Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(6)

“Yeah,” she says, making a face. “I thought it would be fun to major in.”

“A degree in philosophy, huh? What kind of job can you get with one of those?”

“Probably the kind that involves a stripper pole.”

She’s being sarcastic, grumbling under her breath, but I laugh at that answer because it’s not far-fetched. “Well, hell, you could’ve saved all that tuition and just gotten a job with me at Mystic.”

She cuts her eyes at me as I sit down. “Mystic?”

“A club I used to dance at,” I say. “Definitely didn’t need a degree to work a pole there.”

Her eyes widen. “Seriously? You’re a—”

“Stripper, yeah... or well, I was.”

“Wow, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” She cringes. “Ugh, I’m such a dumbass. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to say, you know, that there’s anything wrong with stripping...”

“It’s fine,” I tell her.

“That’s just... wow. I mean, I guess I can see it, you know? You look like... well...”

“Someone who takes her clothes off for money?” I ask, taking a guess at where she’s going with that.

Her face turns red as she shakes her head. “I mean like someone who doesn’t give a crap what anyone thinks about her.”

She stares at me like she wants to ask something, but before she can find the words, headlights flash through the window as a car pulls into the driveway.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter what people think,” I say, getting back to my feet. “Only I have to live with my consequences.”

Walking out, I nearly run into Leo when he steps through the front door. He stalls, looking at me, his expression falling somewhere between surprise and confusion. “Seriously? A daughter?”

Before I can respond to that, Lorenzo steps in behind him, grabbing ahold of Leo by the head and shoving him past me, to the living room. “Fa ti cazzi tuoi.”

Whoa.

“Geesh, fine,” Leo grumbles, walking off. “No need to get your panties in a twist, bro.”

Lorenzo waves him off. “Suck my nuts.”

I stare at Lorenzo, surprised by the exchange, as he steps toward me, right up against me in the hallway. His suit isn’t put together anymore, his shoes untied, shirt hanging loose.

“You speak Italian?” I ask.

“Some,” he says, leaning down like he’s going to kiss me, but instead he runs his nose along my jawline. “Why? You want me to talk dirty to you?”

“I, uh...” He’s got me flustered as he grabs my hip, pulling me even closer. I shiver, feeling his warm breath on my skin. It’s like he’s breathing me in. “Well, I didn’t, but I kind of do now.”

He laughs. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll teach you all the dirty words you want.”

I hum, tilting my head as his lips trace along my cheek. “All of them?”

His breath is against my ear as he whispers, “Every single one.”

He doesn’t have to say that again.

Pushing away, I snatch ahold of his hand, grasping tightly as I drag him up the stairs. As soon as we reach his bedroom, he slams the door, shrugging off his coat again and tossing it onto the dresser.

It hits with a thud, something in the pocket.

I cast it a curious look but shake it off, distracted when he pulls a gun out from his waistband to set it aside. He reaches for me, tearing at my clothes, but I slap his hands away. Instead, I go for his pants, unbuckling them as I sink to my knees in front of him. Lorenzo stands still, not moving at all.

I pull his cock out and stroke it.

He’s already rock hard.

I don’t hesitate, bringing my lips right to the tip, my tongue swirling around the head before slowly, I take it into my mouth, his cock sliding down my throat.

“Fuck,” he growls, grasping the back of my head as I suck him. “That feels so good.”

Lorenzo’s hands tangle in my still-damp hair, his head tilting back and eyes closing. Soft groans escape his throat, and he stays like that for a moment, just enjoying it, letting me do what I want to do without saying another word.

It’s a few minutes—three, maybe four at most—before he pulls his hand from my hair, reaching down further to nudge my chin.

I look up at him.

He’s watching me now.

We lock eyes, and I keep sucking as he gently runs his fingertips along my face, caressing my hallowed cheek. His expression makes my chest tighten, a softness in his eyes as he tucks some wayward hair behind my ear. His breathing picks up, chest rising and falling faster as he swallows hard, the only signs that let on to him getting close. So close.

“Il mio piccolo dolce trombamica,” he says, his voice low and gritty. He cups my chin, thumb grazing the corner of my mouth, tracing my lips as they slide along his cock. “Vedere il mio cazzo tra quelle belle labbra è una fantasia che mi ha perseguitato dal momento in cui ci siamo incontrati.”

I have no idea what he’s saying, not a fucking clue, but the sound of those words sends sparks through me as they roll right off of his tongue. I stroke him faster, sucking harder, a smirk on his lips as his eyes again drift closed.

Once more, he tilts his head back, jaw going slack, as his hand again tangles into my hair.