Page 36 of Hot-Blooded Killer

He unbuttons his jeans, drops them onto the floor, and slides in under the covers with me.

Then his mouth is everywhere, and I can no longer think clearly.

When he enters me, so much heat surrounds us that I worry for a moment about spontaneous combustion.

As we move together, the air around us practically shimmers like red-hot sparks shining in my eyes, until the heat from our joining explodes into something exquisite, both of us crying out within moments of one another.

* * *

At noon,we leave the hotel and I move into the Beneventi home.

Lorenzo has had his own wing of the house since he became an adult, but now that we’re married, he and I are taking over the part of the house that used to belong to his brother Frederico.

“You can do whatever you like with it,” Massimiliano tells me, gesturing around at the furnishings, which had apparently never been changed since Frederico’s death. “And don’t worry about bothering anyone. Max and Valentina are in New York for the rest of the week.”

I can’t help but feel thankful for their absence. It’s difficult enough to try to acclimate myself to living in a new space with a new husband I barely know. Interacting with a brand-new brother- and sister-in-law is more than I’m ready for. Especially after just twelve hours with Lorenzo has left me reeling.

Not that his brother is likely to fuck me senseless. Because that’s how I feel—senseless. Unable to quite figure out what is happening to me.

All I know is that I want Lorenzo to touch me again.

God. Don’t be so needy, I admonish myself.

“Is there anything in particular you would like to have in here?” I ask Lorenzo, determined to focus on anything other than my new husband’s skills in bed.

“Nope.” He wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my forehead—a move that surprises us both, apparently, because he just as quickly removes his arm from around my body and pulls his wallet out of his pocket, a red blush staining his cheekbones.

“Here,” he says, fishing out a platinum American Express card and handing it to me. “Get whatever you need.”

I start to ask him what my limit is, something I’ve always done with Pop—despite our family's wealth, I learned early on not to squander money.

But this isn’t Pop, I remind myself.

This is Lorenzo Beneventi—my husband, I think in a kind of surprise that doesn’t seem to be dissipating—and I don’t care if I squander his family’s money.

After all, I won’t be around long enough to deal with any aftermath of extravagance.

So I simply say, “Thanks,” and tuck the card into the back pocket of my Escada jeans. “Can I see your suite?” I ask Lorenzo.

He blinks, confused. “Why? I mean, sure… But why?”

I shrug, thinking of the delicate furniture coming from my apartment. “I want to get a sense of what you like.”

“Okay. It’s this way.” He leads me out of our newly shared suite, down a hall and up a staircase tucked away at the back of the house. “This is technically a servants’ stairway—the house was built to accommodate a large family.” A shadow crosses his face, and I know he’s thinking of his dead father and siblings. Then the expression clears. “But we’ve always used it when it’s more convenient. Anyway, Susan and Nevaeh are part of the family, practically.”

I memorize the servants’ names. Nevaeh will be easy enough to remember—I've always loathed the name. “Heaven” spelled backwards strikes me as tacky, a kind of conspicuous piety that reeks of a self-righteousness with little substance.

But it’s not my name, so I’ll figure out how to say it without a sneer.

He leads me to a suite decorated in dark brown leather and hardwood furniture, a far cry from my own airy tastes.

I glance around in dismay, uncertain how I’m going to blend our two styles.

Lorenzo catches my expression and grins. “Don’t worry about trying to find something I like. My mother decorated this room for me when I was a teenager. It’s actually a little heavy for my taste.”

I try not to let the relief show on my face, even as I once again reminded myself that I am not moving in permanently. We are married, but I have no intention of staying that way.

So instead, I simply nod. “Once I get everything set up in the new suite, you can change out anything you don’t like,” I offer, eager to seem as if I am settling in for good and trying to be agreeable.

---