Page 10 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

This is easier than I thought it would be. I could have him in my bed within the hour, but what is the use of that? I need his heart and soul, not just his cock.

Powerful men want what they can’t have, my mamma’s words come back to me.

No, I won’t sleep with him tonight, no matter how much I might want to.

And I really do want to.

Chapter 4

Matteo

She thinks she has me dangling on her hook, except I’m the one who just caught myself a pretty little fish.

I must admit, however, that Renata is much more tempting up close like this than even I had envisaged. And I've envisaged being with her a lot. One might say that she's been on my mind consistently for months now. I’m the sort of man that once I become focused on something, there's a risk my attention could turn to obsession.

Looking at Renata sitting there, licking those glossy full lips, I can feel the obsession stir deep within me as surely as my cock is stirring in my pants. She's utterly delicious. Tastier than the veal sitting on my plate and just as tender. I want to bite into her skin and leave teeth marks as I kiss and suck and lick every inch of her. I want her under me, above me, and bent over my desk as she screams my name. Not tonight, though. Now that I have my little fish dangling, I need to truly ensure that I trap her.

If I take her too quickly, I won't be able to make her fall. I don't merely want her body; I want her heart too. She tore mine out when she slept with my best friend, and I owe her a debt of pain for that.

Never mind the fact that her family have been nothing but a thorn in the side of ours for generations. Time and time again we Mancinis tried to rise above and take the high road, but the Andrettis always went low. They came at us repeatedly. They damaged our businesses, our interests, and even took the lives of some of our most cherished family members. We owe them pain and blood, and it might be unfair that the delectable morsel sitting in front of me is the one to bear the brunt of that, but nobody ever said that life was fair.

She plays with the napkin as she lifts her fork and pokes gingerly at the chicken on her plate. Does she think it's going to come alive and run squawking around the restaurant? Maybe she has eating issues, but looking at her figure, I doubt that very much. She’s far too curvaceous and glowing with health for that.

“Are you going to eat that, or simply play with it?” I laugh at the glare she throws my way.

“It's not as if you're tearing into your veal with relish, is it, sir?” she asks.

The sir is said with a snarky, sarcastic tone, but now my dick is ragingly hard. Before I'm done with her, Renata will be calling me sir while she’s on her knees and begging me, begging me, to give her what she needs.

I've spent years worshipping women, learning what makes them tick, and what they like. They intrigue me and interest me. One might say they're almost like a different species because I'll be damned if I can understand them. They certainly amuse me. They're pretty, and bright, and rather interesting when we get right down to it. A lot of them seem to have had extremely inept men in their beds too, if the way they react to me is anything to go by.

Not that I'm conceited. I can't take all the credit for my skills in that department, because it was all taught to me by a much older woman. After I married, and after Renata tore my heart out and stomped all over it in her high heeled boots, metaphorically speaking of course, I took a lover. Or, rather, I should say, a woman took me as her lover. She was forty-five, and I was in my early twenties. She was beautiful, intelligent, and fiercely independent. Most of all, she was the most carnal creature I have ever met. It was a dangerous affair because she was married to a man who at that time was one of the deadliest enforcers employed by our family. No loyalty to my father would have kept me from a painful death if he'd ever discovered my betrayal or hers. However, he never found out. We spent many an afternoon in her bedroom as she showed me all the ways to please a woman.

I was a very willing student, and she was a very talented teacher. One of the main things that she taught me was that all women are different. She had said to me once that the idea that women don't like sex is nothing more than a myth. The problem is men think women are as simple as the male of the species. They aren't, she had told me. “We might be complicated creatures, Matteo,” she had whispered in my ear one day. But she'd assured me, “If you take the time to learn what makes a woman respond to you, then you can show her heaven. And show a woman heaven, and she will give you everything.”

Now, I intend to learn Renata. What she likes, what she craves, needs, and desires. Then I will give it to her, and in doing so, I’ll make her an addict. I’ll be her drug, and like any addict, she’ll do whatever it takes to get her supply.

What it will take is giving me her heart and ruining her family for me. I’ll fucking trash their business and leave her asshole brother, Nico, broken and destroyed. Then, I’ll either toss Renata away, or maybe, if I’m still as obsessed with her by then, I might keep her.

You know you’re going to keep her, asshole, my inner voice chides. You’re never letting her go once you get her again; you can fool other people, but you can’t fool yourself.

She lifts those incredible blue eyes to regard me, and for a crazy moment, I get the feeling she can read my thoughts. That she can see deep into my soul. Renata is that fucking gorgeous, and her eyes are so striking and startling in her tan face, with her dark brows and lashes framing them, that I bet she’d have been burned at the stake as a witch in an earlier time period.

You’re going to keep her, that voice whispers deep inside me. Clifford and Vlad are right—you don’t go to all this effort to simply discard someone.

Ignoring my internal monologue, I ask her about her recent trip, and she tells me all about it. She seems overly impressed with this Carol woman, and I don’t like that. If she looks up to anyone, I don’t want it to be some over the hill socialite who is fucking half the gigolos in France.

We finish our food, and when the waitress asks if I would like to look at the dessert menu, I decline with a shake of my head and a murmured, no thank you. I look at Renata to see if she would like to peruse the dessert menu, but she also shakes her head. She surprises me when she asks for an espresso instead.

“Isn't it rather late in the evening to be loading up on caffeine?” I raise one brow as I study her.

“I always end a meal with coffee.” She smiles at me. “Maybe it's my Italian heritage.”

“Are you trying to say I'm not a proper Italian because I don't end my meals with coffee?” I chuckle softly.

“Of course not; no one would suggest that.” She laughs. “I guess I'm just a coffee addict is all.”

She'll be an addict of something else soon if I get my way. When the waitress returns to the table, I pass my card to her immediately before Renata can try to pay.

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