He let out a laugh. “I’m going to fuck you hard for that.”

I flushed.

His gaze burned hot and lazy. “Take it all off and come here.”

I stood and slipped my dress and thong down my legs. As soon as I straddled him, his mouth latched onto my breast. Fever consumed me, a shot pouring straight in my bloodstream. He touched me, rough and urgent, and it only fed the fire.

My hands buried in his hair as he sucked and nipped on my breasts, on my throat and neck. He squeezed and smacked my ass, grinding me against his erection.

“Stand up,” he rasped. He barely got the words out before he was jerking me upward and then pulling me down on his face. I groaned, bracing a thigh on the back of the couch and a hand on his shoulder. He sucked and licked while I rolled my hips against his mouth. My skin burned. Pressure built and built.

“So close,” I moaned.

I gripped a fistful of his hair right before the release shot through me, buckling my legs and stealing my breath. I slid to his lap, gasping for air. Before I realized his intentions, he grabbed my hips and slammed inside of me.

I choked as pain spread through me. “Nico, I’m so sore.”

His hands gentled on me. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry.” He leaned forward and captured my top lip between his, kissing me with a sweet pull.

We both realized what had happened the second his mouth left mine.

He froze.

My pulse skidded to an awkward stop.

Unease poured into my bloodstream; warm as whiskey neat, yet as cold as ice. He was deep inside of me, so deep it stung, but all I could focus on was how my mouth tingled where he’d kissed me. I licked my lips, and his gaze darkened as he followed the motion. I could taste a hint of myself, but not enough of him.

The air stilled. Indecision shook in my hands. My heartbeats danced, warmed, pulsed like they were finally alive.

I couldn’t stop myself.

A tremor ran through me as I leaned forward, close enough our breaths intermixed. And then closer until my mouth brushed his. So soft, so him, so mine. When he parted his lips, I pressed mine to his and slid my tongue inside. A groan came from deep in his chest, his hands tightening on my hips.

I pulled back, trying to catch my breath. But before I caught it, I leaned in and kissed him again. Lazy and wet, I licked inside his mouth. His hand cupped the back of my head, and he sucked on my tongue. I moaned, my fingers running down his tie. The next kiss was rough, with a scrape of his teeth before easing into a wet slide. My blood drummed in my ears, rushed through my veins, incinerated like fuel and flame.

I was so full of him, and with his mouth on mine I felt overwhelmed. Complete. Consumed. And I never wanted to come up for air.

He tried to slow the kiss, but I didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t.

I pressed my mouth to his, gave his top lip a gentle lick, stole his breath straight from his lungs. He tasted so good. Like me, and warm vanilla whiskey.

He nipped my bottom lip, telling me enough.

“Fuck me or get off.”

I faltered at his sudden change of mood. However, I soon realized what this was. He was pissed that I’d never kissed him and now he was going to withhold it from me. My eyes narrowed, though I wasn’t that moved. Another man in the Cosa Nostra would’ve never respected my wish not to kiss him, and this one had. Now that I was trying to eat him alive, the proud boss was reminded of it.

I rolled my hips, slow and lazy at first. The soreness was like standing near a fire that was a bit too hot but you’d die without its warmth. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pressed my face into his neck.

A shiver rolled through me, pressure and heat sparking as I ground my clit against his pelvis. His hands ran down my back, gripping my ass and pulling me harder against him. I was only rubbing myself against him, not fucking him yet, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The sensation of him deep and still inside of me drove me to the edge. An mmm sound escaped me as I rose an inch and then slid back down.

“Fuck, those noises.” He captured the next one in his mouth. His palms ran to my ribs, spanning my waist. A shudder rolled under his skin as I began to slowly move up and down.

Rough hands held me tightly.

Teeth nipped my jaw.

Lips ran up my neck before pressing to my ear.

“You gonna keep your mouth from me again?”

I shook my head.

“Because it’s mine?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

He groaned from his throat before grabbing the back of my neck and kissing me hard. Wet and messy. Wild and rough. And then slow, wet glides and licks, like he was trying to taste every inch of my mouth. Warmth spilled into my chest and spread outward.

He let me get used to fucking him before his hands started moving me up and down. Sweet, hot pressure began to build. I moaned in his mouth. He kissed me and kissed me until I couldn’t breathe anything but him.

When his head lowered and he sucked a nipple into his mouth, the pressure boiled over. A shudder shook me as pleasure burst and finally dissipated. My breath came out heavy and erratic, my forehead resting on his.

His body tensed, and his hands tightened on my waist as he rocked me.

“Ask me to come inside you.”

“Please come inside me,” I sighed against his lips.

He pressed his face against my throat, let out a masculine groan that sent goose bumps down my body, and bit my neck hard enough it would leave a mark.

I sat there with my arms around his shoulders, my breath fanning his throat. His presence soaked through my skin with each inhale. His touch and taste and smell sank so deep they filled the cracks of my heart. He was becoming a drug, an addiction I would have to feed every day. From the recent hit, euphoria filled my veins and relaxed my limbs.

He was an infatuation, a craving, a need, and I was sure it was unrequited. But as my fingers ran down his tie and rested on his chest—

Bu-bum.

Bu-bum.

Bu-bum.

His heartbeats raced for me.

“We do not remember days, we remember moments.”

—Cesare Pavese

I RAN MY HANDS DOWN her back, marveling at the softness. She was so small and breakable in my arms—I could snuff the life right out of her with little effort. The thought made something tighten in my throat.

I didn’t know what to do with this woman, but I did know I was keeping her. Every time I saw her, my blood burned hotter, searing the word mine into my chest. If it were only the greedy Russo in me driving this infatuation, it would’ve gone away the moment she left my bed. Everyone at the Abelli house today knew that hadn’t fucking happened.

I’d come to the conclusion I didn’t give a shit if she wanted to be with another: she couldn’t. It was that simple. I kept myself from digging into her past because I knew if I found something I didn’t like—specifically, a lover—I wouldn’t be able to handle it with a clear mind. And the thought of earning her hatred sent a hollow ache throughout my chest.

Her breath fanned my neck, and I ran my fingers through her hair. There was so fucking much of it. I’d had to hold it out of her face while she sucked my dick. She hadn’t been lying—that was the first time she’d done it. A heady rush consumed me. Maybe she wasn’t as experienced as I’d believed.

What else hadn’t she done? I wanted it all. Everything. The urge to demand she tell me was on the tip of my tongue, but I forced myself to keep it in. I didn’t want to talk—or even think—about her sexual history. I had a feeling it would only end up with another broken piece of furniture.