The living room was adjacent to a big kitchen with everything they would need to make gourmet meals, both rooms sheltered at the center of the house, away from the heat and the stucco archways open to the water. Beyond the main part of the house was a labyrinth of hallways and more rooms than she could count, including a media room and a library. She was hopelessly lost by the time they came to a large bedroom, a massive four-poster bed piled high with simple white linens at its center, as if to announce that the room’s sole purpose was sleeping and sex.
As it should be.
The room was surprisingly spare. Other than the bed there was only a rustic looking bureau and armoire, and a small settee near a worn rug. The room was open to a terrace not unlike the one in the main part of the house, the sea framed in the arches like a fine painting.
“You don’t expect me to ever leave here, right?” she joked, stepping onto the terrace.
“No.”
The simple answer surprised her. She turned to see if he was kidding and was surprised to find that his expression serious. Her throat was suddenly dry, and she busied herself opening a door to one side of the room that ended up being a luxurious bathroom.
“I took the liberty of having some things delivered for you,” he said when she came back into the room. “You should have everything you need.”
“You’re not staying with me?” She was surprisingly disappointed by the idea.
He walked toward her, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her hard against him. She gasped when she felt the length of his hard cock against her stomach, and an answering blush of moisture opened up between her legs.
“I don’t intend to spend one night away from you while I have you.” He swept her lips into a languid kiss that somehow felt like a promise. For a long moment she was lost to the feel of his body against hers, his hands on her ass, his cock throbbing against her, his tongue claiming her as his. When he pulled away she could hardly breathe. “I have business to attend to. Why don’t you rest or freshen up? We’ll have dinner in a bit.”
She could feel his reluctance in the way he pulled away, the way he held her hand until it finally dropped from his. He turned and disappeared into the hall, leaving her to wonder what kind of magic had been wrought on her life to bring her to this moment — and when the spell would be broken.
26
Damian sat on the terrace as the sun set over the water. He hadn’t been to Capri in years, had almost forgotten the place was on the long list of property inherited from either his father or mother, both of whom had come from a long line of old money. But he’d known it would be the perfect place for Aria, and he was still basking in the pleasure he’d seen on her face as she’d taken it all in.
He’d spent the afternoon catching up with Cole. They’d had a conference call with Marco, the Syndicate’s tactical leader, and had addressed some lingering problems in the city. There was still no sign of Primo or Malcolm Gatti, but Platinum had been excavated of their men, the apartment in the Financial District used to send a message more than equal to the one left at Damian’s place in Tribeca. There had been reports of gunshot wounds on the other side, but for now their men inside the NYPD were managing to hold off any serious inquiry.
It wouldn’t last much longer, and they were all bracing for the press to run with stories of a turf war in New York City. After that, the heat would be on law enforcement to resolve it quickly. Damian hoped to have the city locked down before then, although the outlying areas would take longer due to the sheer size of the area.
He was still waiting for Farrell to get back to him with a go-ahead to see Vitale. Damian knew his headquarters was in Rome, but the exact location was a closely guarded secret. He would have banked on his cyber unit uncovering the location if he had more time, but he didn’t. He needed to secure protection for Aria in Capri before he went back to New York — something he’d been avoiding telling her. He had the feeling she wouldn’t take kindly to being locked in a tower like a delicate princess, but he wasn’t about to take her back to the city any time soon.
He didn't yet know what he was going to do about Primo, but Malcolm Gatti would have to be neutralized at the very least before Aria would have his blessing to go back to the city.
Not that she needed his blessing, he reminded himself.
She wasn’t his responsibility. Not really. The argument should have made sense, but some part of him rebelled against the idea. She felt like his responsibility.
She felt like his, period.
He didn’t want to think too hard about what that meant. About what it would mean for them both going forward.
Primo was a wild card. It would take finesse to figure out a way to manage him that would be both acceptable to Aria and amenable to her safety. But Gatti was a monster. Damian had gone over his rap sheet again on the plane while Aria had been asleep, had had to resist the urge to punch something at the thought of the bastard putting his hands on Aria.
Gatti would have to die.
Damian remembered the conversation he’d had with Aria when she’d first come to his apartment and he’d asked if Gatti had been the one to cut her lip.
Not this time, she’d said.
Which meant the bruise on her face when she’d come to his office had been delivered by Gatti. Damian intended to pay him back a hundred fold.
He picked up his drink, took a long swallow, trying to calm the blood boiling in his veins. He was setting the glass back down on the table when Aria walked into the room, a magenta dress billowing around her luscious body, barely clinging to her breasts by thin straps tied around her neck.
She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder and was trying to walk past him when he pulled her into his lap. It was meant to be lighthearted, but then she was in his arms, his already-hard cock nestled between the pillowy cheeks of her ass, her bare skin shimmering like silk in the dying sunlight.
“I was going to ask if everything fit,” he said, letting his gaze travel over her. “But I guess I have my answer.”
She touched her lips lightly to his, her glossy hair swinging against her shoulders. “Everything is perfect.” She leaned her forehead against his, her eyes shining. “You’ve done too much for me.”
“I like doing things for you,” he said. “I’m beginning to hope I can keep doing them.”
He hadn’t meant to say it. Didn’t want the specter of their questionable future hanging over their time together.
She touched his face sadly like she knew it was impossible. Like she knew their time together was stolen, destined to end.
He lifted her from his lap, wanting to banish her sadness. “Come on. Let’s go to dinner.”
“We’re going out?” she asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
He led her down the stone staircase and out onto the walkway next to the water. The boat was where they’d left it, a giant picnic basket resting on the bench at the stern, a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.
“It’s too beautiful to eat indoors,” he said. “But you’re too beautiful to share with anyone.”
He held her hand as she took off her shoes and climbed into the boat. Casting off the lines, he stepped into the boat as it began to drift away from the dock and started the engine. The motor roared to life under them and he pointed the boat out into the open water.
She stood beside him, the sunset touching her face with gold, her hair blowing back from her face. He kept going until the house was a smudge of color in the distance, then dropped anchor, the boat rocking gently amid the waves.
He grabbed the picnic basket and they made their way to the bow. When everything was spread out on a blanket, she looked around with a smile.
“This is definitely the nicest restaurant I’ve been to.”
He popped the cork on the champagne and removed the food from the basket. There was fresh octopus and oysters, cold pasta with olives and fresh parsley, salami and creamy mozzarella, crisp bruschetta w
ith tangy tomatoes.
She ate with gusto, and he enjoyed watching her moan around the food every bit as much as he enjoyed the food itself. He told her about his great-grandmother on his mother’s side, a bohemian who had bought the house in Capri against her parent’s wishes, an extravagance they’d slowed only because they’d hoped she would eventually come home and settle down with a suitable husband. She did, but the house on the Italian island remained hers until she passed it to Damian’s mother.
She told him about her parents, their old-fashioned work ethic and the small apartment she’d shared with them and Primo. Her face had darkened when she’d come to the fire that had claimed both their lives. He’d waited to see if she wanted to talk about it, but she’d quickly moved on to the time afterward when Primo had taken care of her, when they’d had to rebuild their lives brick by brick, when Primo had started doing illegal work to get her through school.
He understood then why she felt the way she did about him. Why it was so hard for her to leave. She still remembered him the way he’d been. Still remembered all the things he’d done for her.
He wasn’t always like this, you know…
It was something his mother had said in the aftermath of his father’s anger. Damian hadn’t understood. It was the only way he’d known his father, but his mother wanted him to know there was more to his father than his rage, his violence. That it had somehow taken over the better parts of him. Damian didn’t believe it, and he didn’t want Aria to believe it either.
It was dangerous to think people were anything other than what they demonstrated themselves to be.
He let her talk, held her hand when the past seemed too close. It was a new kind of intimacy, one he hadn’t shared with anyone. He loved women — loved their softness and their curves and the way they moaned when you made them come — but until now it had been like loving ice cream.
All the flavors were wonderful but there was no one he couldn’t live without.
Now he was beginning to wonder if he’d crossed the point of no return, an invisible line in the sand where he wouldn’t be able to live without the woman in front of him. Where he wouldn’t be able to go back to convincing himself he was happy without her.
He watched her finish the champagne in her glass, her slender throat rippling, and wondered if he’d ever get tired of looking at her. When she was done, she stood and untied the dress at her neck. He watched as it pooled at her feet, her glorious body naked and shining in the dying sunlight.
“Maybe I should take you for a picnic every night,” he said, leaning back on his arms as he eyed her appreciatively.
She met his eyes. “Maybe you should.”
She walked to the tip of the bow, tossed her hair, and dived cleanly into the water. He watched her emerge, hair slicked back, drops of water on her face.
She backstroked away from the boat. “Aren’t you coming?”
He reached for the buttons on his shirt.
27
Aria stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder at the back of the boat and climbed aboard, all too aware of Damian’s eyes on her naked body. They’d swam until the sun had dipped below the horizon, the sky turning indigo as stars wheeled overhead.
She’d never felt more alive, every nerve ending tingling with perception, the delicious chill of night air as water sluiced off her body, her body more than ready for Damian after hours in his proximity.
He was right behind her, and she laughed as she hurried to their blanket on the bow with him on her heels. He swept aside the remains of their picnic like it was nothing and pulled her into his arms, his naked body exquisitely cool against her skin as he kissed her feverishly, his hands roaming her body like he wanted to learn her all over again.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened her mouth to him, her tongue parrying his until she bit down on his lower lip. He growled and lifted her onto his hips. She gasped as his erect cock slid between her folds to bump against her already-sensitive clit.
She was floating, the sky all around her, the water under them providing a strange kind of buoyancy to Damian’s solid stance as his big hands cupped her ass.
He kissed his way along her jaw and she tipped her head back to the sky as he licked the saltwater from her neck. She locked her hands around his neck as he continued downward, letting her body fall back as his tongue traveled between her breasts. Then the heat of his mouth closed over one of her nipples and she moaned into the night air.
He flicked the erect peak with his tongue before sucking hard enough to send a bolt of lightning to her center. She shifted on his cock, desperate for him to fill her.
He chuckled low and rough. “Not yet, beautiful.”
He spun her around, lay her on the blanket from their picnic and hovered over her body, his hand trailing fire as it made its way from her neck to her chest, over each bare breast, down to her stomach, circling her navel before sliding between her legs, cupping her sex like it was something precious.
“You’re the only thing that could be as beautiful as this place,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to her, sweeping it up in a slow, sensuous kiss, his tongue making the rounds of her mouth carefully, like he wanted to memorize every hidden corner of it.
But he’d had ample opportunity to look at her the first time they’d slept together. In fact, she didn’t think anyone had ever looked at her as closely as he had in the days since they’d met.
Now it was her turn.
She hooked a leg around his hip and rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, his cock nestled between her folds.
“I think you underestimate yourself,” she said softly, bending to touch her lips to his. She lingered there, relishing the pillowy feel of his mouth against hers, the hot urgency of his tongue, the feel of his hands on the swell of her ass.
She leaned back, ran her hands over the peaks of his sculpted chest, across the mountains of his broad shoulders, down the perfectly defined biceps and back up again. She followed the path of her hands with her mouth, licking and kissing her way across the perfect map of his body, taking one of his nipples in her mouth, sucking and nipping until he groaned, his hips pushing into her, his cock calling forward a flood of moisture to her center.
She let her mouth travel down the corded ridge of his abs, let it follow the arrow pointing to the thick cock standing erect between his legs.
He looked at her through hooded eyes as she kneeled between his legs, ran her hands up his muscled thighs. His eyes drifted closed as she closed her hand around his shaft, a groan escaping his lips as she bent forward, flicked her tongue against his swollen crown.
His hands were in her hair as she closed her mouth around the tip, sucking a drop of come from it before sliding her mouth slowly down his length.
He hissed when she hit the bottom, his head bumping against the back of her throat, his hands grabbing a fistful of hair in a movement that only served to make her wetter.
She cupped his balls in her hands, massaging as she slid her mouth slowly up his cock, lingering at the top where she sucked and lapped, savoring the feel of him lengthening and hardening in her hand.
It was a heady kind of power to have over a man as commanding as Damian Cavallo, but she was surprised to find something tender in it too. Something that wanted to soothe and comfort this man who seemed like he’d had too little of both in his life. More than anything she wanted to give him a taste of what he’d given her, and while there was little she could do to offer him the kind of refugee he’d offered her, she could show him what it meant to be adored.
She picked up a rhythm on his shaft, stroking the base with her hands while she worked the shaft with her mouth, using her tongue to stroke him along the way. His hips moved with her, pushing into her mouth on the downstroke, withdrawing when she worked her way to the top.
Her own sex was swollen and wet, her ministrations turning her on every bit as much as they aroused him, and she could barely contain her moans as he grew thicker in
her mouth, her body anticipating the way he would feel pushing through her pussy. She reached one hand down, desperate to relieve herself of the first orgasm while she made him come, and felt him grab her wrist.
“Don’t you dare.” She’d barely registered the words when he pulled her up onto his hips. “No one makes you come but me.”
She didn’t have time to be disappointed. His cock insinuated itself between her legs, hard and demanding. Her body ached for him and she let him slide between the slick petals of her sex as she bent down to kiss him, his tongue pillaging her mouth in a motion all too similar to the one her body was demanding from his cock.
He reached between their bodies and positioned his head at her opening. Then he grabbed ahold of her hips and thrust into her while he slid her forcefully down his shaft.
She cried out as he stretched her to the limit. He leaned up, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth closing around one nipple, sucking as her body accommodated him. The motion of his mouth on her breast set a rhythm in her body and her hips moved of their own accord, slowly at first, and then more quickly as she grew used to the length and thickness of him again.
“Fuck, Aria…” he gasped, his eyes shining. “You’re so fucking tight. So fucking good.”
The words were like dry kindling to the fire in her body, her clit swelling against the friction of his body, the invasion of his cock that felt like a homecoming. His hands traveled down across the taper of her waist, across the flare of her hips. He spread her ass cheeks wide and his cock sunk even deeper inside her, the impact sending a sharp and erotic pulse through her core.
“Oh, my god…” she moaned. “I’m going to come.”
“Not until you say my name,” he said. “I don’t ever want you coming without saying my name.”
Even in her current state, out of her mind with desire, she understood. He wanted to be sure she knew it was him — his cock inside her, his body against hers. There were obstacles between them, but there would be no denying that much.
Fire with Fire (New York Syndicate Book 1) Page 14
