by Dana Delamar
“What does that mean?”
“The cricket.”
He chuckled. “Because when it’s touched, you make noise?”
She sat up, bracing herself with her hands behind her. The wry look on her face was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Cazzo.”
He smiled up at her. “I know what that means.”
This time she snorted. “Of course you would. Every man wants to know what to call the thing between his legs.”
“It was one of the first words I looked up.”
Shaking her head, she laughed hard, and lay back on her elbows. “You are impossible.”
“I aim to please.” He settled back between her legs. “I’m going to make your little grilleto play some music.”
She let out a groan. “You are awful, yes?”
“Yes,” he murmured, then parted her lips and latched on to her clit, sucking it into his mouth and making her moan. Swirling his tongue, he concentrated on her pleasure. He wanted her first time to be amazing, perfect. Fun.
Her thighs quivered with each draw on that tender spot, and when he slipped two fingers inside her, she was wetter than before, a little less tight. Maybe if she came, she’d relax completely.
Moving his fingers in and out, he focused on her little grilleto, lavishing it with attention, making her thrash and moan until she shuddered and clamped her hands on his head, crying out loudly. No doubt that could be heard above the music. Hopefully her father wasn’t listening in real time, or he’d come barreling through that door.
Delfina lay back panting. Dio mio, she’d never had an orgasm like that. Not even the last time with Nick. She’d felt like she was coming out of her skin.
He climbed up beside her, his hard cock pressing into her thigh. Dio, what if he wanted her to reciprocate? She hadn’t the faintest idea what to do. Her pulse beating fast, she reached down and touched him. “Would you like me to…?” Her mouth dried up and she couldn’t say the words.
Wrapping his fingers around hers, he said, “I’d love it.”
Biting her lower lip, she looked into his eyes. “I’m not sure how.”
“Almost anything you do will feel good. Just don’t bite.”
That made her laugh, and she took a deep breath. She eased down to his waist, getting her first close-up view of him. She’d pleased him before with her hands, so she’d start there.
Wrapping a hand around his shaft, she stroked up and down, then tentatively swiped her tongue across the head of his cazzo. When he let out a moan, she repeated the action, this time running her tongue all around him, as if she were licking an ice cream cone. Since he seemed to enjoy that too, she took the tip of him in her mouth, rolling her tongue around and around, enjoying the way he sucked in air and shivered. “Good?” she asked.
“You’re bloody brilliant. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
Emboldened, she sucked the tip of him into her mouth, remembering what he’d done to her grilleto, and he grabbed hold of her wrist. “Harder,” he grunted. “Deeper.”
Widening her mouth, she took him in as far as she could stand, then swirled her tongue around him in a criss-crossing motion as she moved back up to the head. His grip on her wrist tightened. “Christ,” he groaned. “Stop.”
She released him and looked up. “Did I hurt you?”
He blew out a breath and shook his head, giving her a lazy grin. “Not at all. But I can’t take too much right now. I’ve been thinking about this for too long, and having it actually happen… It’s shot my control all to hell.”
He rose off the bed and dug around in his dresser, then came back with a foil packet in his hand. She watched him roll the condom on, her heart dancing in her chest. It was finally going to happen. After this, she’d be a woman in every sense of the word. No longer a girl. No longer an innocent.
And perhaps, no longer alone.
He lay down beside her, running his fingers over the hills and valleys of her body until his hand came to rest between her legs, his palm pressing on her still swollen flesh. He flexed his hand, sending aftershocks through her. She sat up and grabbed his wrist. “Per favore,” she whispered.
“Stop or continue?”
Despite everything they’d done, an emptiness, an ache, remained between her legs. “More.”
“Ah Delfina, you are the woman of my heart,” he murmured as he rolled over her.
What did that mean? Was he saying he loved her? Or just that he loved that she wanted him? Damn him for being so damn confusing!
He drew her legs up, wrapping them around his waist. “This is going to hurt a bit, love. Can’t be helped. Stop me if it’s too much.”
She tensed. The blunt head of his cazzo nudged her entrance, then he surged into her in one stroke. The pain was sharp and she inhaled harshly.
“Okay?” He lay still over her. All she could feel was the length of his cock, the pain giving the illusion that he was throbbing inside her like a second heartbeat.
She nodded. “Go on,” she whispered and relaxed her hold on his shoulders.
“So demanding,” he teased as he shifted his weight.
She cuffed him on the shoulder, wincing a little as he moved, but the pain was starting to fade. He reached down between them, found her clit, and rubbed it with his thumb. Oh yes, the pain was fading fast.
When she widened her legs and slid her hands down to his firm buttocks, pulling him closer, he responded with a growl and sped up his strokes, occasionally slowing to add a swivel of his hips that made her moan. Before she knew it, he was pounding into her, each stroke exquisite torture, his thumb on her grilleto taking her higher and higher until she came again. He stiffened moments later, his body going rigid as he joined her.
Panting, he rolled to the side, but came up on his elbow and slung an arm over her breasts. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her neck. “I adore you,” he whispered. Then he lay back.
“I love you,” she blurted. Madonna! Had she said that aloud?
He said nothing for a moment, then he chuckled. “Delfi, don’t be silly. Let’s stick to the plan.”
Let’s stick to the plan? Her stomach rolled. She was an idiot. “Shouldn’t I at least pretend to love you?”
He laughed this time and rolled over her again. Stroking the hair off her face, he studied the blush that colored her cheeks and neck and that deepened with every second of his scrutiny. Finally she could take the embarrassment no longer and tried to push him off. “You don’t have to laugh at me,” she huffed, hating how close to tears she sounded.
He held her still. “I’m not. I’m happy.”
She froze. “Happy?”
“Yeah.” He kissed her, the softest, tenderest, kiss he’d ever given her.
A lump filled her throat. He loved her, but he couldn’t say it. And she knew why. Her voice came out strangled. “Even after how selfish I’ve been?”
“You were desperate. I’ve been there myself. Made a few bad decisions too.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and she took a deep breath to hold them back. He might not be able to say he loved her aloud—not yet—but at least he’d forgiven her. That was something. “Those decisions led you here.”
He smiled again, though it was wistful. “Yeah. I just hope I don’t eat a bullet because of them.”
Maybe now he’d understand. She pitched her voice even lower. “It’s not just Benedetto you have to worry about. You can’t take the vows, Nick. If you do, who knows what else my father will make you do? And if you refuse to do what he says, he’ll put a bullet in you before my great-uncle does.” Besides, she didn’t want to marry an ‘Ndranghetista. That wasn’t in her plans. Not that she’d planned to marry an Interpol agent either. But perhaps he’d see reason and give up his quest. Just pretend he knew nothing about the Lucchesis and the Andrettis.
“I have to. If I’m going to do my job, I have to.”
“What do mean ‘if I’m going to do my job?’”
“I came here with a mission. I’m
going to complete it.”
What was wrong with him? She’d never met anyone so willfully, pigheadedly stubborn. “Has it occurred to you that ‘doing your job’ means arresting members of my family? Your family? Could you really put your father in jail?”
“Delfi, I admit he’s got his good points, but he’s still a gangster.”
“What about my father? What about Cris? Would you put him in jail too?” He looked away and didn’t answer, chilling her. Maybe he wasn’t after only his father. “Nick, tell me what you’d be willing to do.”
He looked at her then, his voice a furious whisper. “Delfi, this is who I am. I’ve never lied to you about it. How many more murders am I supposed to let them commit?”
“You did lie to me. You told me you were a dirty agent. And you’re not.”
He rubbed his chin, not looking at her. “Yeah. I lied about that.”
Part of her was secretly happy he wasn’t dirty like everyone else in her life. But if he wasn’t dirty, he had a job to do. A job that endangered everyone she knew, everyone she loved. “Let’s just walk away. Run off and get married. Your father would help us. He’d set us up somewhere. And my father would eventually get over it.”
“Would he? What about Benedetto?”
“If we’re gone, he might not consider you a threat.”
“Running away like that—it feels like cowardice to me.”
“It feels like practicality to me.”
“I can’t do it.”
“If you take those vows, Nick, if you arrest my family, I’ll never forgive you.”
“And I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.” He slapped his hand against the mattress, and when he spoke his voice sounded rough, shredded. “I killed someone tonight. I have to make up for that somehow.”
“If you put my father in jail, you’d be putting Cris there too.”
“He’s young; he’d probably get a suspended sentence if he turned witness for the state.”
“So you’d have him hiding and on the run for the rest of his life? And what about us?”
“We’d go into protection too. It’s not ideal, but—”
“But what? You think I want to trade one prison for another? At least in this one I have a little freedom. And I get to keep my own name.” Pushing up on her elbows, she forced him to roll over. She scrambled out from under him, her skin burning with anger. Bloody idiots, the both of them. He was impossible, and she was foolish for thinking he’d ever see reason. “You made a decision, Nick. That’s not murder. You chose to save your life. And now you’re going to throw it away. Don’t expect me to stand by and do nothing.”
Her chest aching, Delfina dressed hurriedly while he watched her, saying nothing. The soaring sounds of “Slave to Love” came on, one of her favorite songs, and her throat jammed up. But the storm wasn’t breaking like in the song. It was building. She loved Nick, but she wasn’t going to end up his helpless slave.
She was going to save herself and her family. And hopefully Nick as well, even though he wouldn’t thank her for it.
No, he’d probably hate her to death.
CHAPTER 16
Nick hadn’t been able to sleep since Delfina left. He loved her. He knew it now. And yet he hadn’t been able to say it. Even after she had. He’d laughed at her instead. Laughed! And acted oh so cool, so casual. Oh, he’d edged around how he felt, he’d given her a hint or two, but the plain truth was this: the idea of pouring his heart into words scared him shitless in a way that nothing else did. The question was why. Why couldn’t he bloody say it?
He’d never let himself fall in love before. Never let himself spend more than a night, maybe a weekend, with a girl. Never let himself feel any more than lust, any more than a glimmer of affection. Like what you might feel for someone you’d just met and got on with, but weren’t sure yet that you’d be mates, because that kind of trust, that kind of connection, took time. Time that he’d never spent with a girl for fear of those feelings deepening, taking on weight. And here he’d gone and gotten tangled up in Delfina’s life. And she’d gotten tangled up in his. The thought of losing her, of going back to his old life, appealed less than having his fingernails ripped off with pliers. Which was probably what Benedetto had planned for him. At the least.
But Nick wouldn’t care. Because if he couldn’t have Delfina, nothing else would matter.
Oh he was fucked now. Bloody, royally, fucked.
He’d spent the rest of the night pacing around the cottage, her final words echoing in his head. What was she planning to do? It wasn’t like he’d given her any good options.
No, he was forcing her to choose—him, and his pathetic inability to say three lousy words, not to mention the very real possibility he could get her killed—or her family. It was one hell of an awful choice.
He was an utter prick. He’d do his best for Cris, recommend leniency given his age. That was the least he could do.
And what about his own father? Clearly he wasn’t all bad. Then again, maybe he was just trying to get on Nick’s good side. To make him think he wasn’t a horrible person.
Did a few kindnesses wipe away everything else his father had done?
And yet—what other choice had the man had? He’d tried to spare Nick from this life, from these decisions, from the wretched snarl Nick had embroiled himself in.
His father had tried. The failure was all on Nick.
And now he was making a real dog’s breakfast of things. The only way to recoup anything, the only way to redeem anything he’d done, was to plow forward. Stick to the plan and take them down. Strike a blow for justice.
But what was he going to do about Delfina?
She’d made it clear she didn’t want the life he could offer her. And who could blame her? It wasn’t much of one.
The only solution was to divorce her when he had enough evidence to make arrests. Set her free. That was the only reasonable thing to do.
Never mind that letting her go was going to kill him. He’d have plenty of time in protective custody to lick his wounds. He probably wouldn’t even have the job to distract him. Delfina was right; Interpol would most likely kick him out, and he’d end up with some dull position teaching computer skills under an assumed name in some tiny village in the back of beyond.
But if he lost his post with Interpol, so be it. He couldn’t let his father and Dario and Benedetto get away with what they’d done. No matter the cost to him. He’d known going into this that the sacrifice could be high, that he might not survive. What the hell kind of man would he be if he backed down now?
He’d just stepped out of the shower and was only half dressed when he heard a series of rapid knocks on the front door. He threw on an oxford shirt and opened the door, the shirt still unbuttoned. Delfina. Her face was white, and her hands, clutching a copy of La Repubblica, trembled. “What is it?” he asked.
She brushed past him and flattened the newspaper on the kitchen table, stabbing a finger at an article on the front page. His Italian was good enough to translate the headline: “Warehouse Fire; One Dead.”
He started reading, but kept stumbling over the words. No point, when he had a perfectly fine translator right in front of him. “Tell me what it says.” He pushed the paper at her.
“The warehouse belonged to your father.”
An icy shockwave flooded Nick’s body. Had his father been inside? “It wasn’t—”
She cut him off, anticipating his question. “The man who died—he was Fedele Lucchesi.”
Nick’s gut spasmed, as if he were about to vomit again. Ah Jesus. Sure his cousin was a prick, but he was—he’d been—part of Nick’s dwindling family. “What the hell is your father playing at?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he means to go through with the wedding.”
A nasty thought shot into his brain. “Do you think he’s turning me over to Benedetto?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. But I don’t like this.” She touched his arm.
“You have to tell your father what happened. He has to know.”
“And then what? What’s he going to do?”
“He’ll think of something.”
Something that would wreck his plans. “No. We have to pretend we don’t know anything about this.”
“We won’t be the only ones pretending.”
“What do you mean?”
“Papà told me this morning that he’s hosting our engagement party in three days.”
“Then why antagonize my father?”
She rubbed a hand down his arm. “Nothing makes sense, I agree.”
“I’ve got to confront Dario about this.”
“What you need to do is talk to your father.”
His head hurt. Maybe she was right. Something bad was brewing, and he wanted her far away from it. Maybe it was time to use that mobile phone Ruggero had given him. He turned to her. “Can you talk to Cris, see what he knows?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “But I’m not going to tell him our suspicions. In case.” Her eyes welled, and Nick pulled her into his arms.
“I know you love him.”
“I hate hiding things from him. He’s my brother. He’s always been there for me.”
“He loves you, Delfi.”
“I know. But he loves Papà too. And he’s taken the vows. He’s not going to turn his back on that.”
“He might surprise you.”
She wiped her cheeks and looked at him. “He might. But maybe not the way I’d like.”
Her heart tripping in her chest, Delfina pulled herself together and headed to Cris’s room. What if he’d condoned Fedele’s murder? How would she ever look him in the eye again, knowing he could be so cruel to Nick?
When she stepped inside Cris’s room, he was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a book on… economics? “Since when do you read anything but car magazines?”
“Antonio recommended it. Apparently our uncle is pushing an education on him, wants him to attend university.”
“Are you thinking of going?”
Cris wrinkled his nose. “You know me. I’m not much of a scholar.” He tapped the cover of the book. “Though I have to admit this book has opened my eyes to some things I’d never given thought to.”
