Page 20 of Violent Delights

“No shit,” he throws back with a chuckle that’s deep and throaty.

“I should not be in your head,” I tell him, knowing I can’t be the person who hurts others. “This is a mistake.” Pushing to my feet, I want to walk away, but Domenico is fast. He moves so swiftly, his hand is on my arm before I can even take a step.

“Don’t,” he commands. It’s not a plea. I doubt he’s ever had to beg for anything in his whole life. There’s a confidence in him that tells me he always gets what he wants. And the way he’s looking at me right now confirms he wants me. Just like he said. “Stay.”

The word skitters over my skin. Every inch of me burning up from want. His fingers hold on to me, the contact searing right through my flesh. He could be doing this to hurt me. We’re enemies.

“Why?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he tugs me toward him and I stumble on a broken branch, which sends me flying into his chest. Warmth soothes me for a moment before I realize we’re once again in the position we were last night.

“You know we can’t do this,” I tell him. “Nothing we say here today will change who we are.” The sadness that tinges my voice startles me. “I’m engaged.”

“To an old bastard who is the same age as your father,” he sneers, and I realize he saw everything last night. I don’t want to think about what that man will do to me. He’s known to be violent. Even though they are rumors, I have a feeling that may have some truth to it.

“I just?—”

“You do realize your father is marrying you off to a monster,” Domenico says, and I nod. “He may have some sway in guns and weaponry, but he’s not a nice man.”

“This life doesn’t have any nice men in it,” I tell him. My perception comes from seeing my own family, watching the men who work for my father. I’m not a naïve little girl. I used to be, but I’ve eavesdropped on my father one too many times.

The stories aren’t those that put you to bed at night.

They’re the ones that leave you with nightmares.

“And you think I’m one of those not nice men?” Domenico questions, his mouth quirking into a grin. I want to say no, but he’s still very much a stranger to me. Even though when I look in his eyes, I don’t see the danger that usually follows a Made Man.

“I can’t answer that.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs it off, but I can tell he’s disappointed. “What if I told you I wanted to kiss you right now? And what I if I asked permission before doing it?” There’s no hint of a joke in his voice, and I can’t help but smile.

“Fine.”

This makes him chuckle and I decide I like the sound of his laugh. But as I look up at him, my heart aches. I can’t be with someone of my choosing, and nothing I do now, nothing I say, will change that.

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?” Domenico asks as he grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts my head so I’m looking into his eyes. I couldget lost in the soft brown. But I blink back the thoughts because I need to focus.

“Nothing.”

“You’re a bad liar,” he tells me easily. “I don’t like liars.”

“Well, you shouldn’t even be talking to me. I’m a Vitale.”

“Are you that proud of your name that you’d openly admit to being part of a family of monsters?” he throws out, catching me off guard. But I can’t fight him on it because I know what my father has done. There’s no denying that he is truly evil.

“They are monsters,” I concede, “but I’m not one.”

Domenico leans in closer, his lips feathering over mine, and my stomach tumbles, while my heart beats a rhythm of wild abandon. I want him. I don’t care who he is, what his name is, and what color blood runs through his veins.

I once heard my father call them black-blooded. It was one of the worst insults I had ever heard. But then, I suppose when you’re hateful to someone, it came out just the way my father wanted it to.

Domenico doesn’t ask permission. He claims my lips with his in the next second. His body molds to mine. The gentle way his tongue explores me makes my thighs squeeze together. His hands trail over my shoulders, down to my ass, where he lifts me against him. My legs wrap around his waist, and he walks us into the tomb.

I’m up against the wall, where I’m pinned between his body and the cold concrete, which does nothing to chill the heat that’s racing through me. His lips steal every whimper from my mouth. His hardness is apparent, which doesn’t calm the coiling serpent asleep in my gut.

I’m wet.

I’m turned on.

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