Gian (Trassato Crime Family #1)(32)
“A beautiful woman who has lost confidence in herself. A beautiful woman who will succeed if she pushes aside her fears and tries again. A woman too f*cking perfect to be real.” His voice was deep and smoky next to my ear, and it ruffled the strands of my hair.
My breasts tightened in response. Heat inched up my face, and my eyes opened, powerless to shut him out any longer. Powerless to resist him. Powerless to deny myself despite knowing this was the king of all bad ideas. Though my surrender would surely result in heartbreak, I was starting to think he might be worth the risk.
“You think so?” My voice was husky. Too husky for my own good. Passion burned in his eyes, flickering like a flame in the wind. “I know so. It’s so clear, I can’t believe you don’t see it.”
I slid my hand up his chest and around his neck like I promised myself I wouldn’t. I felt the chaotic drum of his pulse under the pads of my fingers and the warmth of his skin. We stared at each other, both of us caught in a miasma of lust and desire. If I tilted my head up a little bit, I’d eliminate any suggestion of space between us, and my lips would collide with his.
“Ti penso sempre,” he muttered along with a few other soft words I didn’t understand. Maybe I didn’t want to understand. It’d make the moment real rather than dreamlike, and I liked the castles-in-the-air feel of being with him. Being in his bed. Being in his line of sight.
I arched my pelvis into him, reveling in the solid yet satiny feel of him. Cupping the side of my face, he rubbed his thumb over my lips, hesitating for a second. I nipped him lightly. Playfully. Daringly.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbled, and his lips crashed against mine. Taking. Seeking. Tempting.
Lost in the wickedness of his kiss, desire swirled inside of me. I clawed at his boxers, finally shoving them down his legs with the tips of my toes. He ripped my t-shirt over my head, his hands tangling in my hair in the frenzy to be skin-on-skin.
He slid my lace boyshorts down my legs, and a warning light flashed in my brain, begging me to stop and consider repercussions. Casual sex wasn’t my thing. Some people enjoyed the meaningless release and didn’t have problems erasing it from their memory and conscience. I wasn’t built that way. I had a hard time not getting caught up in the significance of being raw and vulnerable with someone.
As quickly as the reflection took root, my mind backtracked. A small part of me delighted in the idea of grabbing hold of the moment and seeing where this led if only to wipe away the stain of Kevin and our failed engagement and replace it with something new. Something for me. Something to reclaim my life.
I can do this. It won’t mean anything if I don’t let it.
With that little pep talk, the tug of war inside my mind faded. I wanted him. I needed him, if only for a few blinding moments of pleasure.
Sensing my capitulation, his finger slid through my folds, testing and teasing. His free hand cupped one breast then the other. I couldn’t look away from his face. His pupils were dilated with a golden rim that gleamed in the dim light. He flicked his tongue along his top lip like he wanted nothing more than to devour me whole.
A short, needy moan erupted from my lips, and any tiny lingering reservations cartwheeling through my mind came to an abrupt cease-fire. My hands moved up and down the muscles of his arms, and they rippled, bulged, and flexed like a sculpture that had come to life. I yanked on the roots of his coarse, wavy hair, not too hard, but not with much caution either. His lips smashed against mine for another kiss that seemed to last forever, yet not long enough to satisfy my simmering lust.
I tasted the mint of his toothpaste. I tasted desire. Best of all, I tasted him.
His talented fingers forged ahead, driving me crazy with every stroke and slide and flick. Tension magnified inside of me at a disquieting velocity. My limbs tingled. My chest heaved. My lips parted.
“I’m really close,” I muttered with disbelief, mostly to myself.
He pulled his hand away. “I know.”
“No. Don’t stop,” I whined in a way that would have made me cringe under normal circumstances. Not now. Not when I was five seconds from getting what I wanted.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Nothing could make me stop. I’ve been thinking about this round-the-clock since the minute you walked into my club.”
He roughly nudged my knees apart and wedged his pelvis between my trembling legs. His hands clamped around my hips, pressing his thick erection against my sex in an unspoken petition for entry. A current of electricity circulated though me, raising the fine hairs on my forearms, and I shuddered.
Gripping his shaft in one hand, he moved inside me an inch. I blinked in shock.
Oh my God. No words.
One more inch and our synchronized groans meshed into one. One more inch, and I stopped cold.
“Wait.” My hands scraped down the sculpted planes of his chest. “Condom.”
His gaze raked up my body until it collided with mine. His mouth ticked up at the corners. Without a word, he leaned over, grabbed a foil square from the top drawer of his nightstand, ripped it open with his teeth, and rolled it down his erection.
His body blanketed mine again, and he brushed a kiss across my lips. “Better?”
“Yeah. Now f*ck me before I change my mind.” My voice came out throaty and unrecognizable, not only in tone, but in every way possible. Those words didn’t belong to me. I had never uttered anything remotely similar in my entire life.