Page 72 of Soulmate of the Mafia King
Ididn’t know how long Tom and I lay there, listening to the fireworks and seeing the very top of their arcs through the sliver of windows accessible from the floor. I pillowed my head on his chest and enjoyed the steady beat of his heart.Engaged. The last time I was here, I’d been on the cusp of recovery, just starting to make strides toward the person I was today. Now, I wasn’t done—I didn’t know if there was a done for traumatized people or people in general—but I was so much better, stronger, happier than I had been.
The last time Tom and I were in Paris, I’d thrown myself at him and chickened out. As much as I could stay at a private view of the Eiffel Tower, I wanted to show him just how much had changed. Just how much I meant the “yes” that had fallen so easily from my lips. I rolled on top of him.
“What do you say we take this back to that hotel room you picked out?”
Tom grinned and pulled me down for a kiss. I pressed myself against him, feeling every line of his body. The summer suit hid so little from me.
He groaned. “There are so many cameras here.”
“I know.” Reluctantly, I got to my feet first and held out my hand to him. “Hotel.”
He took my hand and pulled himself up, then pressed me flush against him again. “What if I don’t want to wait until the hotel?”
I kissed him hungrily, hot and wanting. He licked into my mouth. My breath raced, and as I started to lose myself, I pulled back.
“Too bad,” I said with very little conviction. “I’m not getting banned from the Eiffel Tower.”
He dropped his head back with another groan but let me lead him to the elevator. Once inside, he made a show of checking the corners for cameras. One gleamed, and Tom pouted. I couldn’t have that. Not tonight, when I hummed with excitement and love. I pulled off his jacket and threw it at the camera.
“What they don’t?—”
Tom was on me before I finished my sentence, and I abandoned it in favor of losing myself in him. His hands were needy on my dress, grabbing at the thin fabric and toying with the zipper but never actually pulling it. A slim show of restraint. I didn’t bother with the same. I ran my hands through his hair, destroying his neat curls, and sank my teeth into this lower lip. Want gathered between my legs in liquid heat.
The elevator dinged, and the ride that had seemed interminable on the way up disappeared. Tom released me and stepped back to slide his jacket on. I leaned off the wall and tried to look like I wasn’t reconsidering my ban policy before the doors opened and we were greeted by a smiling employee and directed back to the sidewalks full of tourists who’d stopped to see the fireworks. Need pounded through my body.
Cool air whipped around us, and Tom took my hand. “The car has a privacy barrier,” he whispered as we walked toward it.
“Soundproof?”
He groaned in disappointment. I laughed. I could do this forever without a second thought.
We tumbled into the limo, and Tom buzzed up the privacy barrier before I’d even sat up. Of course, sitting up would’ve been a waste of time. I dove for him, pressing him back against the seats and ground against his hardening cock through his pants. He moaned, and I covered his mouth. Amusement sparkled in his eyes. He grabbed my hips and yanked me down onto him, setting a merciless pace. I let my head fall back and prayed we wouldn’t have to walk through the lobby of the hotel with a wet spot on his pants from how badly I needed him. But I wouldn’t dare ask him to stop. I couldn’t wait any longer to feel him, even through layers and layers of clothes. I claimed his mouth, trying to swallow our breathy wanting.
Tom’s hands were insistent, desperate. The bumpy Paris roads added friction, and by the time the limo driver stopped in front of the hotel, I was nearly on the verge of orgasm already. We barely bothered to fix ourselves up, ruined hair and kiss-swollen lips telling the story of why we raced through the lobby. I didn’t check Tom’s pants for a spot. I didn’t care. Thank goodness this was one of the rare European hotels that let a person keep their room key card.
When the elevator up to our room arrived, also empty, I barely spared a moment to gasp, “I don’t care if we get banned from here.”
Tom laughed darkly and slammed me up against the wall before the doors even closed. He ignored the zipper on the back of the dress to just pull my breasts out of the top and kissed every inch of them he could reach, like he was christening them anew with the mouth of my fiancé. I hooked a leg around his hips and tried to retain the fervent rhythm from the car against his achingly hard cock.
Thankfully, this elevator ride was much shorter and let us out right near the hotel room. I tucked my breasts back in and scurried across the hall with Tom. As soon as we crossed the threshold, we started stripping. Shoes tumbled off by the door. His jacket and shirt fluttered away behind us. His belt hit the floor with a clank. My dress whispered off my body. By the time we were naked, we’d just reached the massive window with the view of the Eiffel Tower, and even waiting to reach the bed felt silly. I pushed Tom up against the window, and he lifted me and slid home. I moaned his name. Every touch felt new with the glimmer of a diamond on my finger and the Eiffel Tower shining behind him.
“I love you, too,” I panted into his ear.
He laughed and slammed into me again. shaking with what I knew was only his first orgasm of the evening, then carried me to the bedroom still riding his cock.
In the morning, I rolled over in an empty bed, blissfully sore. Before I could even wonder where Tom was, he walked in with a tray of waffles. I grinned and moved to sit up. The ring caught the light, and I studied it. In the haze of love last night, I’d barely looked at it. Unlike Sera’s rock, Tom had picked something sedate for me, but no less expensive-looking. A braid of diamonds, emeralds, and pearls encircled my finger perfectly.
“Thought you needed the sleep,” he said as he set the food down.
I looked at him, wearing nothing more than a loosely tied hotel robe. “And the fuel for round two.”
CHAPTER 55
TOMMASO
When I told Paige I’d set everything up for another two days in Paris, she’d immediately insisted we spend a day shopping. I put up a cursory front of complaints, but in truth, I was perfectly happy following her from store to store and carrying her bags. Even better, she loved it when I made jokes about some of the worst, frilliest, most French things we came across. She laughed and joined in. For years, I’d heard men complaining about shopping with their girlfriends—fiancées—saying it was the most boring thing in the world, but even if we weren’t laughing up a storm as we paid our way through the most expensive boutiques in Paris, I still would’ve been having a ball. The sun was shining, she kept looking at the ring I’d put on her finger with a soft wonderment I’d never seen in her eyes anymore, and my face hurt from smiling. Paige and I could’ve made a hell of an afternoon out of reading the phone book.
“Stop!” she said.
