Page 72 of Sins of the Orchid
He studied me for a heartbeat, as if he was seriously thinking about it. His dark gaze found mine, something lingering in its depths that I couldn’t quite decipher. Santi, being the ruler of the New York underworld, was good at masking all his emotions. I still had a long way to go.
“Let me get some napkins,” he finally said, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. “Stay still.”
He was back within a few seconds with tissues. His rough hand came up to my thighs and gently wiped me clean while I watched his movements.
“You know, Santi,” I murmured, as I slid off the hood of his sexy red Maserati. “You can’t keep ripping my panties. That’s twice now in twenty-four hours.”
“You shouldn’t wear panties. I kind of like the idea of your pussy open and accessible to me whenever I want to stick my cock inside you.”
My cheeks warmed and my temperature spiked.Again!
“Don’t rip anymore of my panties, Santi,” I demanded softly. “Not unless you have a bag of super nice panties for me to replace them with.”
He let out a roar of laughter, and I stared at his beautiful face. In all these years, it was the first time I heard him laugh. A full-blown laugh and I was mesmerized. He seemed younger when he smiled. There were almost nine years between us, but I felt older than my age. Not sure if it was due to the manner in which I was raised or the traumatic experience in the jungle that made me grow up. Either way, I felt close with him, but on a completely different level than Adriano or Lorenzo.
“I’ll buy you more panties,” he promised, helping me back into the car. Before he shut the door, he bent his head and pressed a kiss on my neck, murmuring. “Lots and lots of fancy panties because I intend to rip them off your pretty, tight pussy.”
“Fuck!” At this rate, I’d melt before we ever got to the restaurant. He chuckled without another word and shut the door. I watched him as he got into the driver seat.
“You know, Amore,” he purred softly, throwing me a sideways glance as he started the car. “I am way too old for making out in the car or on top of the car.”
I stared at him for a second, then burst into laughter, throwing my head back. “You are not old, Santi,” I told him through a chuckle. “Maybe old fashioned, but not old.”
He drove us out of our romping location, his right hand resting on my thigh, while I traced the ink on his hand with my fingers.
“You drive really well,” I told him, never lifting my eyes from his hand. The ink there fascinated me. There was more to this ink than Cosa Nostra, God, and family; I knew it. He just didn’t want to say it. There was too much ink just to be those three items.
“Want me to teach you how to drive a manual shift?” His offer surprised me after all the horror stories Adriano shared of my driving. I was passable driving an automatic… at best. I couldn’t even imagine what disaster would happen if there was more to driving a car than putting it in drive and pressing a gas pedal.
“Maybe one day.” For some reason, driving didn’t appeal to me. “I’d hate to total your car.”
“It’s just a car.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Aren’t you, Santi Russo, the one that told me I shouldn’t touch his car if I valued my life?”
He shrugged. “I’ll buy another one if you damage it. I kind of like the idea of teaching you how to drive.” Throwing me a sideways glance, he grinned and then winked. “Kind of like I’m teaching you how to fuck.”
“Santino Russo!” I scolded him, my face warming. Cursed red-haired complexion and fair skin. He would be the death of me.
Chuckling, he took his hand back to shift, leaving the spot on my leg chilled.
It was odd how easily we became addicted to touch. Or a person. One kiss and you were never the same again. After this, I knew there would be no going back. No amount of pretending would ever make me forget him.
Once he had shifted and was in the appropriate gear, he placed his hand back on my thigh. The movement was so simple, yet so intimate… so possessive.
I tilted my head to the side, watching his profile. Those beautiful lips that could bring so much pleasure, the sharp lines of his jaw and the determination edged in it. There wasn’t a single part of Santi I didn’t like.
“What do you like most about Italy?” he asked me. His question came out of the blue.
“Freedom, I guess,” I answered.
His brows knitted. “Freedom?”
“Yes, freedom, Santi.”
“Amore, you have more freedom than all the women of the Cosa Nostra combined.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew that but going around with guards assigned and having someone always with me got old fast. Before Mom died, I’d walk to school alone. I’d go to the ice cream shop alone. Hang out with other kids without someone lurking in the shadows.
