Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles, #6)(29)

I’d only drunk a glass of the slightly less disgusting concoction with peach Schnaps someone had created. Adamo and I had kept an eye on each other all through the evening but hadn’t talked. Now that Dima wasn’t my shadow, many other racers came by to chat and many of them were more interesting than I’d given them credit for. As the crowd dwindled, I got restless. Something in me called to seek Adamo’s closeness but I resisted.

To my surprise, he sought me out when I was heading back to my car.

“Already leaving?” he asked, close by, making me jump. I threw him a glance over my shoulder. “Nothing kept my attention.”

Adamo caught up with me. “Maybe I can. I bought a bottle of the best vodka I could find in the last liquor store we passed by. How about we share a drink?”

I stopped. After how our last encounter had ended for him, I was wary of his motives. Trust wasn’t something I handed out freely. Despite my distrust, I nodded and followed him toward his car, which was far away from most of the others. Dark and secluded.

We shared a drink in silence, leaning against the hood of his car, our shoulders brushing once more. With the music from the party in the background—for once a slower, melodic piece—this felt almost romantic.

“Are you pissed?” I asked eventually.

“Life’s too short to hold grudges.”

“That’s not a motto I live by.”

“I bet,” Adamo said. He straightened and moved in front of me, towering over my head.

I didn’t move, only peered up at him calmly. Slowly he leaned down.

“You look as if you want to run. Are you scared of kissing me again?”

“I’m not scared of anything,” I muttered. “But I’d rather not have to kick you in the balls because you feel the need to avenge your hurt pride and forget what the word no means.”

Adamo braced one hand on the hood, bringing our faces so close together, the heat of his lips seared mine. “I’m fluent in the meaning of no, Dinara.

Don’t worry. And my pride isn’t easily hurt. But tell me, are you saying no to a kiss?”

I should have. Last time, I’d lost myself completely in it, but having Adamo so close, especially his mouth, clouded my judgment. I bridged the distance between us, brushing my lips across his.

Adamo didn’t need another invitation. He tore the control over the kiss out of my hands and I let him, too delirious by every stroke of his tongue.

Sleeping with Adamo had never been part of the plan. Maybe if I’d known more about him, about his dark sides, which called loudly to me because they reflected the darkness deep within myself, I could have anticipated it would come to this. His grip on my neck tightened as he deepened our kiss. He tasted like sin and darkness, and he could kiss in a way I’d never considered possible. My body tingled from the simple friction of our lips, from the soft caress of his tongue and the taste of him. Soon the tingle turned into a pulsating need and my panties became damp. I was losing myself in Adamo again, losing control of my body. I snapped back to attention, forcing my mind into stark focus and submitting my body to its command. It had never been difficult. I’d practiced control for years, depended on it.

I reached for Adamo’s belt and unbuckled it, snatching my mouth away from Adamo’s dangerous lips. I reached for his cock that was trying to break through the fabric of his boxers, but he grabbed my hand and caught my lips in another kiss. “My turn. I have some trust issues when it comes to you and my cock.”

I couldn’t help but laugh against his mouth but then his hot, skilled tongue traced the seam of my lips before it dipped into my mouth once more.

Adamo’s hand cupped my breast through my tank. Of course, I wasn’t wearing a bra. I was an A-cup so I rarely saw need to do so. Now I wished I had because like last time, Adamo began playing with my piercing, sending bolts of pleasure through my body. Adamo’s other hand popped open the button of my jean shorts before it slipped in, stroking over my slit. Like a clam snapping shut to protect itself, my mind did the same, removing myself from the touch. Adamo’s hand slid beneath my panties, touching skin, but I witnessed everything through a fog, barely registering the touch. I was in control of my mind and body, focusing on the tattoo on Adamo’s forearm, following its intricate lines broken by burn scars. The ugly and beautiful becoming one.

I did what I always did. I drifted off, went through the motions, moaned occasionally, then arched when I thought it was time for an orgasm because Adamo had stroked me for a while. I never had much patience to draw it out.

I didn’t care if he thought I came too quickly.

Adamo’s brows snapped together as he looked into my eyes. Something in his expression shifted from passion to realization then anger.

Adamo slammed his palm down on the hood, snarling, “What the fuck was that?”

I jumped and narrowed my eyes, surprised by his outburst. “What are you talking about?”

“That was fucking fake. Every fucking moan, and that fucking orgasm too. You didn’t come, weren’t even close no matter how loud you moaned.

When I first touched your pussy, it was dripping then it turned dry like the ground below us. I’m not an idiot, and I recognize a female orgasm.”

“So now you know if I had an orgasm? You might be a Falcone but you don’t know shit about my body.”