Page 47 of Rosetti Family New York
He waits for me to finish, his breathing heavy, the anger gone. “You done?”
I can’t see myself, but I must be a sight. I’m naked, and I’m soaking wet, and I’m sprawled on the floor. My hair sticks to my neck, his skin sticks to mine.
His fingers curl around my wrists, hot and relentless. “You just broke another rule.” I think he’ll finish this quickly. I think he’s as lost to it as I am. He isn’t. He pins me tighter. “You forgot this isn’t supposed to feel good for you,” he whispers. His voice fillsmy ears, fills my brain. “Bad girls don’t get it easy,” he murmurs, his hands still on me, still in control of everything but my will. “Now we have to start all over again.”
24
Leonardo
Itell the men at the shooting range to pack it up for the day, and their eyes linger on Eleanor before sliding off. I shrug, and they scatter, knowing better than to ask questions. The door slams, and it’s just the two of us now. The dim light spills over the rows of polished guns, bounces off the concrete, and the smell of sweat and burnt powder lingers heavy. She stands close, her skin like porcelain, holding the Glock with her slender fingers.
I lock the door behind me and let my eyes drag over her, soaking in the lines of her body and the dark fall of her hair. All I can think about is tasting her, owning her. She knows it, too, the way she meets my stare without blinking, a challenge and a promise.
Her skirt is sharp, hugging the lines of her hips. It’s tailored and perfect, like everything she wears, like everything about her. The blouse should look innocent, but on her it doesn’t. Not in the way she wears it, and definitely not down here. Her gaze moves with me as I step toward her, leaving a trail of fire across my skin. It burns, that look, all the way to my bones. The tang ofgunpowder fills the air, and I’m drowning in it, drunk on her and everything about this place. Drunk on the fact that she’s here, in my world. I wonder if she knows what that does to me.
"I want you," I say, because I know she likes it honest. If there's one thing Eleanor Price appreciates, it's the truth, stripped bare and laid out like a newly polished emerald. We have that in common.
"Is that why you brought me down here?” she asks, her voice as smooth and cutting as the metal all around us. Her eyes stay cool, but I can see the heat simmering underneath. Eleanor doesn’t give in, doesn’t give anything, until she’s ready to.
I take one step closer. Her fingers curl around the gun, and it makes me wild. I imagine those fingers curling around me, and my mind spins. Seeing her here, surrounded by my world and looking like she belongs, makes me want to bury myself in her.
"That and a few other reasons." The words come out rougher than I intended, but I see her smile. Just the barest hint of it, just the suggestion, touches her lips.
I take another step, slow. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t even blink. The smile on her lips spreads wider, turns dangerous. Just shy of lethal.
"Maybe I wanted to see if you could handle the heat,” I say. She raises an eyebrow, like she’s daring me to say more. I almost do. I almost tell her everything that's boiling inside my head. Almost.
"I thought I already proved that.” She shifts her weight, her skirt riding just a hint higher. I’m ready to explode. She fucking knows it.
"Maybe I want more proof,” I say.
She raises the gun, points it at me, and my blood sings. Her skirt hitches as she closes the distance, presses the barrel to my chest. My hands go to her hips, and she’s on me. Her mouth is heat and violence, and the taste of her drives me fucking insane.
I push her against the concrete wall, greedy for her, fingers tearing through fabric to find skin. Her blouse shreds like tissue, and I catch her moan in my mouth as my hands close around her breasts, thumb the tight pink buds until she’s breathless and burning. I want her naked, panting, but she pulls back, a wicked smile on her lips. She drops the gun, unzips her skirt, and it falls away. There’s nothing under it but her, soft and wet, her scent rising above the smoke and sweat.
I want her raw and wild and reckless, but she makes me wait, teases me with her mouth just close enough to make me groan. She brushes against me, a ghost of a kiss, and the scrape of her teeth on my lower lip is torture. She’s going to make me beg, and I know it, know she loves it, the way she watches me with the kind of focus that gets me fucking hard.
"Christ, Eleanor,” I growl.
I tug at the button on my jeans, but she shoves my hands aside, drops to her knees. My pulse hits the ceiling when she frees me. The first stroke of her fingers sends my breath reeling, but it’s her mouth, hot and open and fucking relentless, that almost brings me down. Her eyes stay on mine, challenging, burning, until I can’t take it anymore.
I pull her to her feet and kiss her hard. Her taste, my taste, it all blurs together. I’m lost in it, lost in her, as I push her back against the wall. Her breath comes ragged as I hook her legs around my waist, slide into her with one rough, needy thrust. Her pussy is so hot and tight, I’m shaking from it, my entire body fighting for control.
I watch her come undone, desperate for more, her skin flushed and glistening. Her breath shatters and reforms in little gasps, and her nails dig into my shoulders. It’s perfect. She’s perfect, and she’s mine.
"Yes,” she gasps. Like that. “God, Leonardo.”
My name on her lips, every syllable she insists on saying every time, the sound of it when I’m deep inside her—it unravels me. I drive harder, needing more, needing everything. The pressure builds, white-hot, frantic. I grab her ass, slam her into me until she’s close, so close, and then she’s crying out, coming around me. Her release is my fucking undoing.
She clenches around me, and it’s everything, the tight heat, the feel of her losing control. I bite back a groan, come hard and helpless, spilling into her as her heat crushes me, wrecks me. I hold her there, savoring the pulse of her pussy, and finally, finally let her slide to the ground.
Her blouse is ruined, but I’m still wearing my shirt, and I grin like a bastard as I pull it over my head and give it to her.
She slips into it, and seeing her in my clothes makes me want her all over again. I’d take her right there on the floor if she didn’t look so wrecked and perfect, but I give her a minute. Her hair falls loose now, and it’s wild. I love seeing her this way.
She’s laughing at me, shaking her head.
"I thought you brought me here to practice shooting,” she says.
