Page 39 of Born into Sin

“Maybe you should just do what you want,” she whispers like she can read my damn mind.

Leaning closer, I hear the breathy sigh she gives when my lips are hovering over her scraped knee and I raise my eyes to hers.

“You couldn’t handle what I want to do to you, principessa.”

I see the stubborn glint in her eyes, and before she can argue with me, I run my tongue over her knee, opening the small tears back up as the sharp tang of her blood hits me hard. My cock is painfully stiff and straining at my pants, and when I give her another lick, she lets out the softest, sexiest moan I’ve ever heard. Digging her fingers into my hair, she clings to me as her body starts to shake. I allow myself one more slow lick before pressing my lips to her skin and kissing her knee.

When I pull back, she’s breathing heavy and parting her thighs even more. I run my eyes over her and then let out a heavy sigh before getting to work on her knees. I put all my focus on getting her cuts cleaned up and the band-aids on, but nothing can take my mind off how badly I want to fuck her. I’m drawn to her in ways I can’t explain, and for the first time in my life, I begin to doubt my willpower. I’ve never acted on impulse before. I’m always in control. Even when plans get disrupted or work forces me into a situation that’s completely unplanned and unexpected, I’m always in control.

Natalya effortlessly fucks all that up. One look from her, one touch, one hint of her scent and I’m left disoriented and feeling like I’m completely adrift. It’s annoying as fuck, and I desperately need to learn to get it under control.

I pull her sweats back down and give her ankles a soft squeeze. “Sit back against the pillows, and I’ll bring you your supper. You need to eat something.”

“My mom called while I was in the bath.” She scoots back against the pillows, looking so small in my huge bed and so utterly perfect and at home. “She said Grigori is in surgery. They expect him to recover, but I think his career as my bodyguard is over.”

I carry the tray over and set it on the bed next to her before sitting on the edge. “It’s not your fault,” I remind her, because I don’t like to see her looking so sad.

She fusses with the end of her shirt, trying to keep her hands busy. “I guess not, but I still feel bad. Do you think they’ll let me visit him in the hospital.”

“No, absolutely not.”

She sighs, but my answer doesn’t surprise her. “Yeah, I thought not. I can order him some flowers, though, and visit with him as soon as he gets out.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that.” I hand her one of the full plates and then put a big piece of homemade bread on top.

“Jesus, that looks good.”

The awe and excitement in her voice has me smiling. “Lucia’s an amazing cook.”

“We were on our way to get lasagna tonight,” she admits, grabbing her fork and twirling it around the pasta. “I had a craving. Sasha and Mia were having Chinese, but I was craving Italian.” Her cheeks blush at her words, and she keeps her eyes firmly on her plate.

“I’ve never been to Mama Sofia’s. I can’t imagine it’s all that good.”

“Oh my god, it’s so good, Dominic. You have to try it.” She’s so strong in her conviction that her eyes meet mine while she says it. I laugh because what the fuck does a Russian know about good Italian food?

“Yeah, I bet,” I tell her, grabbing my own plate.

She hears the disbelief in my voice and points her finger at me. “I’m making you go there one day. You’re going to eat your words.” She uses her fork to point back at her plate. “This is amazing, and I’m not going to lie and say Mama Sofia’s is better, but it’s at least equal, and their garlic bread is to die for. I’m going to have you eating your words.”

“Whatever you say, principessa.” My words are still laced with doubt, and I can tell it annoys her. “Aside from Lucia, Mangia Bene has the best Italian food in the whole damn city.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “That fancy-pants place? Please, they’re all show and no substance.”

I bark out at laugh at the audacity. “It’s my favorite restaurant, and as an Italian, I can tell you the food is exceptional. The best I’ve had outside of my own kitchen and Italy.”

“What does mangia bene even mean? Is that Italian for mediocre, overpriced food?”

The corner of my mouth lifts up at her sassy tone. “It’s from a very common Italian phrase, Mangia bene, ridi spesso, ama molto. It means eat well, laugh often, love much.”

“Is that your life’s motto?”

I laugh before I can stop it. “Yeah, that’s me in a nutshell.”

The truth is I’ve smiled and laughed more around Natalya than I think I ever have in my life. She makes me forget everything. All the stress of my family and work and the pain of losing my sister so many years ago, it all fades away when I’m near her. She makes me feel alive and that life is worth living instead of just something you endure.

“I think my life’s motto has been more have another drink and maybe tomorrow will be better."

Instead of giving me one of her easy laughs, she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry, Dominic. I’m sorry you’ve been so alone. My family can be overbearing and way too protective, but I can’t imagine not having them. I hope you know that you can always call me if you’re feeling lonely.” She gives me a soft smile. “Even if it’s just to argue about which Italian restaurant is best.”

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