Page 38 of Sin & Secrets

“How old were you when you started?” I ask in disbelief.

“Probably about the same age as you.”

I finally find the bravery to crack open an eyelid and turn toward her to examine her youthful face.

At my expression, she cracks a smile. “Unlike some, I actually bathe every day.”

But her smile fades as her eyes drop to the tops of my arms. Something dark crosses her eyes as she looks back up at me. No, at my bruised cheek.

“I have some Arnica cream downstairs. I won’t be a moment.”

Without another word, she slips out of the room, finally leaving me alone.

With nothing but my thoughts.

I desperately try to organize them into some sense of coherency before they completely overwhelm me again. The truths are the easiest to identify.

Number one, Claudio Lazzaro is the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Number two, I made a deal with the devil in order to get away from him.

Number three, there’s a good chance everyone around me is a part of the Italian mafia.

Number four, I have no job and no source of income.

Number five, Rocco Moretti is the most attractive man I’ve ever met.

Despite everything else, all the chaos of the last few days, it’s that final point that snags in my mind the most.

How could a man who didn’t even exist to me a few weeks ago become so instrumental in not only my livelihood, but my every waking thought?

From the moment we met, I’d felt that strange allure, been helpless to his flirtations. I’d even considered what it might have been like to give in to him before any of this had even happened.

But where did that leave us now?

Perhaps I was always a piece of a larger plan to him. Maybe he had been orchestrating getting me to leave Claudio from the start. Perhaps that was his way of drawing a line in the sand and pulling me over it to stand next to him.

Maybe that night atElectrixhad meant nothing to him. Maybe it was just a perk of the job to be seduced by someone so willing to give herself over. Maybe he had his fill when he sank his teeth into my neck and felt my desire between my legs.

My own fingers drift beneath the water at the memory.

The memory of his breath on my neck still sends shivers of pure, animalistic lust down my spine. I imagine his lips trailing over my skin as he reaches up to my ear, biting at my lobe. In my mind, his hand rubs across my chest, and my nipple pebbles under his touch.

“Angioletta.”

I touch myself as I imagine his voice whispering in my ear. The warm bathwater is an unnecessary lubricant for my already-soaked core.

His devastating eyes, the way his hair falls across his face. The way his strong, tattooed arms held me in place like they were capable of lifting me entirely off the floor. If he hadn’t stopped, would he have fucked me against that wall?

I imagine it now as I work myself harder, the way he would have teased me with his fingers, bringing me to the brink of orgasm but ultimately denying my pleasure.

How I would have waited, desperate and dripping, for him to pull out his cock, thick with his own desire. I would have begged for it, cried for it as he lined himself up to my core.

How I would have screamed when he thrust into me, oh so fucking hard. Again and again. And again. As my pleasure would have built and built and…

How his lips would have finally, finally met mine…

I tremble as my body finds its feeble release. My fingers are a poor imitation of my own imagination, but at least it does something to relieve the pressure that had been building within me since that night.

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