Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles #5)(99)

Savio’s eyes seemed to darken as he watched me. My skin burnt fiercely. This wasn’t something I’d ever considered doing, definitely nothing my strict catholic upbringing would condone.

“We’re going to hell for this,” I whispered thickly when Savio had pulled out my finger again.

“Trust me, if this already gets you a ticket to hell, heaven isn’t a place you want to spend eternity in.”

I laughed. Trust Savio to say something sacrilegious and make me feel good with it.

His mouth pulled into a smile, for once neither arrogant nor teasing before he pressed a kiss to my mouth, moving even closer until his front was molded to my side and I could feel the very apparent proof of his desire for me against my hipbone. His tip slid over my skin, spreading the hint of moisture there that stunned me.

My brows snapped together. Had he come watching me?

“What?” he asked in a low voice.

I darted my eyes down, despite my shyness, and indeed his tip was glistening. “Did you…?”

His own brows pulled together, obviously not following my train of thoughts.

A subtle pulse throbbed in my temple as the words tumbled out of me. “You are wet. Did you…” I lowered my voice. “…come?”

Savio blinked and then his head fell forward, his nose burying in my throat. “Oh Gem. You’re killing me.” And he laughed.

He laughed at me.

Mortification washed away the hazy after-orgasm glow and I jerked away from him, trying to get out of bed. Savio wouldn’t have it.

His arm snuck around my waist, pulling me against him once more and holding on tight. I didn’t look at his face, instead I focused on the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed. Our naked skin touched in several places—his strong thigh against mine, his erection against my waist, his muscled arm against my belly—and it was impossibly wonderful. Even in my mortification, that fact didn’t go unnoticed.

His finger nudged my head up so I’d look at him. I glared.

“I keep forgetting how little you know.”

Was that supposed to make me feel better? It didn’t. Toni had talked me through most of the important things, but obviously she’d left out equally important information.

“Stop making fun of me. You know how I grew up.”

Angry tears burned the back of my eyeballs. One day I’d get a grip on my emotionality, but that day wasn’t today.

“Yeah,” he murmured, low and dark, as his eyes traced my face. His fingers brushed across my cheek and I caught the whiff of myself still imprinted on his skin. “Do you know when it really hit me that I needed to have you?”

I couldn’t see why it mattered now. I shook my head.

“When I saw you in your choir uniform after church two years ago.”

I huffed. “I think you mean when you saw me in the Arena in those tight pants.”

A slow smile, still with that dominant edge, curled one corner of his mouth upward. “That’s when I really took notice of you, but later in that pleated skirt and that modest blouse and Amish updo, I knew I needed to own you.” He paused. “I needed to corrupt my good innocent choir girl in every way I could.”

I blinked and swallowed. Savio ran his nose along my jawline then kissed the corner of my mouth before his possessive gaze hit me like a tsunami and pushed the air straight out of my lungs.

“I didn’t know you had a schoolgirl fetish,” I said, surprised I got a single word out of my tight throat.

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I don’t. Not until you. But, damn it, Kitty, you make me leak like a fucking schoolboy.” He emphasized the words by nudging his tip against my waist once more, spreading more of that wetness, and reminding me of the reason for our strange conversation.

“And no, I didn’t come,” he rasped against my ear. “Yet. But be my guest if you want to change that. My cock’s all yours to do with as you please.”

I swallowed, my eyes gliding down his body once more. Savio was gorgeous with clothes and without them. There was no denying it. Half of Vegas’ female population could attest to it. It took hard work and sweat to get definition, even more sweat and discipline to work up to the hint of a six-pack. Savio had an eight-pack that wasn’t just hinted at. It rippled down his stomach, earned by hours in the gym and just as many in the cage, led down to that V millions of women dreamed about but never got to see firsthand.

My eyes finally came to rest on that infamous bull tattoo. I still remembered the initial shock and embarrassment I’d felt seeing it. Now, I had to admit I kind of liked it. My gaze dipped even lower, and my mouth ran dry. Toni had briefly talked about freaking out when she saw Diego naked for the first time until I freaked out because she told me something like that. Now I got it.

“Breathe, Gem. He’s not going to bite.”

I tried to laugh, but it sounded a bit like a very embarrassing gurgle.

Savio didn’t push me, calmly rolling onto his back. I began tracing his abs, a safe place, enjoying the hard planes, then slowly moved lower. I followed the outline of the bull’s horns, to its narrowed eyes and provocatively twisted mouth. I curled my hand around his length. He felt good, hard but smooth and impossibly warm.

Savio’s abs flexed, but he didn’t make a sound.

Fight training had taught me to ask for advice if I didn’t know what to, so I did. “Can you show me how to touch you the way you like?”