Page 50 of Bellini Born
Instead of answering my question, she asked one of her own. “Why do you have a gun?” Her eyes were locked on the weapon held in my right hand.
My gaze raked over her trembling form. Shallow breaths lifted her chest—she was in those goddamn silk pajamas again—and the pulse at the hollow of her throat fluttered wildly.
Her being scared was the least of my worries. She had no idea how close she’d come to getting shot. Sneaking around in the dark inside the home of a mafia don had almost gotten her killed.
My brain was still trying to decide whether I should apologize for scaring her or reprimand her for roaming the halls at night, when I realized her pupils were blown wide.
Summer wasn’t fucking afraid; she was turned on.
God help us both because, immediately, I knew this was it—the moment when I lost control.
Stalking closer, I held up the piece of gleaming metal. Voice dropping an octave, I said, “Because I’m a dangerous man, Summer.”
That vixen did the last thing I would have expected, letting out a loud snort before she slapped a palm over her mouth to cover her silent laughter.
My head cocked to the side. “This is funny to you?”
“Sorry.” Her hand fell away to reveal the tiniest hint of a smirk curved on those kissable lips before she schooled her features. “I’m very scared.”
I crowded her space until she was forced to step backward. Once her back hit the wall, I clicked my tongue. “Somehow, I don’t believe you.”
Her chest brushed mine with every inhale.
“Tell me the truth, Summer,” I commanded.
She held my stare. “It’s hard to believe that you’re this big, bad mafia man when all I’ve ever seen is the father who wears bubble beards and lets his daughter paint his nails.”
A dark chuckle fell past my lips. “Make no mistake, Summer. Outside of these walls, I’m ruthless. Heartless, even.” I paused before adding, “I’m a cold-blooded killer.”
When I dragged the tip of the barrel up the skin of her arm, her breathing hitched.
“This gun has taken lives,” I admitted. “And you’re still not scared?”
Summer’s throat worked on a thick swallow, but she shook her head. “No,” came her breathless reply.
I arched an eyebrow. “Are you willing to do what it takes to prove that?”
Her ragged breathing sounded harshly as it fanned my face. “H-how do I prove it?”
Oh, I was so glad she asked.
Moving the muzzle over her shoulder, I trailed it up her neck. Goosebumps rose in its wake as the path changed course, and I caressed the side of her jaw with the cold steel.
I tapped it against her lower lip. “Open.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, but Summer didn’t hesitate, dropping her jaw enough to permit the firearm entry.
Fuck, I was hard as a goddamn rock, jealous that a fucking handgun would know the pleasure of her hot little mouth before my cock.
Pushing the barrel inside, I groaned when her lips closed around it, and her cheeks hollowed out as she sucked.
“That’s it,dolcezza. Get it nice and wet for me.”
Eyes locked on mine, she bobbed down the length of the barrel, and I about damn near came in my pants at the sight. My girl was fucking fearless. And it gave me hope that she might be able to survive inside this dark world of mine.
Her hips shifted, seeking contact with mine. The mere brush of her belly against my raging erection had me right on the edge.
My lips dropped to the curve of her neck. “You’re fucking stunning, swallowing my gun.”
