Bound for Life (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 1)

by Alexis Abbott

  “I knew you were a dirty girl underneath that sweet smile,” he whispers, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. I shiver and lean into him as he gives my ass another hard slap. He’s thrusting into me harder and harder, and I know I’m going to be aching later, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for this. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

  “You make me dirty,” I respond breathlessly. “You make me feel like I’ve never felt before.”

  “And I’m going to keep you on your toes forever, mia passerotta. My sweet sparrow. I want to show you everything. Give you everything,” he answers, giving my throat a momentary squeeze. The sensation fills me with adrenaline and spurs me to ride his cock faster, rolling my hips.

  “I want you to come, Bruno. Please,” I beg, wrapping my arms around him.

  “Anything for you, baby,” he whispers.

  And with that, he lets out a growl of pleasure, pumping his hot, sweet seed deep inside of me while I continue to bounce up and down on his cock, milking every last drop from him. He groans and leans in to kiss me hard, his tongue pushing into my mouth while my pussy fills with his cream. He thrusts a few more times and then stops, his hands roving down my back and up to my face, cupping my cheeks as we kiss. There’s a passion, a desperation in his kisses, as though he’s just as afraid of losing me as I am of losing him. We cling to each other this way for what has to be several minutes, just soaking up the glow of being together, the perfection of the moment.

  Finally, we both start laughing softly, resting our foreheads against one another’s while the ocean waves crash behind us in the fading light. “Now, time to take you home,” Bruno says.

  My heart sinks for a moment until he adds, “I’m gonna cook you dinner. I think we’ve both earned that, don’t you?”

  I nod vigorously, overjoyed to spend more time with him. I never want to be out of his sight. I would follow him anywhere, and that thought doesn’t scare me at all. Being vulnerable with Bruno doesn’t feel scary or forced—it feels real.

  We gingerly get dressed, trying and probably failing to get all the sand off of our bodies and clothing as we make our way back to the car. On the drive home, we listen to a radio station playing old Sinatra and Elvis songs, the windows rolled down to let the evening air blow through our hair. Bruno reaches across the console to take my hand, and I feel my heart swell. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. I never thought I could find this kind of bliss.

  When we get to his apartment building and step out of the elevator onto his floor, there’s a fluffy, fat cat meowing at us just as the doors open. Bruno chuckles, shifting the groceries from the market to one arm and bending down to pick the cat up with his other arm, to my surprise. “Ciao, Grasso,” he says, stroking the cat’s head as it closes its yellow eyes and purrs.

  “Whose cat is that?” I ask bemusedly.

  “My neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez— he’s always sneaking out on her. Little bastard,” he says, cooing fondly at the cat as he carries it toward the door next to his and knocks.

  There’s a pause, and then the tell-tale shuffle of slippered feet on carpet. The door rattles open to reveal a tiny, stooped older woman with snowy-white hair and big brown eyes. Her lipstick is slightly smudged, as though she’d wiped her mouth after forgetting she was wearing it. She’s wearing a bathrobe over her floral-patterned pajamas, and when she realizes who’s at the door, her wrinkled face splits into a genuine smile.

  “Oh! Bruno, you found Grasso!” she exclaims, reaching out to take the massive cat into her arms. It purrs happily, curling its tail around its body. “Pobrecito, he just gets so bored cooped up in here with me sometimes, he wants to go on an adventure. But when he gets out there, he’s afraid. Thank you for bringing him back. I was just about to watch Jeopardy and go to bed without him!”

  “No problem, Mrs. Rodriguez,” Bruno says, smiling. “I’ve brought you some groceries, too.”

  The woman’s eyes light up. “Oh gracias, mi querido. You are too good to me.”

  “Just looking out for my favorite neighbor,” Bruno replies, handing her one of the bags. I can feel my heart swelling with pride and warmth. Bruno puts an arm around me. “By the way, this is Serena. She’s my—”

  “Tu novia! Que linda! Much gusto,” Mrs. Rodriguez gushes, pushing through the doorway to give me a hug, the cat still curled up in the crook of her arm.

  “Oh, nice to meet you, too!” I reply, hugging her back. I give Bruno a look over her shoulder and he grins, shrugging.

  “I always tell Mister Bruno, I say to him, ‘Mister Bruno! You need a woman to look after you! A handsome young man like you should not be spending so much time alone!’” she says, holding up one finger with mock sternness. “I am so happy for you, Mister Bruno! You be sweet to Serena. I like her. And so does Grasso.”

  “I promise I’ll be sweet,” Bruno says, nodding dutifully. He gives me a wink when she’s not looking. Mrs. Rodriguez gives each of us a peck on the cheek, with Bruno having to bend nearly perpendicular for her to reach, then she wishes us goodnight and retreats back into her apartment, still cooing to the cat.

  Bruno and I exchange expressions of amusement and then he takes me by the hand and leads me into his apartment. Once the door is shut, I burst out laughing.

  “That was the cutest thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say genuinely. Bruno chuckles and heads into the kitchen.

  “She’s a sweetheart. A little batty and forgetful sometimes, but she’s a good neighbor. She bakes me a cake every April,” Bruno answers. I follow him into the kitchen, watching him take out ingredients for what looks to be a very impressive dinner.

  “April? Why?” I ask, confused.

  He shrugs and takes out a knife and cutting board to start chopping onions and tomatoes. “She thinks my birthday is in April. It’s in September, but I don’t have the heart to keep reminding her, so I just let it go.”

  “Aww,” I reply, smiling. “You know, you’ve got to be one of the most surprising people I’ve ever met, Bruno. Every time I think I have you all figured out, you go the other way entirely.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, glancing sidelong at me as I lean against the counter.

  I grin and shake my head, walking over to kiss him on the cheek. “No. It’s the best thing.”

  The rest of the evening I spend looking through his apartment, finally taking the time to look at the minimalist decor and little quirks that speak to his character and personality. He lives simply, without frills or opulence, but he lives well. Cleanly. I can see his appreciation for the nicer things, but he doesn’t go over the top. There’s a refurbished vintage record player in the corner of the living room, a set of dumbbells tucked into an alcove, a colorful blanket folded over the back of the couch.

  I ask him about the blanket and he explains that it’s a traditional pattern from the area of Italy he hails from. I run my fingers over it lovingly, as though I can get a glimpse of that version of Bruno just from touching the vibrant threads. I want to know everything about him, but I know it’s better to let him show me slowly, at his own pace. After all, I don’t plan on ever losing him again, so we have all the time in the world to learn all those little things about each other. Sure enough, he explains that the blanket is one of the few things he was able to bring with him when he first came to the States to work as a carpenter under his uncle’s tutelage. He’s kept it all these years as a memento of home, reminding him where he comes from and who he is.

  Dinner is, of course, another surprise. It’s course after course of delicious, authentic Italian food. At first he tells me to just relax and let him do all the work, but I sidle up next to him in the kitchen and ask how I can help. As he goes along, he teaches me how to prepare everything, how to plate it.

  “It’s funny, my family is Italian but I never learned to cook,” I tell him, slightly embarrassed. “When I was growing up, we always had a chef who came to the house to prepare most of our meals. Mom knew how to c
ook, but my dad didn’t want her to have to lift a finger. She was spoiled, you know? And he wanted to keep spoiling her as much as he could. And then after my dad died...well, I just didn’t get the chance to learn. We’ve had a lot of takeout over the years. Mom cooks sometimes, but I think it makes her kind of sad. A lot has had to change since Dad died, and I try to make it as easy on her as I can.”

  “You’re a good daughter,” Bruno says, putting an arm around me and kissing the top of my head. “I know your father would be proud of you. Anybody would.”

  After an hour or so of working side-by-side in the kitchen, Bruno shoos me away to the table so he can serve me. It’s a parade of ridiculously rich, amazing food. Wine, prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, perfectly cooked pasta, massive shrimp cooked in a spicy red sauce, a tray of expertly cut and arranged fruit. By the second course I’m already stuffed, but I keep eating, unable to resist anything Bruno brings to the table.

  Over dinner, we talk about the old days, reminiscing about how young and stupid we used to be before the world knocked us off our feet.

  We don’t talk about that horrible thing that happened, and I’m more than okay with that. I don’t want to think about it. Everything is so good right now, and I want it to stay this way as long as possible. I’m happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long, long while.

  After dinner, we take our time cleaning up all the dishes together, just chatting and listening to the music playing from the record player. As I’m putting the wine bottle back into the rack, I notice a bottle of liquor in his cabinet that looks interesting. “Is that Campari?” I ask, pointing it out.

  Bruno walks over and takes it out, along with a bottle of Prosecco. “Ah, good eye. Here, let me make you our drink.”

  It’s even better with the prosecco than the soda water, and immediately I feel lighter and happier than ever. “I feel like I should pinch myself,” I laugh.

  “I can assure you that the drink in your hand is real,” Bruno says coyly.

  “I know that,” I say, leaning into him and resting my cheek on his chest. “I just can’t believe that you’re real. That any of this is happening. It’s too good to be true.”

  Bruno tips my chin upward with his finger. He kisses me softly. “It’s all real. I promise.”

  Finally, we both finish our drinks and sleepily make our way to his bed, where we curl up in each other’s arms. I feel safe and wanted, like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Like I’ve been waiting my whole life for a moment this perfect. I’ve been dreaming about this, and now it’s here.

  And it’s happening again—I’m falling for him. I’ve fallen for him.

  For better or for worse, there’s no denying it: I’ve fallen in love with a mafioso. Just like my mother. I’m the disgraced mafia princess, following in my mother’s footsteps.

  Yet a pit in my stomach won’t go away, it knows something has to go wrong. Something painfully soon.

  SERENA

  “Buongiorno.”

  I open my eyes at the sound of Bruno’s velvety voice sending warm shivers down my body. His lips press against the back of my neck, making me twinge away from the ticklish sensation. His powerful arms are wrapped around me, with my head resting comfortably in the crook of his right elbow on the pillow. I have no idea what time it is, but I’m finding it really hard to care when there’s a beautiful man pressed up against my back. I yawn and pull his left arm over me tighter, wiggling backward into him so that my ass is pushed against his crotch. He’s so warm, radiating enough heat that I probably don’t even need a blanket. He kisses my neck again and I giggle, shrugging my shoulders playfully.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I murmur, my throat feeling scratchy as it always does when I first wake up. Despite the fact that I routinely get up early to go into Bathing Beauty, I am really, definitely not a morning person. Left to my own devices, I would gladly lie in bed until noon. I know today is a work day, and I’m dreading looking at the alarm clock on Bruno’s nightstand. I don’t want to know. I want more time here in this warm, cozy heaven with the man I adore. The idea of getting out of this bed is completely repugnant to me right now.

  “I should get up,” I groan. “Gotta go to work.”

  “Mmm, that sounds terrible. Don’t do that,” Bruno replies in a growly voice, pulling me closer and breathing hotly against the back of my neck. Goosebumps rise up along my arms and legs.

  “You’re making this very hard for me,” I chide him, grinning. He rocks his hips forward and I can feel his massive shaft stiff against my ass.

  “Oh, I think you’re the one making it hard,” he answers coyly.

  “Who, me? I haven’t done anything,” I reply, with mock indignation. “I’m totally innocent.”

  Bruno chuckles and sits up a little, leaning over to kiss the side of my neck and up to my cheek. He turns my face gently to kiss my lips, his cock still rock-hard against me.

  “Oh no, I have morning breath,” I protest weakly.

  “You taste wonderful,” he replies, kissing me again. “I don’t care.”

  “You’re going to make me late for work,” I add, feeling myself start to give in. It’s impossible to resist him, and every part of me wants desperately to stay in this bed.

  “Well, we’d better get started then,” he replies mischievously. Before I can even respond, he dives under the comforter, pushing it back out of the way as he exposes my body bit by bit. He sleeps naked, unsurprisingly, but I’m wearing one of his t-shirts, which is comically huge on me, and a pair of decidedly-unsexy black panties. Nothing special. I mean, they’re not granny panties, but they’re definitely not lingerie either. I feel my face flushing pink at the realization that Bruno, the most blisteringly hot man I have ever been intimate with, is seeing this underwear on me.

  “Sorry for the ugly undies,” I mumble.

  Bruno, tugging them down my thighs to take them off, looks up at me with a wry smile. “First of all, you look fantastic in everything. Second of all, it doesn’t matter anyway because they’re about to come off. Lingerie is nice, but I think we both know I prefer you without anything on at all. You’re the gift. I don’t care about the wrapping paper.”

  I can’t stop the grin that plasters itself on my face. I’ve never met anyone so good at putting my mind at ease. It’s like magic. He just melts away all my anxiety, all those years of stress and fear. He cuts away all that bullshit to get to me— the real me. The version of myself I never thought I could find again. And it’s liberating.

  Bruno drops the offending panties over the side of the bed and pushes my thighs wide open, kneeling down between my legs. I inhale sharply in anticipation as he leans in and gently begins to suck at my clit, his tongue flicking over it while one of his fingers slides inside of me. Fuck, I’m already wet. All it takes is Bruno’s presence to make me give in. I can’t resist.

  “Oh my God,” I murmur, my eyes closing and my head falling backward onto the pillow. My hands instinctively reach down to comb through Bruno’s hair, and before long my hips are rolling, bucking up to meet him. He knows just how to work my clit, just how to angle the tip of his finger inside me to reach that little bundle of nerves that makes me weak. He’s an expert, like he’s been studying my body for years or something. I don’t know how he knows, but he does. He just knows.

  He groans, his finger sliding in and out up against that special spot faster and faster. I fling my arms outward to grasp at the bedsheets, gritting my teeth as my pleasure mounts to a climax.

  Just before my orgasm hits, Bruno backs off, grabs me by the hips, and flips me onto my stomach. Then he pulls me to my knees and rubs the head of his thick shaft against my slick opening, sliding over my sensitive clit. I back into him, desperate for that delicious friction, but he grabs my hips and holds me in place.

  “Please, Bruno,” I whimper. “I want to come.”

  He lets out a growly kind of chuckle and says, “Oh, you’re going to come, sweetheart. But only when I’m
good and ready for it.”

  A shiver runs down my spine and I feel myself getting even wetter. I never expected to be the kind of woman who likes to be bossed around and dominated in bed, especially after what I went through years ago. But with Bruno, it’s different. I want him to tell me what to do. I want him to use me however he wants to, because I know he would never hurt me. I can trust him to push me right to the very edge and then bring me back over and over again, making it feel so good every time.

  “So wet for me, Serena,” he says softly, his voice gravelly and rough. I can tell this is taking all of his self-restraint, too. And the thought that he’s struggling to keep it together, that he wants me just as badly as I want him, makes me feel powerful and desired.

  “I want you inside me,” I beg him, twisting to peer back at him. He’s a formidable sight, all muscle and smooth skin, with that impossibly handsome face. Those flashing green eyes. And then, he smiles at me. A devilish grin. He knows just how badly I need this, and he’s going to give it to me.

  He slides the full length of his cock along my wet slit, making me tremble. I’m so sensitive right now, all my nerves on fire, just hovering over the edge. Then he gives my ass a hard slap. I cry out, shuddering with the mingled pain and pleasure.

  “Good girl,” he says quietly, now circling the tip of his cock around my wet opening, teasing me.

  “Please, I need you to fill me up, Bruno,” I plead. I’m aching for his cock.

  “Oh, I’m going to, mia passerotta. I’m going to fill you up and fuck you hard. But I don’t want you to come until I say so, si?” he explains, keeping his tone even-keeled even though I can hear that husky need in his voice.

  “Whatever you say,” I answer, grinding back against him. I’m a little scared that I won’t be able to hold on— I’m already so close. He has me dangling over the edge, and I just know that the second his cock is inside of me, I’ll be a goner.