by Maisey Yates
“So why do you?”
“There is no reason. Except for chemistry. This is truly potent chemistry, cara, and I certainly don’t know how to fight it. The fact is, I don’t want to. I spent many years deprived of human contact, living with families who showed me no affection. I spent a great many years without the things that I truly craved. And I do not believe in denying myself, not now. Now I have the power to deliver to myself everything I desire. I have no practice at it and restraint. And no need for it. And so I underestimate you, and where the attraction to you would lead. And now I find that I’m aware of how powerful it is, I want to explore it.”
“I don’t see why I should sleep with a man who despises me.”
“You did it once.”
She looked down, her expression stricken. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Why?” He tightened his grip on her chin, forcing her to look back at him. “Why aren’t you proud? You nearly brought me to my knees. You made me weak with wanting. You forced me to deviate from my plan, and no one does that, Charity, no one. You could bring me to my knees now if you would promise to let me taste the beauty between your thighs. How can you not feel some pride in that?”
“I suppose,” she said, her voice trembling, her cheeks flooded with dark color, “I suppose it’s because I have never put much stock in sexual attraction. I’ve never really felt that before you, not in a specific sense.”
“Sex drives the world. There is very little that is more powerful.” He laughed, though he didn’t feel anything was particularly funny. “Perhaps money. And our interactions have been fueled by both. Is it any wonder we are so potent together?”
“I don’t want this,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“You don’t want my attentions? Or you don’t want to feel this attraction?”
“I don’t want to feel this,” she said, not looking at him.
“But you do,” he said, his voice fierce. “You do.”
“Yes.”
“I do not despise you,” he said, the words a rough whisper. “I recognize something in you.”
“What?” she asked.
“Hunger. You are so empty. So hungry. Like me.” She nodded, emotion flashing bright in her dark eyes. “Let me fill you.”
She nodded and it was all the consent he needed.
He dipped his head and captured her lips, a raw sound rumbling in his chest as he did, the relief that flooded him unlike anything he had ever known. He was so hungry for this, so hungry for her, and he had not realized until the taste of her dropped onto his tongue. Only then did he realize just how intense the craving was.
He coaxed her mouth open, sliding his tongue against hers, tasting her deeply, drinking her in as he would do a fine brandy, savoring her, letting the heat flood every part of him, warming the deep places that were always cold.
But she went deeper than any alcohol could ever burn, touching a part of his soul he had not realized still lived.
Wanting her became the physical ache, a drive that he could not fight, a drive he did not want to fight.
She was far too stiff in his arms for his liking. He slid his hand down to the curve of her bottom, pulling her tightly against him, against his growing arousal, showing her exactly how she affected him, exactly how much he wanted her. And she began to soften in his arms, a sound of capitulation on her lips, as she tasted him as deeply as he had been tasting her. As she allowed herself to get drunk on him, as he had been doing on her. And he felt her grow languid, felt her melt against him, her breasts pressed against his chest, an eroticism he didn’t think he had ever fully paused to appreciate before.
He was a jaded man, a man with too much experience. Kisses had long since ceased to thrill him. But this kiss was everything. It was more than any kiss. More than he had ever imagined a kiss could be.
“I must have you,” he said, wrenching his mouth from hers so that he could speak the words that were burning in his chest. “I need you, Charity, I need you.”
It vexed him, even now, that she could make him want so deeply. With all of himself. This little thief who had reached inside of him and stolen the very thing he prized the most: his control.
Right now, he was not even certain if he wanted it back. The only thing he was certain of wanting was her.
He gripped the straps to her swimsuit, pulling them down her arms and revealing her breasts. He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking her in deeply and groaning as he relished the taste of her. She was everything, everything he had remembered and more.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she said, breathless, as lost as he was.
He traced the shape of her with the tip of his tongue reveling in the difference in texture between her creamy skin and the tightened bud. “We shouldn’t,” he said, breathing hard. “We absolutely should not. But you and I are notorious for doing things we shouldn’t. I see no reason to change now. Not when this feels so good.”
She said nothing, but she wove her fingers through his hair, held him to her as he continued to indulge his craving for her. He shaped her curves with his palms, absorbing every bit of her softness, committing this to memory. In case this was the last time. Because he would take nothing for granted with her, ever. He could not predict her, and in his life finding something so unpredictable was rare. He enjoyed it as much as he feared it. Another rarity.
He rolled her wet suit down her hips, and she stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. He raised his head and kissed her lips deeply again, before turning around so that she was facing away from him, wrapping her hair around his hand and pressing down gently on her shoulders with his other hand, so that she was leaning over the outdoor sofa.
He traced the elegant line of her spine with the tip of his finger, all the way down, until he was teasing the damp entrance to her body, testing her readiness. She was wet, wet and ready for him. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, and she shivered beneath his touch.
He freed himself from the confines of his trousers and positioned himself at her damp core, bracing himself by holding more tightly to her hair, and gripping her hip, as he sank into her softness slowly. She tugged against his hold, turning her head so that her eyes met his, her lips parted, her eyes wide. He flexed his hips forward so that he was buried inside of her to the hilt, and a raw sound escaped her mouth.
“Good?” he asked, the word strained.
She nodded slightly, encountering resistance thanks to the tight restraints he’d placed on her. He withdrew slightly, before thrusting back home, establishing a steady rhythm designed to drive them both to the brink. He slipped his hand forward, placing it between her thighs, teasing her clitoris with his movements.
Release started to build in him, far too soon—he wanted this to last, wanted her screaming his name before he took his own pleasure. He gritted his teeth, increased the pressure on the bundle of nerves he was focused on. He heard her gasp, and he took it as approval. He continued to tease her, pushing her closer and closer. Could feel her internal muscles tightening around him, could feel the climax building inside of her. He leaned forward, still stroking her, and grazed the side of her neck with his teeth. A hoarse cry escaped her lips and she dropped over the edge.
And then he stopped holding back. He pounded into her heat, chasing his own release, his blood roaring in his ears as he came hard, the sound of his own release mingling with hers.
When the storm subsided, he moved away from her, breathing hard. The outline of his fingers red on her hip, the evidence of his passion left in the slight impressions on the delicate skin of her neck, stood out like beacons in the night, irrefutable proof of his lack of control. And yet, he could not bring himself to regret it.
She was trembling, and he swept her up into his arms, an echo of their first time together back in New York. But t
his time, he would not be leaving her. This time, she would spend the night in his bed. With him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHARITY ROLLED ONTO her back and stretched, raising her hands above her head, her knuckles cracking against the hardwood headboard. A headboard she did not have at her apartment in Brooklyn.
She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Late-afternoon sunlight was filtering through gauzy white curtains. Because she wasn’t in Brooklyn, she was in Rocco’s villa. Though, the late-afternoon sunlight was a little bit more confusing.
She sat upright, the sheet falling down to her waist. She was naked. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.
Then a host of images filtered through her mind, memories of the way they had spent the majority of the day. And she knew she shouldn’t be surprised by her nudity.
Just then, Rocco came walking into the room from the bathroom, as naked as she was. And clearly a lot less self-conscious about it.
“So, all of that...happened.” She reached down and gripped the edge of the sheet, drawing it back up over her breasts.
A smile curved his lips. “Yes. More than once.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly six.”
So they had been in bed all day. Which was one way to while away the hours when she felt wretched. Have orgasms instead. Really, it was kind of a no-brainer. Climaxes were better than vomiting.
She didn’t feel sick at all right now. In fact, she felt hungry. Starving.
“Dinner will be sent up shortly.” It was as if he could read her mind. Disconcerting, but handy in this particular situation. And in others.
When it came to what she wanted in bed he seemed to be able to read her mind better than she could. She was so inexperienced that until him she hadn’t really known what she might want. But he was showing her. With great skill.
He was every bit as commanding between the sheets as he was out of them. And it turned out she quite liked it.
Less so when they were vertical than when they were horizontal, but they would work on that.
She had no idea what this arrangement between the two of them was supposed to be. They were having a baby. They were, as of a few hours ago, sleeping together. But she was still the woman who had stolen his money, and she doubted that he had forgotten that along the way.
He was still the man who had forced her to come to Italy with him. Still the man who had held the threat of prison over her head, who had sent her that note, and the lingerie.
That hadn’t changed. But for some reason, it felt as if the air between them had. Which was silly. People didn’t change, not really. They only put on new masks. New costumes. She knew that better than anyone. She had spent her entire life doing it. She had proven it when she’d hopped right back into the con ring the moment her father had shown up and offered her a chance at taking the easy road again.
She’d shed her waitress uniform quickly enough and fallen back into old patterns. She couldn’t imagine a future where she wouldn’t do it again. No matter how settled she thought she might be.
If she hadn’t managed to change before, why would she be able to do it now?
“What sort of dinner?” she asked, because it was an innocuous question, which felt necessary right now. And because she was interested in food.
“I didn’t specify. Beyond that it be easy to eat in bed.” He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the mattress, and her stomach turned over, her heart rate increasing. Being close to him again made her want things. Already. Again.
“You don’t think we should get up for a while?” she asked.
“I think that sounds like a terrible idea. I would rather stay in here all day.” He looked at her, and for once his dark eyes weren’t flat. They weren’t filled with anger or mockery of any kind. They were warm. And it made her feel warm. A flame that started at the center of her stomach and radiated outward.
He adjusted his position and moved toward her, placing his hands on either side of her as he leaned in for a kiss. It was a brief meeting of their mouths, nothing to get too excited about. And yet, for all that it was so brief it was that much more exciting.
“That seems...decadent.”
He arched a brow. “Decadent? An interesting choice of words for a woman such as yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I had imagined you had tasted your share of real decadence. Given that...”
She shifted uncomfortably, her throat tightening. “That we stole money.”
He slid his thumb over her cheekbone. “I did not mean it like that.”
She wasn’t sure if she should deflect or opt for a little bit of honesty. Which seemed silly in a lot of ways, as they were sitting here naked with each other. And a certain degree of honesty should be implied by that. But while they had shared their bodies, she wasn’t certain they had shared anything deeper than that.
“Sometimes it was like that.” The words came out rusty, rough. “When my dad ran a con and things went well, there was a lot of sitting back and enjoying the spoils. Of course I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. But you know, we would have weeks of going out to dinner every night. And they sort of made up for the weeks where we hadn’t had food at all. Weeks spent with my dad smiling and laughing and...being with me. Yes, that was decadent to me.” She looked down at her hands. “As I got older I realized exactly what we were doing. And I struggled with it. But my father is a con man. And he does a good job of spinning a story. He did a good job of spinning one about us. About what we were doing. About how we were just working like anyone else. The people we stole things from were too rich to notice what was missing. And if they did notice, then they deserved it for being stupid enough to let us get hold of it.” She repeated her father’s words, almost verbatim. He always said them with a smile. As though he were partly joking. As though none of it were real.
Just make-believe. A game. A game that happened to be a crime. A game that happened to be immoral. But a game nonetheless.
“I see,” he said, a strange light in his eyes.
“Like I told you. He’s small-time. What he did to you is the biggest job he’s ever pulled. At least as far as I know. If he has money like that, other than yours of course, stashed anywhere he certainly never told me about it. And considering he seemed more than willing to let me take the fall for this and leave me without money...”
“You truly do not have it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. I never did. I helped him get it but...I don’t have it.”
“I believe you,” he said.
Her stomach twisted. “So much for family. So much for decadence, too.”
“So would you say I’m your first taste of decadence?” he asked, his voice positively wicked now.
Heat speared her stomach, blooming outward, flooding her cheeks. “You know you’re the first man I’ve been with.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough and gentle at the same time. “And I am intrigued about that. Would you care to elaborate?”
“Well, I had never had sex before. Then I met you. And I had sex with you.”
He angled his head and leaned in, biting her lower lip. The sharp shock of pain faded quickly, ending on a sizzling burst of pleasure that flowed through her entire body. “That is not what I meant.” There was something that looked a lot like humor in his eyes, and she wasn’t really sure what to do with that.
But she liked it.
“Sex seems like an awful lot of stripping. A good con woman doesn’t like to remove her masks. I know I don’t. So I was never in a hurry to get that close to anyone. I mean, I could have been with someone if I’d wanted to. But I would’ve been playing a role. And that never sat well with me.”
“And with me? With me in the hote
l room, back in New York. And with me now? Are you yourself?” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her jawline. “Or are you still wearing a mask?”
His gaze met hers, his dark eyes boring into hers, and she had to look away. “I don’t know. I have no idea who I am. I’ve spent every day of my life playing a part. Even the waitress...the version of myself that was supposed to be good. Supposed to be honest—that was a role. I was only pretending to be normal. Slipping on the costume. But at the end of the day I would take it off and...I just felt like me again. I didn’t feel different. I’m always pretending.”
“And with me?”
She took a deep breath, her heart thundering hard. “That’s what terrifies me most.” It was the truth. And she didn’t know why she was admitting it. Didn’t know why she felt compelled to offer him the kind of honesty she’d rarely even given to herself.
“What? What terrifies you, cara mia?”
“That the day we made love in New York was the most honest I’ve ever been. With myself. With anyone.” She swallowed hard. “I’m not sure I liked her.” She said the last part slowly, heat assaulting her cheeks.
“And why didn’t you like her?”
“Because she...” She was starting to feel stupid talking about herself in the third person. “I...I slept with you. And I didn’t even know you. And I liked it.”
“And that’s a problem?”
She looked down, her voice muted. “For a lot of people, yes, it would be.”
“It isn’t for me.” He shifted his position so that he was sitting next to her. “I spent too many years wanting things. So I don’t now. I take. I have. I don’t want.”
