“If it’s such an issue, this doesn’t have to happen. You can fuck one of your whores and leave me to my own devices.” My kitten had unsheathed her claws.
I rolled the rubber over my cock. “Don’t get defensive with me. I understand where you’re coming from—that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” I lowered back down, eyes capturing hers like a snake charmer soothing his cobra. “I want to be bare inside you—feel your tight little muscles squeeze me with nothing detracting from the sensation. It’ll feel even better for you too, trust me.”
I seized her bottom lip with my teeth then soothed the skin with my tongue, all while aligning myself and pressing slowly inside her. Once I was a couple inches inside, I slammed the rest of the way home, groaning at the intense pressure of her tight cunt.
“Fuck, you feel good.” It was a benediction on my lips. A prayer to my wanton goddess. She was everything I could have wanted in a woman, gasping when I entered her and arching her perfect breasts to rub against my chest. I rolled my hips, allowing us both to soak in the exquisite pleasure.
But need was a greedy creature.
It didn’t want to accept gentle warmth and casual pleasure. Need clawed up my spine and demanded a core meltdown of my senses. It wanted soul-shattering euphoria. A volcanic eruption of bliss.
Unable to resist, I lifted up onto my knees, keeping myself snuggly in her warmth, and pulled her legs up until her ankles were behind my head. With a wicked grin, I let loose the savage seething inside me. With one arm wrapped around her legs, the other fingering her clit, I rained down an assault of pleasure.
I couldn’t get far enough insider her. I wanted to seep into her veins. Pound my way beneath her skin until I was so far entrenched, she couldn’t force me back out.
The thought alone had me close to coming, but I held onto my control. I waited until her head thrusted back into the pillows and her legs shook and quivered, muscles seizing tightly. Only once she screamed her release did I allow the dam to burst and my body to flood with sensation.
I couldn’t get enough air.
Like I’d been cast into outer space without oxygen or gravity or the existence of time. Together, we both drifted in the vast nothingness of orgasmic rapture.
When my body drifted back down to earth, I dragged myself off her and took care of the condom. Once I was cleaned up, I pulled back the covers and tugged her against me, wrapping us both in the soft warmth of thousand thread count sheets.
Too blissed out to struggle, Maria rested her cheek on my chest, her hand lazily drifting across my chest. The movement started to tickle, so I placed my hand over hers.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you wear the same watch twice,” she noted sleepily.
“I collect them.”
“How many do you have?”
“Twenty or so—I don’t really keep count.”
“You don’t wear any other jewelry.”
I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, trying to decode me. “I like them because of their artistry and what they represent. Other jewelry is just decorative shit.”
“What they represent?”
“Time. When I wear a watch, it’s a reminder to me that we only have so much time on this planet. It helps keep me focused on the things I want in life instead of getting lost in the meaningless crap.”
She lay quiet for long minutes, making me wonder if she’d drifted to sleep before she gave signs of life. “I like that,” she murmured, her warm breath ghosting across my skin. “What about your Gallo family ring?”
Made men in the Gallo family were permitted to wear a ring containing the Gallo insignia. Most men couldn’t wait to acquire their ring when they ascended through the ranks. I owned one but rarely wore it—I was not most men. “I don’t need a ring to remind me of my loyalties.”
“But aren’t you supposed to set an example? Family pride and all that … stuff?” Her words were hardly intelligible as she muttered into the pillow.
The corners of my mouth twitched up. “Go to sleep, little one. You’re going to need your rest.”
She nodded and began to pull away toward the other side of the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“Just to my side. I can’t sleep when I’m touching someone.”
I huffed out an annoyed grunt, which didn’t make any sense at all. I didn’t cuddle when I slept, but I also didn’t like the feeling of letting her out of my arms. Knowing I needed to get a fucking grip on my possessiveness, I allowed her to pull away and quickly drifted to sleep.
Hours later, I was wrenched awake when the covers were jerked away from me. Still foggy from sleep, I pulled out the knife I kept beneath my pillow and searched my room for the threat that had woken me.
A whimper tore through the silence from the other side of the bed.
Before I could process the sound, Maria began to thrash in the sheets, making a tortured sound that twisted my gut in a knot. Was she sobbing? It had to be a nightmare. Did I wake her? I’d always heard you didn’t wake someone from a night terror—was that what she was experiencing? Was this normal for her?
I had no clue what to do, but she was so upset—so terrified—I had to wake her.
“Maria, baby. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” I set down the knife and rubbed my hand over her arm.
The contact seemed to be a trigger. She flung off the rest of the covers and launched herself on top of me, arm poised to strike me. Before she could follow through, her frantic eyes focused on my face, her mind catching up to the present.
“Shh, come here. It’s okay.” I tugged her down beside me, spooning her body inside the shell of mine.
She reluctantly followed. Once she was settled, she let out a shaky laugh. “Must have had a nightmare.”
“You don’t remember what you were dreaming about?”
“No,” she assured me, almost too quickly, “I’m sure it was nothing.”
Her terrified gaze and heart-wrenching whimpers were as far from nothing as you could get. Hell, she’d practically attacked me in her sleep. There was definitely a reason for her actions, but not one she was willing to share.
We lay in quiet for long minutes, the party outside our window finally burned out and silent, until words began to tumble from my lips. I wasn’t sure where they’d come from. I hadn’t consciously intended to share—it was a gut reaction. A desperate need to fix what was broken, to get her to talk. The only solution I could conceive of was to share my own story.
“My mom was killed when I was twelve.” The words hung in the air, an early morning fog heavy with moisture and meaning. “I was at lacrosse practice. My dad normally picked me up, but he got the flu and had been in bed all day. I learned later that my mom had come to get me in our family car. Our routine was easy to learn. One of my father’s enemies watched and determined my father would be on the road at that exact time. He set up a hit—only problem was, they picked the one day my mom was in the car instead of my dad. No one showed up at practice that night. Eventually, my Nona found me with my coach and told me what had happened. She didn’t have a car, so we took a cab home. It drove past the flashing lights and bullet-ridden car. Nona tried to cover my eyes, but I was already too strong for her. I saw my mother there on the concrete, a white sheet over her motionless body. I had nightmares for years after that night.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I couldn’t force her to entrust her secrets to me, and I wasn’t going to tell her the nightmares would end. Who was I to know what she’d been through?
I tried one more time to coax the truth from her. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what your nightmare was about.” My words were a statement rather than a question because I knew the answer already.
Her head shook back and forth in response—a tiny movement that cut deep into my heart. I hadn’t been sure I had much heart left, but the stab of pain informed me there was a piece of the broken organ remaining.
Maria eventually tried t
o pull herself away, but I refused to budge.
“You’re staying right here, so stop struggling.”
“I can’t sleep like this.”
“You couldn’t sleep alone either, so what does it matter?”
“Ugh! You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
“Get used to it. We’ve got the whole rest of our lives to piss each other off. Now be quiet and go back to sleep.” I held her snugly in my arms, and despite her show of resistance, within minutes, she melted into me, her breathing deep and even.
Chapter 13
Maria
I’d never been so relieved in my life when I woke to find Matteo gone. I hated that he’d seen me so weak and vulnerable. Hated the oppressive weight of his questions and doubts. He probably thought I was some kind of basket case, when the truth was, I hadn’t had a nightmare in years. I could only assume it was the intense emotions of the day that sent my subconscious reeling back to such a dark place.
I was now a married woman.
A woman married to her enemy.
God, I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hold him at gunpoint and see the ruthless evil in his actions … but I couldn’t. As I lay in my new bedroom, still wrapped in the scent of my husband, the only person I hated was myself for not being stronger. For not refusing his touch. For allowing him to see any part of me, inside or out. For betraying my family name.
I hadn’t just allowed him to touch me; I’d been mindless with need for him. The overpowering craving combined with self-loathing had me strung out in the middle as my emotions played an exhausting battle of tug-of-war. I hadn’t jumped him or fought him, but it wasn’t for lack of wanting either. It was like the two combatting forces cancelled each other out, leaving me weak and powerless in their wake—ripe for the taking. And that’s just what Matteo did. He seized my reins and took complete control.
To my utter amazement, I discovered there was freedom in surrender … with one caveat.
There had to be trust.
And after turning myself over to Matteo as I’d done, I couldn’t possibly claim in good conscience that I didn’t trust the man. I may have been overwhelmed, but if I hadn’t truly trusted him, I never would have permitted him such control over me. When my emotions warred with one another, I trusted Matteo not to hurt me. To command me and make me feel good so that I could abandon the struggle and submit to the pleasure.
My world had been blown wide open.
I had been so certain marriage would mean the loss of my independence, but now, I wasn’t so sure. It had only been one night, but I suspected deep in my bones, there was truth in what we had experienced. As if last night was only the tip of the iceberg.
The revelation was terrifying.
All those emotions along with the stress of the wedding, it was no wonder the razor-sharp talons of a nightmare had clawed at me from the moment I closed my eyes. Then, there was Matteo’s scrutiny. I had wanted more than anything to escape his presence. If I’d argued the point further, I would have appeared even more unhinged.
So instead, I lay there, like the mouse trapped in a hole, waiting for the vigilant cat to give up its hunt. The last thing I expected was for Matteo to tell me the story of his mother’s death. I appreciated his honesty, but he was on crack if he expected me to lay my past at his feet after his impromptu show-and-tell.
My secrets were none of his business, and that’s the way it would stay.
With an exaggerated sigh, I forced myself from bed. Coffee would make everything better. I threw on a t-shirt and pajama shorts, brushed my heinously nasty teeth, and went in search of the kitchen.
I discovered that Matteo owned an industrial coffee maker outfitted with an espresso maker and all the bells and whistles. Perhaps he wasn’t all bad. Any man who knew his way around coffee had at least one redeeming quality.
Next to the machine, already primed and ready for me to start, there was a note from my new husband explaining that he’d gone out for a bit and to help myself to whatever I needed. As if I needed his permission. I brewed a double espresso and took the steaming cup in my cold hands, reveling in the caffeinated warmth.
I planned to go back to the master suite and shower for the day, but my feet veered off path when I neared the stairwell to the second floor—Angelo’s floor. Matteo had said stay away from the second floor, but he’d also said Angelo was out of town. It had struck me as exceedingly odd that the two men lived together, and as I stood at the base of the stairs, I was swept away on a river of curiosity.
I needed to see what was upstairs.
Both men were out of the house. As far as I knew, I was the only one home. But just to be safe, I hurried to the bedroom and swapped out my espresso for a Glock. Unlike the sweeping entry stairway at the front of my parents’ house, this staircase was tucked in a back hallway like a dirty secret. It was darker than the rest of the house, but enough morning light seeped in to make me comfortable enough not to turn the lights on.
My steps were silent on the plush carpet as I stepped onto the second-floor landing. My heartbeat, on the other hand, was a jackhammer in my ears. The landing opened to a large second living area decorated in a similar style to the rest of the house with not a thing out of place. In the corner, there was an apartment-style kitchen, also immaculate, with glass doors leading out to a large patio.
Keeping my gun secure in my hands, I made my way to one of the closed doors just off the living room. The door opened without a sound, revealing a standard guest bedroom. I scanned the room from the doorway, then closed the door and repeated the procedure with the next room—also a guest room with no sign of habitation.
The end of the hall contained a shared bathroom with perfectly folded towels and a pristine sink. Again, no signs of use. Shrugging to myself, I headed toward the opposite hallway. This side only contained a single door at the far end.
Adrenaline sent tingles throughout my body, energizing every cell in the event I needed a speedy escape. Taking a calming breath through my nose, I pushed open the door. The room was essentially a second master suite, similarly decorated to our bedroom but with more modest ceilings and no fireplace. The bed was made, and a man’s jacket was draped over the back of a desk chair set at a simple writing desk.
Needing to see more, I stepped inside and examined the rest of the room. The heavy drapes were pulled shut, forcing me to turn on the light to see better. I figured it was more invasive to open the drapes than simply turn on a light. Aside from the jacket, there was nothing to see in the room. I wandered into the bathroom. A toothbrush sat out, but there were no beard clippings, pill bottles or other personal effects. The closet was lined with a man’s clothes, all in perfect order.
Something wasn’t right.
I couldn’t put my finger on what was bothering me, but something was off. It was all too neat and tidy. Granted, there was a housekeeper, and the man had been out of town, but something about the second floor gave me an eerie vibe. Either he wasn’t living there, or the man was certifiably OCD. Considering he was already certifiable in other respects, I supposed it wouldn’t be a stretch to discover he was also a neat freak.
It was plausible, but my gut said there was more.
I went back into the bedroom and opened the nightstand drawers. A roll of toilet paper. Gross. I didn’t want to know what that was for. A knife. A copy of Stephen King’s Sleeping Beauties. And a woman’s charm bracelet. Odd, but not totally abnormal.
I started to turn toward the desk when something clicked. Looking back, I ran my finger along the top of the nightstand in the back where it wouldn’t be noticed and lifted my finger to see a thick smudge of dust. It had been hard to tell on the light wood grain, but once my finger had disturbed the surface, I could see the trail where I’d removed the substantial layer of dirt.
Had the housekeeper not been cleaning in here? If she hadn’t, why was everything so neat?
Perhaps he liked to keep his own room tidy but wasn’t much for dusting. Aga
in, suspicion narrowed my eyes.
I moved to the far corner of the room where the kidney-shaped writing desk sat. More effeminate than I would have expected, the lacquered top was shiny beneath its own layer of perfectly undisturbed dust. When I opened the middle drawer, nothing jumped out at me except a large manilla envelope. Pulling out its contents, my stomach clenched.
There were pictures. Dozens of them.
All candids of Matteo with a blonde woman, both smiling and clearly well acquainted.
Why would Angelo have an envelope full of pictures of Matteo? Who was the woman? Was she the love letter woman?
Questions bombarded me like rays of sun in a desert where life-giving answers were as hard to find as shimmering pools of water. Shaking my head, I returned all but one of the photos, placing the single picture in my back pocket. I closed the drawer and turned off the light, exiting the room as if I’d never been there. I held my gun behind my back to avoid suspicion, should I run into anyone on the way down, and hurried back to our bedroom downstairs.
Still no sign of Matteo, I returned my gun to my purse and jumped in the shower, using a heavy stream of cool water to clear my thoughts. I had no question my husband was hiding something, but what? I had secrets of my own, so I couldn’t begrudge him his privacy, but these felt like they affected me. At the very least, they involved the Gallo family, and that information could be of benefit to my father.
I needed to keep my eyes open and my mind clear.
Of course, that was easier said than done when Matteo was around, but I would do my best.
I turned off the water and threw on some clothes, realizing I’d entirely forgotten about my coffee. Adrenaline had stepped in and woken me up admirably. I snatched the full cup and started toward the kitchen when I heard a man’s voice. Matteo. He was talking to someone in a low rumble.
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