lips against my collarbone and I feel her smile against my skin, warm and tired and real. Then she pulls back and looks at me, her blue eyes serious beneath the post-sex flush. Her bare face is stripped of everything except the truth. "I’m not going to end up like your mom, Mass.”
I love the sound of my shortened name on her lips.
“I wanted this between us even if it’s not real. I know there’s an expiration date on the nuptials, but I'm not going to lose myself like she did. You are not your father."
"I know."
She searches my face. Nods once and then rests her head on my chest.
I hold her on the floor of my hallway with rain pounding the windows and her heartbeat slowing against my ribs and I think about my mother. About the contract she signed.
About Lorenzo.
I know what Lorenzo has planned. But knowing about a threat and stopping it are two different things. The woman in my arms just handed me every vulnerable piece of herself and I will die before I let Lorenzo Ferraro touch her life.
Thirteen
Sloane
For the first time in weeks, I wake up and my first thought isn't fear.
Massimo's arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm and slow against the back of my neck, his body curved around mine with a possessiveness that doesn't loosen even in sleep.
Rain still taps against the windows from last night's storm, lighter now, a soft rhythm that mixes with his breathing and the low hum of the heating system pushing warm air through the penthouse. Pale morning light filters through the rain-streaked glass and casts watery patterns across the dark sheets, shifting and rippling every time a fresh gust hits the building.
I lie still and let myself feel it. Safe. Held. Known. The man behind me knows every ugly truth I carry and he's still here, still reaching for me in his sleep the way he has every night since I signed that contract a week ago.
A lot has been shoved to the back burner while I try to figure out my new temporary life. I’ve given Massimo my keys and he’s promised to have my things brought over by tomorrow evening.Neither of us know how long it will take to get this thing with Lorenzo straightened out, but we both agree it won’t be overnight. There are a lot of moving parts to untying the promise my father made behind my back and without my consent.
Massimo slides out of bed and I hear the shower turn on. Alone in bed, I place a hand on my midriff and allow myself a moment to dream about carrying this man’s child. My brain is hooked on the thought of him releasing inside me last night. It felt possessive and claiming and I can’t wait for him to do it again.
I'm still tangled in his dark sheets when Massimo appears at the foot of the bed several minutes later, showered and dressed in a dark suit with his hair still slightly damp. He smells like soap and cologne and the warmth of clean skin. The sight of him put together while I'm still half-asleep and bare-faced does unfair things to my pulse.
"Go back to sleep,tesoro. I have meetings this morning."
