Page 61 of Thorns of Desire
“You’re coming home with me tonight,” he murmured against my ear. His low, raspy voice sent a thrill through me before he nipped at the sensitive spot beneath, running his tongue over it to ease the sting. “I’m going to fuck you into next week. You won’t be able to walk straight.”
I moaned, burying my fingers in his hair, as he pressed a kiss to my skin. I was ready to let him fuck me right here in this hallway, risking exposure. My heart thrashed in my chest, my nipples pressing hard and tight against the thin material of my ridiculous dress.
This reaction to him really was unhealthy.
Throwing caution to the wind, I tilted my head back and looked him straight in the eye.
“How about you give me a glimpse of that threat,paparino?” I asked, tilting my chin in challenge.
His scent surrounded me and I wanted so badly to lean into him. To kiss him and touch him. To let him own me.
As if he could read my thoughts, his lips crashed against mine, the flash of fire consuming me and flaming this craving. I arched into him as one of his hands left the wall and smoothed from my back to my ass, cupping it and jerking me toward him. I was pressed against the long, hard ridge in his pants, shamelessly rubbing against it.
A deep groan vibrated in his throat and he inched his hand down and gathered up my dress. Dragging it up my legs and bunching it in his hand, he slid his fingers underneath my lacy thong.
He pulled back, watching my face as his fingers brushed over my swollen, pulsing clit. I gasped and shuddered as he rolled histhumb over it. His pupils were dilated, hunger lurking in them. One long finger thrust into me and I cried out, but thankfully he covered my mouth with his own, muffling the desperate sound.
His fingers and thumb moved in tandem, and my hips rolled as I raced to find my release. Sparks shimmered behind my closed lids and I was panting, arching into him, my breasts brushing against his suit.
My movements were frantic and desperate as I shamelessly ground against his hand. I’d seen him less than a week ago, but it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I missed him.
“Jesus, are all the corners taken in this joint?” I froze, hearing a male voice tainted with humor. “First Dante, now you. Maybe I should just stand in the middle of the reception hall.”
I blinked up at Manuel while agitation rolled off him in icy waves. His hand slowed, but he didn’t stop. The wall sconce to my left illuminated us slightly, but still he angled his body so it was folded over mine, keeping me out of sight from curious onlookers.
“Get lost, Cesar,” he growled, “or I swear to God, I will shoot you.”
It took but a few seconds for my mind to piece together that the man interrupting us was Cesar, Dante Leone’s bodyguard. Embarrassment washed over me.
“Really original,” Cesar retorted, chuckling as he sauntered away.
But the moment was lost and Manuel growled, pulling his fingers from me. He reached up and brushed them over my lips before taking my mouth in another fierce kiss.
“Ialwaysmake good on my threats,” he muttered into my ear. “Delicious.” He hummed in approval, licking my arousal from his fingers before he leaned toward me, his lips hovering over mine. “Nothing and no one will keep me from you anymore,amorina.”
My stomach swooped. And as he took my hand, leading me back to the main room, I knew I was in trouble.
TWENTY-THREE
MANUEL
Most of the Omertà was here, but all the attention was on the five women who were dressed in garments I imagined were designed to blind anyone who set eyes on them.
But that wasn’t what was bothering me. It was the fact that Athena was wearing the tightest dress, letting several dozen leering eyes look at their fill of curves that belonged to me and only me.
And then there was fucking Cesar, who was grinning like a fucking idiot and even tried to fist-bump me.Lo stupido.
I opted for a glass of cognac from the bar, turning my back to him and forcing my pulse to slow as he chuckled merrily.
“Why do you look like someone ran over your mother’s grave?” asked Enrico as he leaned back against the bar countertop.
“It’s even worse,” I gritted. “I really want to shoot a fucker, but this engagement is doomed enough without starting a war.”
Enrico chuckled. “Glad to hear you’re being reasonable.”
A sardonic breath left me and I said in a tone full of sarcasm, “I live for your approval.”
“Danil Popov called,” he said, switching to an Italian dialect that was usually hard for people to follow.
