Page 31 of Welcome to the Sins of Blackstone
I sense his presence before I hear him. Massimo stands behind me, silent, his gaze heavy on my back.
In the mirror, our eyes meet. His tie is undone, the top buttons of his shirt open, revealing the tattooed ink that snakes over his chest. His expression is unreadable, but his stance is tense. I turn slowly, my silk slip brushing against my thighs.
His face is unreadable, his jaw tight, but his eyes… His eyes burn with something undeniable.
My pulse hammers in my throat, a nervous heat creeps up the back of my neck. “You’re here,” I whisper.
His lips press into a thin line as he tilts his head slightly. “I live here.”
My stomach twists. “You haven’t been acting like it.”
Silence.
His gaze drifts lower, over the thin silk of my slip, the way it hugs my body, barely covering my thighs. His Adam’s apple bobs, but he doesn’t move closer.
“You blame me,” I whisper, my throat thick. “For the wedding, for your mother, I feel it every time you look?—”
“Stop.” His voice is rough, a command. I blink, my breath catching. Massimo exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before stepping toward me. “I don’t blame you.” His fingers lift to my chin, tilting my head up. “I blame them. I blame the life we were born into.”
I search his face, my heart aching. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”
“Because my head was in all the wrong places, and you didn’t deserve to be on the other end of my rage.” He stops for a moment, moving some of my hair behind my ear. “I couldn’t give you something, while I was so angry with the world. I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.”
I shake my head. “No,” I tell him quickly. “You’re the last person I’m scared of. I want to be everything to you.” I take a step closer to him, my hands on his chest.
He smiles, and it’s the first smile I'm excited for. “Well, I think we still have to do something to get this marriage on the road.” He winks, and a shiver runs down my spine.
His eyes darken, and then his lips crash onto mine. His kiss is claiming, devouring, intoxicating, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting, owning. His hands slide over my hips, gripping them possessively as he backs me toward the bed.
My knees hit the mattress, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to undo the buttons and throw his shirt on the floor.
The ink on his chest isn’t just art, it’s amour, history, memory, and I get to touch all of it. A cross rests over his heart, and beneath it, my fingers trace over a name written in elegant script. His mother’s name.
He watches me, his chest rising and falling as my touch explores him. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts my slip over my head, discarding it onto the floor. The cool air kisses my exposed skin, but before I can react, his hands move with purpose, grazing skin like he’s memorizing every inch.
He palms my breasts, rolling his thumbs over my sensitive nipples, making me gasp. His lips drag across my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Heat coils low in my stomach as his lips move lower, then lower still, his tongue flicking over my nipple before he takes it into his mouth. I arch into him, a moan escaping my lips.
“Massimo.” His name moans from my lips. I’ve never come undone like this, like I belong to someone and I want to. But I love that it’s him I’m losing it to.
He groans, his fingers sliding down my stomach, past the lace of my panties. He grips the fabric and rips it. I gasp, but he silences me with another kiss, his tongue tangling with mine as his hand finally touches me. I whimper as his fingers stroke between my legs, teasing, exploring.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice dark and sinful. Heat floods my cheeks, but I can’t find the words to respond.
He pushes a finger inside me, slow, gentle. My body tenses at the unfamiliar intrusion, but his other hand strokes my thigh soothingly. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Let me in.” I take a deep breath, and when he adds another finger, curling them just right, I melt.
My head falls back against the pillows, my legs parting for him as pleasure pulses through me. My back arches, every nerve is on fire. This is him, this is us.
Massimo watches me with dark, hooded eyes, his lips curling into a satisfied smile, then, without warning, he pulls away. A protest forms on my lips, but it dies when I see him unbuckling his belt. My lungs forget how to work for a second.
His slacks hit the floor, and then he’s fully bare.
He’s big. Thick, hard, intimidating.
A flicker of nervousness ripples through me, crosses my face, and Massimo must see it, because he leans down, brushing his lips over my temple.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispers. “Let me love you the way you want.” I nod, trusting him. Because I trust this man with my life.
He kneels between my legs, positioning himself at my entrance. His tip presses against me, stretching me inch by inch. The burn is sharp, I bite my lower lip to stop the scream before it escapes my lips. Massimo stills, his forehead resting against mine.
