Page 83 of His Dark Vendetta

That man didn’t know what he wanted. One big ball of conflict, he just felt and acted on whatever emotion was winning the race at the time. He wanted me physically—I knew that from day one—but was it something more? Did his feelings run as deeply as mine?

I ripped the tags off, pulled the sheer, stretchy material over my head, and barely recognized the woman who stared back at me in the standing mirror. I ran my fingers across lips usually painted ruby red but instead were pale pink. They matched my fair Irish complexion and the freckles that dusted my nose. A few stragglers dotted my cheekbones and met the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes. Without makeup, my blonde eyebrows were barely visible beneath the lines that creased my forehead.

I fingered the ends of my hair. I let it grow out for the first time in years, but without my curlers or pins, it fell stick-straight to my shoulders. I tucked it behind my ears, and my eyes drifted down my body.

It looked the same as it had for as long as I could remember—too thin with too many sharp angles. The teddy should have been tight, should have hugged curves I’d longed for my entire life. Instead, it bunched at my waist, and my hip bones jutted prominently through the sheer fabric. At least my scars weren’t visible, and my small breasts were perky. My full, pert nipples drew attention away from my stomach to my chest. A small victory.

I tilted my head and tried to see myself the way Luca saw me—through hungry eyes filled with appreciation and lust—instead of how I saw myself—wrinkled with middle-age and scrawny, a body ravaged from growing up in the mob. I ran my hands over my hair, smoothing it and soothing my insecurities.

Heartache was real, and it was painful. It’s what happened when that muscle was overused but not given what it needed to recover. Mine ached for Luca, in part because I couldn’t imagine a future tied to someone who lived this life, in part because I wasn’t sure he wanted a future with me at all. How could I put myself and my heart in jeopardy again? I shouldn’t, and once I got out of there, I knew I wouldn’t. I’d walk away.

But not tonight. Tonight, all I wanted was Luca. I’d deal with my heart later.

Across the hall in the master bedroom, the full moon cast an ethereal glow through the open window, illuminating the ridges and angles of Luca’s magnificent body. The comforter was bunched at the end of the bed, and the sheet draped sideways across his hips but just barely. The full breadth of his abs and the trimmed hair beneath were as sinful a temptation as his powerful legs, trunks of muscle dusted with dark brown atop white linen. One knee was cocked, mirroring the bend in his right elbow. His forearm covered his eyes, and his chest rose and fell with the slow cadence of his breath.

I crawled onto the bed. His body heat and a hint of his cologne made me instantly wet. I ran my hand over his chest and kissed his neck.

“You owe me a third orgasm,” I whispered into his ear.

A low rumble emanated from his chest.

I straddled his hips. He stirred, his arms and legs shifting, and his eyes cracked open. I trailed my fingernails down the ridges of his muscled torso. His eyes trailed down my body, and his hands followed. He ran them back up the sheer teddy from my hips to my breasts, hardening beneath me, growing to meet the demands of the desire burning in his eyes. My sex ached in anticipation of feeling him inside me again.

He thumbed my nipples through the fabric, and I gasped. My fingers went to my sex, needy for the same pressure there. I dipped them between my legs, coating them with my wetness, and circled my clit.

Another sleepy rumble vibrated his torso. He sat up, and I rested my hands on his shoulders. He splayed his across my back, and with only inches separating us, he stared into my eyes.

I combed the hair off his face and ran my fingers through it, dragging my nails across his scalp. His gaze hooded and dipped to my mouth. He licked his lips—those full, sinful lips—then returned his attention to my eyes, holding them, asking permission. But he wasn’t asking permission from me. He was asking permission from himself.

My heart hammered against my chest, filled to bursting with affection for the man who looked at me like my lips were the only answer to his questions. I cupped the side of his face and ran my thumb along his cheekbone, wanting to memorize every detail, every ridge and wrinkle, every crimson fleck in his coffee-brown eyes. Stash them away, safe in the vault of my mind so that when this all came to an end, I could pull each treasure out and return to this perfect moment.

His lids fluttered closed under my touch, and I lowered my lips to our first kiss.

I brushed them against his, tentatively, knowing that everything would change after this moment—the moment we finally gave in to what we really wanted and how we really felt. His warm breath tangled with mine, and the space between us came alive with anticipation, years of longing on the verge of satisfaction. My lips tingled with it, sending shivers down my spine. But I didn’t want to rush; I balanced on the precipice, knowing we’d never get to fall over the edge again.

The mouth I hungered after for years rose to meet mine with the gentlest touch, and electricity streaked through my body. He kissed my top lip, then the bottom. I darted my tongue out to taste him, wishing I could freeze time and forever occupy that place of unparalleled pleasure and rightness but knowing this might be my only chance.

He did the same, touching the tip of his tongue to my lips. And when our tongues finally met, I melted, and we kissed. We let go, moving in sensual harmony and revealing the full extent of the passion we’d held at bay for so long.

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close and cradling my head. He slanted his lips across mine, sweeping his tongue into my mouth, each stroke languid and tender. I shoved my hands into his silky, thick hair, and he tightened his hold, pulling me deeper. But there was no objective, no destination. Just the kiss and everything we wanted to tell each other poured out through each caress.

He let the kiss fade until only our lips touched and we shared each other’s breath. His hands slid to my hips, and he pulled back enough to watch himself run them up and down my sides. He stopped where the blue teddy pooled at my waist and slipped his fingers beneath the thin material, pressing them against my skin. He dragged his hands up my torso, pushing the teddy along with them, and when he reached my arms, pulled the fabric up and over my head and tossed it aside.

I placed my hands on his shoulders; he rested his on my hips. We stared into each other’s eyes, held in place by the emotion swimming between us with staggering intensity.

“I waited too long to kiss you,” he said in an awed whisper and brushed his thumb across my cheek. “I could have been kissing you this entire time.”

He lowered his hand to my upper back and, shifting his weight, rolled us. He laid me down, untangling us from the sheet, and hovered over me on his side. The fall of his hair framed his dark eyes. They were filled with a yearning that went beyond desire, and when he lowered his mouth to mine, he made love to it with a kiss that held their same promise.

The floodgate holding back my feelings for Luca came crashing down. The misgivings, the worry, the heartbreak—gone, and I surrendered everything to him. Not the playboy. Not the made man. Not my family’s sworn enemy. But Luca. The man I’d loved from afar. The man who smiled just for me. My Romeo.

He climbed on top of me and spread my knees, wedging himself between my legs. I reached between us and found the weight of his balls. I cradled them and gently squeezed before running my nails over the sensitive skin. He shivered and broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. He brushed the loose strands of hair from my face. I wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock and led him to my entrance, swirling the tip through my wetness.

He pressed his thick head into me, and his short, warm breaths danced with mine. I threaded my hands into his hair and pushed it away from his face. The crimson flecks dotting the obsidian field of his eyes seemed to flare as he pressed himself forward.

He filled and stretched me, joining with me and granting my soul the piece of itself that had always been missing. He shivered, and the awe in his eyes matched the awe in my heart, a reverence for our perfect moment and the beauty created when two souls finally admitted how deeply they treasured each other.

He held himself up on one elbow, wrapped his fingers around the nape of my neck, and kissed me, easing himself out and pressing himself in as slowly and gently as he moved his mouth over mine. Tender kisses, one, two at a time, pulling away to look into my eyes, then dipping back down to reclaim my lips. His hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, and my hips lifted and shifted to match. We held onto each other as tightly as we held onto the moment, never wanting it to end.

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