Page 135 of Dance of Ruin

I’m going to come.

I’m going to come with his cock in my ass.

“Look at you, baby. Such a dirty little anal slut. You’re going to come like this, aren’t you? Greedy little thing, squeezing my cock with that back hole, making your pussy jealous.”

His thrusts grow rougher. His breath turns ragged.

My whole reality shifts and blurs.

“That’s my good girl,” Nico snarls into my ear as he buries his cock deep inside my ass. “Taking it so good. Taking it likea such a fucking good girl.”

It’s like pulling a trigger. The second the words leave his lips and purr into my ears, my whole body writhes and shatters.

The scream that rips from my throat is both unholy communion and sweetest deliverance. My entire body spasms, my nails clawing against the stone as the orgasm explodes through my core.

Wave after wave crashes into me as I hear Nico groan. He grabs my hip hard with one hand and wraps a hank of my hair around the other as he buries himself balls-deep in me, muscles clenched hard at my back.

And then he pumps his hot cum into my ass, growling against my skin, both of us collapsing to the stone wall.

He doesn’t let go. Just holds me there, arms wrapped around my chest, his breath warm against my neck.

When he finally moves, he turns me gently, pressing his forehead to mine.

Then he kisses me, hard and fierce.

Like he’s sealing something.

“Mine,” he murmurs.

And I think, somewhere in this madness we’ve wrapped ourselves in…

He’s mine, too.

28

NICO

Kratos standsnear the window of Carmine’s office in the home we grew up in, looking like he’s one wrong answer away from shoving someone through it.

That’s not a figure of speech. His knuckles are still scabbed and bruised from the last “lead” he got regarding what almost happened to Bianca.

Carmine sits at his desk, rubbing his jaw with one hand and drumming the fingers of the other on the wood. I’m leaning against the edge of that same desk, silent, jaw tight.

We’re about to meet with a very promising lead about the car bomb. Angelo, the owner of the shop that did most of the restoration on the Chevelle, is a good guy. He’s old-school Italian from the Lower East Side and has known our family for years. Hell, it’s one of the reasons we went to him for the resto-job. He and Vito go way back, and he waspsychedto work on the project for Dad’s birthday.

We’ve obviously already done our due diligence on the shop itself. Angelo’s loyalty to our family is iron-clad, but he himself insisted, just in case.

We never found anything, but earlier today he reached out to Kratos and said something might have turned up. And since we have no idea how far the Obsidian’s Syndicate’s reach is, we opted for a face-to-face meeting here at the house, not one over the phone.

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting my thoughts. John, one of our guards, steps in.

“Mr. Barone.” He dips his head to Carmine, almost like a bow. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Angelo’s here.”

Carmine nods. “Send him in.”

We all stand as Angelo Russo walks in, looking a little nervous. Carmine shakes his hand firmly, followed by me and then Kratos.

Carmine gestures to the seat across from him. Angelo clears his throat as he sits. “Thanks for seeing me,” he says. “It’s about one of my guys.”

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