by Lynn Burke
The wall.
My legs needed no encouragement. They wrapped around his trim waist as he pressed against me, settling his erection against my throbbing core.
“Don’t think, Lia. Feel.” Our chests rose together, our lungs shared the air between us. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t do anything you don’t want.”
The thought of what I wanted—what my body screamed for—sent another flood of moisture southward. I whimpered and ground against him, not caring that I acted like a bitch in heat.
He crushed his mouth against mine, stealing my breath.
My fingers threaded through his long hair and hung on for dear life.
Sliding one arm beneath me, he freed his other hand, skimming it up my side to brush against my breast. I groaned against his mouth, turning my torso toward his fingers.
His thumb skimmed over my nipple as his lips moved along my jaw.
A murmured curse escaped us both as he kneaded and pinched.
Groaning, he claimed my mouth once more, his hand trailing down my side. He flicked the button on my jeans open.
Too far…
I pulled away from his lips, but with gentle nips on the side of my neck, he dissolved my hesitancy.
It had been two years. I’d denied myself for so long, and I wanted to feel a man. Needed it like I needed to breathe.
I arched my back as he worked the zipper down. Hot palm against my abdomen, he pressed downward, under the elastic of my panties.
His fingers stroked my swollen nub, and I bucked against him. He moved his hand lower, gliding with ease through my slick folds.
“Fuck,” he ground out against my mouth. “You’re so fucking wet.”
I dug my nails into his neck and gasped as two fingers slid inside me. Grinding against his palm promised release, and I tilted my head back against the wall, longing for it.
Ryan pulled out and thrust forward again.
Tension coiled in my belly, and our mingled groans filled my ears. Another gasp flew past my lips.
“Come for me, Lia.” He captured my mouth, curled his fingers inside me, and flicked my clit with his thumb.
My orgasm erupted, pulsing and shuddering around him. Breaking away from him, I sucked in air and moaned, soaring way beyond where Mr. Pink or Jack had ever taken me. Even my toes tingled with life for the first time in years.
A foreign voice snickered. “Hey buddy, wanna share?”
The memory of the whores entwined with Jack’s body smashed against my mind, and I froze.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “Fuck off.”
The man walked past, still laughing under his breath, and I pushed Ryan away from me.
“Lia.”
My shaking hands fought to zip my jeans. What the hell had I just done? All but fucking a near stranger in some dark hallway.
“I need to go.” I managed to get my button back in place.
“Wait…”
Refusing to look at Ryan, I forced my wobbly legs back the way we had come.
“Lia, wait!”
What the hell was wrong with me? One kiss by expert lips, and I drop my defenses and give in to temptation.
Idiot.
Ryan captured my arm and spun me toward him, but I pulled away. “I want to go home.”
“Lia. Please.”
I strode toward the heightening music.
Pushing open the door, I moved past the security guard and paused on the edge of the dance floor.
I’d left my coat and purse in his car.
Damn it.
Turning, I found Ryan less than a foot behind me. I tilted my chin up and wrapped my arms around my midsection. “I want to go home.” He studied me as people jostled past us, but I didn’t break eye contact. “Now.”
A single nod, and he turned left.
Seeing as how I wanted to get away from there—and him—I followed along.
More than once, Ryan opened his mouth while driving me home, but he uttered no words. I huddled in the bucket seat much too close to the heat radiating from his hard body, a lump in my throat.
The first dark corner we come to, and I let him put his hand down my pants.
And he’d claimed he wasn’t that kind of guy. Yeah, right. Just like all the rest. Tears welled, but I bit down on my tongue to keep them from spilling over.
Disappointment in myself and anger over his lies swirled together like a nor’easter in my heart.
He pulled up in front of the apartment building I pointed to, but didn’t kill the engine.
“Lia, talk to me.”
Shaking my head, I grasped the door handle.
“Can I at least get your number?”
I snorted and choked on a sob. “No.” I hopped out without a “thank you” for the dinner, intent upon my haven. My shoulder blades burned under the woolen coat as I stepped into my building and, not soon enough, the door shut behind me, blocking me from his sight.
The dam burst, and tears rolled.
Ryan
Fucking idiot.
I raced toward home, cursing myself and my aching balls the entire time. What the fuck had I been thinking, treating her like that? Obviously Lia had a deep-seated wound, and like a mindless ass, I got her off in some damn hallway.
What if another insensitive prick had caused the sadness within her eyes? Maybe she’d been raped. Abused. Cheated on.
I smashed my fist against the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
Temptation to turn around, force my way into her place, and beg forgiveness swept through me, but I needed more than mere words.
My cock begged for release.
Growling my frustration, I turned a corner. My favorite bar’s neon lights blinked in the distance.
Scotch. That would do the trick.
Minutes later, I yanked my tie loose and settled on my stool at the bar’s end.
“Hey, Walsh.” Johnny, the bartender, ambled toward me and put his hands on the counter. “What’ll it be?”
“Double.”
Johnny grabbed a tumbler and placed it in front of me. “Looks like you had a bad night.”
I forced a laugh as he poured my drink. “You could say that.”
“Who was she?” He leaned on the bar as though settling in for a long tale.
I slammed down the scotch and motioned for a refill. “The Italian goddess of my dreams.” He poured, and I hunched forward, drink in my hands. “My cock took over, and I scared her off.”
Another patron waved Johnny over. “Be right back, Walsh.”
I sipped and stared, unseeing, cursing myself for a fool. Giving a shit about Lia opened a can of insecurity I hadn’t dealt with since I was a kid. I vowed I’d never make myself vulnerable to hurt like that again.
But something about her and those haunted eyes had called to me like a siren, demanding I reconsider.
Lia Risso had what I’d craved as a kid—parents who loved each other and siblings she adored, if the look in her eyes while talking about them was any indication. A real girl, not the ones I had surrounded myself with my entire adult life. She was the type who expected forever, the kind to dig deep roots and settle in for the long haul.
And I liked her. A lot.
I rubbed a hand down my face.
“So.” Johnny returned, a rag in hand. “Must have been quite the woman to fuck you up this much. Never seen you so down in the dumps.”
“Yeah, and it scares the shit outta me.”
“How come?” He cleaned off the bar around me.
“Bouncing around from foster home to foster home,” another swallow of scotch and I continued, “kinda makes a man wary of getting too comfortable with one woman.”
“I get that. Your sister—she’s married, right?”
“Yeah.”
Johnny stopped wiping, and caught my gaze. “She share the same childhood?”
I nodded.
“So doubtless the same fears and insecurities. She must have found a way to overcome it. They still toget
her?”
“Last I’d heard, but that was a few years back.”
He tossed the rag and grabbed the scotch bottle. “Want another?”
I glanced down at the tumbler I hadn’t realized I’d emptied. “Nah. Better not. Gotta drive home.”
“We’re closing soon. I can give you a ride.”
“Thanks, man, but the Maserati is outside.” I stood and pulled a few bills from my pocket.
“Take it easy, Walsh.”
Tossing the money on the bar, I nodded. “I’ll catch ya later, Johnny.”
Relaxed by the scotch, I climbed into my car and settled back on the leather seat. A hint of vanilla tickled my nose.
Fuck.
Grasping the steering wheel, I clenched my eyes shut. A vision of Lia writhing in my arms crashed into me. The memory of her moans stiffened my cock again.
I had the phone numbers of a dozen women who would be glad to get me off, but the thought of anyone besides Lia sickened me. A cold shower. Dousing myself with freezing water would do the trick.
My baby’s tires chirped as I sped off.
Minutes later, I slammed my apartment door and ripped off my tie. Balls aching like a motherfucker, I stood inside my shower stall and turned the knob to cold.
Full blast.
“Fuck!”
Ice water ran down my body, but Old Boy refused to relax. I turned the dial to hot and, bracing a forearm against the tile, gripped my cock. Imagining Lia’s painted red lips wrapping around me, I pumped my hips.
Hollering out her name, I exploded faster than a fucking teenage virgin.
Lia
“Delete my profile.” My snapped words turned Gwen’s sleep-tousled head around. The same as every morning, she sat on the couch, laptop on her legs, large mug of coffee between her hands.
She peered at me through bleary eyes. “I tried to stay up for you last night, but the wine…date didn’t go so well? Or did it go too well?” Her knowing smirk brought back a flood of memories of darkened hallways and grasping fingers.
Cursing under my breath, I stumbled into the kitchen toward the beckoning aroma of coffee. “Just delete it.”
The keyboard clicked. “You have a message from him.”
“Delete it.”
“Someone didn’t get laid last night,” Gwen muttered.
I ground my teeth, and slopped coffee all over the counter while trying to pour it. “This someone got almighty close to doing so without really wanting to.”
She gasped. “What?”
Clutching the hot mug, I turned. “Not what you’re thinking, Gwen. I just had no intention of being lured in so easily. So effortlessly.”
She slumped back into the couch. “Another asshole, huh?”
A sip of dark brew slid down my throat, and I breathed a bit easier. “Aren’t they all?”
Gwen didn’t answer, and I raised my head. A sad smile tipped her lips up as she shrugged. “I like to think they aren’t.”
“Yeah, well they are.” I ambled down the hallway to ready myself for a Saturday of nothing but escaping into a novel. “Delete my profile. I’m going to pretend I never met Ryan Walsh.” And his perfect body, fingers, mouth, and laugh.
Damnation.
Slamming my bedroom door did little to lessen my foul mood.
****
The weekend passed, but not without the help of a few bottles of wine and countless sappy movies. Gwen even stayed in with me, turning down a royal hottie who insisted he knew how to give her a good time.
Her website pissed me the hell off, but it offered the action she’d caught a craving for not long after graduation. Who was I to judge?
Monday dragged by in a blur of numbers, nylons, and a too-tight blouse. The next two days at work passed in much the same way.
Wednesday was weekly Risso family dinner night. I looked forward to good food and forgetting my misery for a while, seeing Papa, Mom, and my brothers, Cole, Zane, and Bastian. Or rather, Ercole, Zanebono, and Sebastiano as Papa so graciously named them.
Mom greeted me at the door as always, pulling me into a full two-minute, back rub, cheek-kissing hug. Boisterous laughter came from the dining room’s open French doors.
“Am I the last one here?”
She finally released me. “Zane called. Said he would be late.”
Just what I needed…Papa pissed. “When is he going to learn?”
Mom sighed and took my arm. “He’s thirty-two. You’d think he would have by now.” She tugged me toward the dining room. “It’s been ages since Gwen joined us.”
“She has a date.” I didn’t bother saying my best friend felt the need for Wednesday night pokes instead of listening to Zane and Papa get into one of their screaming matches.
“Bonfilia!” Papa stood and opened his arms as we rounded the corner. Both Cole and Bastian did the same, but Papa always got first dibs on his baby girl.
“Ciao, Papa.” Kiss, kiss, squeeze and pat. It was the same every time.
Tall and dark like our father, but with Mom’s blue eyes like all my lucky-ass brothers, Cole stood at Papa’s right hand—where he always had been and always would be. “Sis.” He pecked my cheek and glanced at the door. “No Gwen again?”
“Nope.”
A brief flicker of…something, crossed his face. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said it was disappointment. Although Gwen crushed on Cole since meeting him over twelve years earlier, my oldest brother had never given her a second glance.
Ten years on us, and the next Risso patriarch, he needed Papa’s stamp of approval.
And Gwen? A wild-child raised by a single mom who still thought being a hippie and smoking pot every day was groovy? She’d never get it.
“Bastian.” I squeezed my favorite brother’s trim waist. Only two years older than me, and the shortest of the three, Bastian had been the one to play with me as a child. The only son to inherit Mom’s meek spirit rather than Papa’s feisty one.
He pulled out the chair beside him, and I sank down, heaving a sigh.
Mom poured me a glass of wine while Papa sat and scowled at Zane’s empty seat. “Should we wait, Sal?” she asked, putting the bottle on ice.
Papa placed his hands on the table, palms down. Shoulders hunched, his frown deepened to the point I hopped up again. “We never do, Mom. I’ll help get the food.”
I strode into the kitchen, wishing I could escape out the back door. The one night I really didn’t need to hear Zane and Papa go at it like a pair of toms in an alleyway.
Mom followed on my heels. “What’s wrong, Lia?” she asked as soon as the kitchen’s swinging door closed behind us.
“Long week so far. Busiest time of the year.”
She pulled a rack of lamb out of the oven, and I swallowed the saliva desperate to drool down my chin. “I’m not talking about work.”
I pursed my lips and gathered the potatoes and string beans off the island. Mom always knew. Always. She called me on the day I’d walked in on Jack and his whores, hours before I even had the ability to speak.
She shut the oven door with her hip. “A man?”
“Yes and no. I went out on a date last weekend.”
“And?”
“He seemed different in the beginning. Genuinely interested in me and not just…you know.” I shrugged and swallowed past the thickness in my throat. “But as the night wore on, he turned into a jerk just like the rest of them.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“I’m never going to find what you and Papa have.” Tears laced my voice, and I inhaled a deep breath, struggling to keep them inside.
“You’re only twenty-four. I met your father much later in life than that.”
I shrugged, not wanting to talk about it anymore, and pushed back into the dining room. While Papa’s cheeks had lost some of their rage-induced, mottled appearance, the scowl still puckered his graying brows.
Mom placed the lamb before him, and after depositing my own armload of
bowls, we sat.
The front door opened and seconds later Zane sauntered in, his dark, wavy hair sticking up as though he’d been tumbling in someone’s bed moments earlier. “Sorry I’m late.” He slid into his seat, offering Mom the grin that doubtless got him invited into many beds—women and men, if I had to guess.
“We just sat down.” Mom smiled. “Sal, won’t you do the honors?”
Papa picked up a knife, but he glowered at Zane. “Until you are married and have a family of your own, you will be here for every weekly dinner. On time. Do I make myself clear, young man?”
I held my breath and passed the potatoes to Bastian, praying Zane kept his reckless mouth—and wild temper—under wraps for the night.
Zane’s dark blue eyes glinted, but he dipped his head in Papa’s direction. “Yes, sir.” He had made his displeasure over being called a “young man” known more than once at our parents’ table.
Papa’s usual response, “act like one and I’ll consider you one,” normally shut my brother up quick. Mischievous with a mile-wide wild streak, I doubted Zane would ever do as Papa said. Doubtless he would continue to burn through his inheritance and end up in a lonely grave.
Without leaving any type of lasting legacy behind him.
That had always been Mom’s concern, anyway. No wife for Zane meant no grandchildren, something she longed for and didn’t mind letting all four of her offspring know.
“So, Lia,” Papa said, lifting my attention from the green bean bowl in my hand. “How was your dinner date Friday night?”
How the hell?
I glanced around the table, but all three brothers turned widened eyes upon me. I cleared my throat. “All right, I suppose. How did you know I had a date?”
“Angelo called me.”
Ah, yes. Valentino’s owner, an old friend of Papa’s. I should have known.
Papa scooped roasted potatoes onto his plate. “Said he appeared a well-kept and wealthy gentleman.”
I made a noise of agreement under my breath.
“When can we expect to meet Mr. Walsh?”
“I’ve no plans on seeing him again, Papa. Pass the rolls, Cole?”
My brother’s eyes filled with compassion as he picked up the basket. A self-claimed loser-at-love at thirty-four, he understood all too well what I had endured the previous two years.
