Page 32 of Till Death Do Us Part

He started to kiss my face before he met my mouth again. The kiss was getting rougher, and my hands reached out for his body. He was solid, nothing but muscle, but not overly bulky. He grabbed the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head.

My hands ran up and down his chest, over the stubble on his jaw, while he kissed me so deep, I could barely breathe.

I’d worn a leopard print top with a black faux leather skirt, black stockings, and black velvet, high-heeled booties. His hands explored every curve while he reached down and unzipped my boots. He worked on my skirt next, my stockings, and then my top.

All that was left was a matching lacy bra and underwear. He situated me on top of him, his hand coming to my neck, taking a fistful of my hair.

His eyes seemed to drink me in. His pupils were dilated, pushing most of the green out.

He looked wicked, and I shivered.

He leaned in close to my pulse, inhaling the scent of my skin, as he whispered, “So fucking beautiful.” His voice was like sandpaper, but it didn’t touch the itch I couldn’t find to scratch.

It made me crave more.

He pushed my breasts up until they spilled over the bra, then took my nipple in his mouth and sucked. My hands automatically gripped his shoulders, needing something to hold on to. The pleasure surging in my veins made me feel drunk. I bucked against him, my head tilting back, a moan trembling out of my mouth.

“That’s it, Roma. Rub yourself against my cock.” He pushed my underwear aside as I started to grind against the bulge of his pants.

It was so big, I thought it might burst through the expensive fabric. It was causing a delicious friction between my legs, and when he pulsed his hips up, sucking and squeezing my nipples, I whimpered into his mouth.

My body started moving faster, harder. I was crazed, like I couldn’t get enough.

My body had, though, because it felt like flames licked my skin and pleasure like I’d never felt before rushed me like a hot flash. I came around him with a cry, digging my nails deeper into his shoulders. When the tremors subsided, reality slowly returned, but I was still dazed.

He continued to kiss me, our tongues still searching. The pulse between my legs beat like a hot drum, and when he ran his hand along it, pinching the sensitive nub, almost feeling like a bite, I made a helpless noise and came even harder than the first time.

My skin was sensitive, like no one had ever touched it before.

No one had, not in that way, until him.

He was watching me when I opened my eyes. His hand came to my face, holding it in place, bringing my mouth to his. The kiss was harder and rougher than before. When we pulled apart, I wondered if one of us was bleeding. I tried to break out of his grasp, but it was like iron.

“You’re mine, Roma,” he said in Italian. “Do you understand?”

His words were like cold iron, too, and I felt them lock me into place. This was supposed to be goodbye. But I didn’t think Felice understood what the word meant, or he didn’t care. And I had no clue how to set myself free.

Problem was, being shackled to him felt right, and that worried me the most.

* * *

It hit me as Felice watched me walk into the museum.

I’d come close to giving him something I couldn’t take back in his car.

If he would have initiated sex, I wouldn’t have said no. But so far, he’d only taken things that showed no proof, except for the marks he left behind that only I could feel. And I couldn’t stop feeling them.

His touch on my skin was still alive. The pulse between my legs started to drum again.

“Stop thinking about him, Roma,” I whispered to myself, feeling like all eyes were on me. It felt like everyone knew what I’d done in the car. I sipped the coffee Celso had brought me, hoping the heat was an excuse I could use for being flushed. I avoided eye contact and rushed into the office.

I came to a sudden halt when I found a guy with a little girl standing next to Elsa’s desk. Some of the coffee sloshed out, and I cursed and wiped it on my skirt. The guy reminded me of Felice. Were they related? And why were they all coming into my life suddenly?

The little girl must have been around three or four, and she was playing with a stuffed dinosaur from the gift shop. Elsa was talking to her about it. The guy had been staring at Elsa, but when I walked in, he turned his eyes on me.

“Roma,” Elsa said, “one of John’s friends is here to see you.”

He held his hand out. “Cassio Ricci.”

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