Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(37)

I grab her chair and pull it closer to me. “Baby,”—I bend to whisper in her ear—“come sit on my lap.”





I look up at Mikhail, raise an eyebrow, then get up and stand between his legs. He taps his left thigh, and looks at me pointedly like he is daring me. Mikhail never does anything without a reason, and I’m curious what he has in mind, so I turn and sit down on his leg.

“Quite a crowd. Your nonna is popular,” he says.

His hand finds the slit of my dress, and the next second, there is a touch of a finger on my knee, then it slowly travels higher over the inner side of my thigh. It lingers there for a moment, then starts going up. He’s crazy. I blink and turn my head to look at him.

“Something wrong?” he asks, his face the embodiment of calm and innocence, as if he doesn’t have his hand buried between my legs.

I take the side of my dress, throw the length of fabric over his hand and forearm, and look back toward the mass of guests. Two can play this game.

“I wonder,” he says quietly as his finger reaches my naked core and presses onto my clit. “Will they find our sitting arrangement proper?”

I take a deep breath and open my legs slightly, thankful for the table hiding us from view.

“You know, I’ve noted at least twenty men undressing you with their eyes since we got here,” he whispers, and suddenly, his finger enters me. “I don’t like that, Bianca.”

As his finger deftly plays with my pussy, my breathing gets faster, and it becomes harder to keep my face expressionless. I can’t believe I am sitting in front of two hundred people with Mikhail’s finger inside me. Or how damn good it makes me feel. Oh God, a waiter with a tray full of dessert arrangements is coming in our direction. I grab Mikhail’s forearm and start tugging at his arm, but he ignores me completely and teases my clit with his thumb.

“I am a very jealous man.” His finger curls, causing me to bite my lip to suppress a moan. “I don’t deal well with other men ogling my wife.”

The pressure building between my legs skyrockets.

“No one is allowed to look at you, Bianca. Just me.” He pinches my clit, buries a second finger inside of me, then moves it deftly in a stroking motion against my walls. The waiter is getting closer, but instead of stopping, Mikhail picks up the pace. Just when I think I’m going to lose it, he presses firmly onto my clit and I come all over his hand.



I am still feeling the aftershocks when the waiter arrives at our table.

“No, thank you,” Mikhail says nonchalantly and looks at me. “Do you want something?”

I quickly shake my head. The moment the waiter turns his back to us, I grab my wine glass and empty it. I can’t believe he did that. Here.

“We should go to parties more often,” Mikhail says and takes a napkin from the table. Reaching under my dress, he starts cleaning me up.

“You are insane,” I sign.

Mikhail only shrugs and nods toward the entrance. “Your family is here.”





I watch the group entering the garden. Her father is first, with Bianca’s mother on his arm. They are both impeccably dressed, and the only thing that stands out is a bandage around his right hand. That letter opener obviously did significant damage since it’s been three weeks. When Bruno notices us, his steps falter for a second, and he sends me a look that could have scorched the grass under my feet. I lift my glass in his direction, enjoying the angry look that spreads over his face. Bianca’s older sister, Allegra, follows behind her parents with her spine ramrod straight, and her head held high like she owns the place. Milene is last, walking hand in hand with another girl her age. They are laughing, whispering, and ogling Tony, who is leaning on one of the pillars next to the dance floor.

“Your baby sister is ogling your granny’s date,” I comment.

Bianca’s eyes go wide, and she jumps up from my lap, grabbing my forearm.

“I’ll wait here. It wouldn’t be wise for me to go near your father.” I run my hand down her arm and lace our fingers together, then look up into her whiskey-colored eyes. It’s still puzzling me, how much I enjoy touching her. “I may decide that he doesn’t need his other hand, either.”

She huffs and scrunches her nose. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch Bianca hurry toward her sister, signing with her hands even before she reaches Milene. Her moves are sharp and agitated. She’s so cute when she’s mad.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Nonna Giulia says as she takes a seat in Bianca’s chair next to me.

“Yes.”

Milene is whispering something, and I see Bianca slap herself over the forehead, then she signs to her sister, looking very annoyed. Looks like Milene wants to hire Tony for her birthday, as well.

“You two are a strange pairing, my boy,” Giulia says. “I always expected her to end up with one of the dancers from her company, or maybe an artist. Someone . . . easygoing. I thought that she would need someone less . . . hard.”

I don’t comment, because I’m not sure she’s wrong.

“I married six times, you know?” she continues. “Everyone thinks I’m a little bit whacky in the head . . . the crazy Giulia who changes her husbands like they are socks. But I was just trying to find a man who would look at me the way Vitallo, my first husband, looked at me.”