Page 28 of Fallen Rook

I hung back when the others left to spend time with my mom and the staff I’d grown up with.

Mama was holding up better than expected. She was probably the only person I knew who hated Vello Ferrante more than I did. Still, she had the good manners to wear black and pat her dry eyes with a napkin when someone visited to offer their condolences. She also kept saying he was a saint, despite the fact he made the Devil look like the second coming of Jesus.

Before I left, she yanked me close in a hug and whispered in my ear, “I’ve been praying extra hard for your soul, Vincenzo. Vello may have ruined my life, but I’m glad you stopped him before he destroyed yours.”

It was all the confirmation I needed that my mother knew I was behind my father’s death.

And that a part of why I’d killed him was because of everything he’d put us through.

I got wet kisses from our cook, Gianna, and a lecture about being a good husband from my former nanny turned housekeeper, Imma, who was also visiting.

I made my way from the opulent mansion to my 2018 Lamborghini 488 GT3 EVO custom painted with the Italian flag.

What can I say? I liked to keep a low profile.

Strolling past our fountain, I realized mine was the only car left. I’d parked on the far end of the road, next to the tall cypresses that divided the property from the golf course.

As I reached for my pocket to grab my keys, a hand clamped over my shoulder. I pivoted, coming face-to-face with my own personal tomcat. My eyes widened.

“Tom? What the—”

I didn’t get to finish that sentence. He gave me a rough shove, and I stumbled between the cypresses. Before I knew what was happening, I was lying flush on my back over the manicured lawn, hidden from view, Tom on top of me, wearing his crisp dress shirt rolled at the sleeves and shoulder holster. His hair was slicked back, and he looked like Clark Kent’s hotter evil twin. His eyes fucking undid me. Those deep ultramarines threatened to drown me in the misery he carried with him everywhere.

I wasn’t sure if Agent Asshole was aware that this section of the property was the only perimeter not wired to the eyeballs with cameras, but I was relieved no one would be able to see us here.

He ripped his glasses off, bunched my shirt in his fist, and yanked me forward so our foreheads were flush. He examined me with his signature annoyance, panting as war raged inside him.

“You blocked me?”

I shrugged with a smirk, a thrill racing up my spine. I liked our little cat and mouse game. How we always switched up roles. How we could both hold our own.

He rolled the tip of his tongue along his straight white teeth.

“What am I going to do with you, Enzo?” he asked, deadly quiet.

“Fuck me?” I flashed him a crooked grin.

He groaned, crashing his lips against mine so hard that the pain reverberated along my skull.

A spark of lust ignited in the base of my spine, spreading like wildfire across my body. My dick twitched and swelled against his. He was already hard and grinding his massive cock against my thigh.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

The first touch of our tongues made all my senses explode. He tasted so good I wanted to weep. A mixture of cinnamon and toothpaste and male. That was what turned me on the most, I think. He was so unmistakably male. Possessive, aggressive, feral, in-my-face masculine. Unapologetically violent. His firm lips were dry and right, so right. And they captured mine with unhinged madness that confirmed my suspicion—that behind those tall, thick ice walls, his fire was too hot to contain.

He thrust his tongue deeper into my mouth, brushing the walls, exploring my teeth, tickling the back of my throat, owning every single inch of me. Ensnared, I rocked my hips against him shamelessly, but he pinned me so fucking tightly against the lawn I could hardly move. He was making some kind of point, and I sincerely wished he’d decide to spank me to get it across.

Somewhere in the back of my head I knew how dangerous this was. I kept telling myself Tom wouldn’t tell, but my risk was far greater than his. If people found out, he might get fired. But me? I’d get killed.

“You fucking nuisance.” He speared his fingers through my hair, tugging me closer, deepening our kiss, even though there was no more distance to bridge between us. He melted into me and I accepted him, moaning into his mouth, waiting for a chance for him to unlock me so I could use my hands to touch him everywhere. “The audacity you have to block me…” He continued ranting while savagely eating my entire face. It seemed like my lips were no longer enough, because his mouth ravaged everything in its path, moving south, nipping my chin—hard, fuck!—before he licked it better and slid down my throat. I tilted my head back, giving him better access to do whatever the shit he wanted. His lips latched against the side of my neck, his tongue lapping so fervently I was afraid he was gonna suck my fucking soul right along with the first layer of my skin. His teeth sank into the sensitive flesh, marking, punishing, tasting, claiming. I knew it was a giant mistake, just as I knew I was going to continue making it as long as he’d let me.

It felt like he was claiming me. And no one ever had before. In my entire sexual history, girls took one look at my muscular, six-four ass and decided I was the dominant one and they were to be devoured. Now, Tom did the devouring, and he wasn’t taking just my body. He was swallowing my entire existence in his vortex of passion and hate. I thrashed beneath him, making lewd noises I never knew I was capable of, desperate to free my arms from his grip so I could cop a feel. I needed to touch that rolled-up magazine he called a cock. To push my hand into his pants and see if he was leaking like I was.

“Ffuuuckk, Tom, I want you to fuck me,” I grumbled, unsure if I was speaking in Italian or English.

“Who the fuck told you that you can speak to me?”

He pulled back slightly, but before I could use my arms, he flipped me so I was flat on my stomach and mounted me from behind.