by Bethany-Kris
Alessio made a disgusted noise under his breath. “I don’t give a fuck about them, Chris.”
It was a lie.
He did.
He concerned himself with too much about them, what they were doing, and why. More than anything, he wanted to know why.
What was it about the woman that did it for Alessio and Corrado? Why her? Why was it her who finally broke them? After all these years, all this time, and every female the two of them had gone through over the years in their bed … why the fuck was it her?
“Yeah, you get like that, huh?” Chris asked.
Alessio shot him a look. “Excuse you?”
“Indifferent. You act indifferent. You get in a mood whenever you don’t want to deal. Corrado knows how to handle it, but the rest of us think you’re being an asshole, Les.”
Huh.
He stared at Chris and quirked a brow. “How is that my problem?”
Chris rolled his eyes. “You give a shit about them … or at least, him. Otherwise, you would have left by now, Les. You don’t have to be here. Nobody is keeping you in this city. If you wanted to go, or tell my brother to go fuck himself, you would have done so. It’s who you are. So, cut the shit, drop the attitude and the pretense, and then we can find what the real issue is here.”
Alessio already understood.
Corrado lied.
They had a thing, and he fucked up.
Alessio didn’t want to deal—he didn’t know how to handle the person he loved, the only one in the world who he trusted more than himself, doing something to purposely ruin the delicate balance they had.
“And you know …” Chris dragged in a heavy breath before clearing his throat as his fingers drummed to the top of the bar. “I think he likes her.”
Really?
That wasn’t news.
If Corrado didn’t like the fucking woman, and he had done this, it would stun Alessio. Why would he even bother?
“Obviously, he likes her,” Alessio muttered before taking another drink. There was not enough alcohol in this world to deal with the darkness in his heart, he would swear on it. “Give me something I don’t know, Chris.”
“I meant,” Chris replied, giving him a look from the side, “it’s more, Les. Different. Like … him with you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But—”
“Don’t fucking say that.”
The level of his tone drew the attention of other patrons in the bar, but Alessio didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself right now. Hell, he’d been selfless for far too long. Time to be selfish for once.
Right?
Chris straightened on the stool but continued staring at the bar top. “Is it the fact he might care for someone else like he does for you, or that it’s you and him?”
Alessio clenched his teeth. “Leave it alone.”
Because it was both.
Except it wasn’t at the same fucking time.
He didn’t need this shit right now.
Chris nodded, adding, “I don’t think he saw it until recently … why she made him—”
“Lie?”
Hide things from him?
Break their agreement?
Ruin them?
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but she brings out the same thing in him as you,” Chris said, turning to step off the stool at the same time. “And … because no one else will tell you … you should be aware. He’s a happier version of him when he’s with her, even if he doesn’t see. It’s the same thing I see when he’s with you.”
Alessio’s jaw clicked from how hard he clenched. “Except that’s not how it is for us. That’s not how we work. It’s us, not us and someone else. Not me and him, and him and someone else. This isn’t how it goes.”
“Les—”
“Just fuck off, Chris.”
Leave me alone.
He’d rather be back with his pain or numbness instead of this.
It was easier.
“You will never understand why if you don’t let him explain. And yeah, it’s fucked up … yeah, it hurts, I bet,” Chris added quieter, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t find something right somewhere in the mess. You can’t do that here, though, not alone. Let him explain, or—”
“What is there to explain?”
It was clear to him.
“Why her?” he asked around the rim of his glass.
Chris chuckled. “You could always try to find out.”
Right.
Not a bad idea.
He didn’t think Chris meant so in the same way Alessio took it.
Yeah, he would find out.
All of it.
Whether or not Corrado liked it.
You’re a Calabrese woman—act like you know what that means and keep your eyes on the only man who’ll ever be able to touch you.
Those words, said to her by her oldest brother when she first met the man she would be forced to marry, drifted through Ginevra’s mind as she was reminded yet again why morning sex with Corrado was the best kind of sex. He had that energy—echoing around his being when he first cracked his eyes open. Like he needed to touch, and she was the closest thing he could find in his bed to do it.
She doubted her brother would approve of this.
Of this man, the way he was touching her, never mind the way she watched him as he did it all like there was nothing else he would rather be doing.
The sharp bite from Corrado found the junction of Ginevra’s shoulder as she leaned down over his body, her hand pressing against his chest to keep her steady as she rode her way closer to heaven.
And what a beautiful heaven it would be.
“Fuck, you look good like this,” she heard him say in a moan, his fingers at her waist tightening to almost a painful point. “Love it when you ride me, Ginny.”
“I’m gonna—” Ginevra stiffened on top of Corrado, the wild rhythm of her hips moving against his stilling even as his continued driving into her. His fingers at her throat tightened, and she caught sight of his oh, so pleased sneer curving his lips as he watched her come on top of him. “Corrado.”
“Fuck, yeah, give me a taste of that, Ginny.”
He only let her stay on his cock long enough to let her get the orgasm rushing through her bloodstream before his hand let her throat go. His fingers dug into her hips, and with a firm pull, he had yanked her up his body until her thighs were sitting on either side of his face. She didn’t have time to appreciate the loss of his length stretching her out before his lips enclosed her clit, and he was sucking hard. She finished the orgasm off shaking while sitting on his face.
Crying loud.
Blinded.
And wishing the feeling would go on forever. She’d happily die like this. Almost numb all over, but with tingles racing up her spine, over her shoulders, and then danced over the rest of her body.
She couldn’t breathe.
And it was glorious.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned against her sex.
So sensitive.
Still trembling.
Way too sensitive.
Still, she couldn’t move, instead rocking her hips against the lashes of his tongue taking whatever her body would give him. Fast jerks of his arm against her thigh said he was stroking his cock, and almost at his own release.
And even if she hadn’t felt him doing it, she would have known by the sounds coming out of his mouth. God knew she didn’t need to be in this man’s bed, causing more of a problem than she already had in his life, but she’d found herself in it time and time again since the first—chasing a high, wanting to have what he gave her again.
She’d not been much for sex before—not an angel, sure, but she didn’t have sex just to have sex. And yet, that’s why she wanted to be here with Corrado doing this. Because this was so fucking good, and he kept drawing her in for more. Sex is sex, he’d say, and he wasn’t wrong. Sex was physical, a release. It only had emotional weights when so
meone brought them along.
Was this emotional?
Right then?
God, yeah.
The problems those emotions might cause?
Well …
Fuck it.
Selfish?
Yes.
But why didn’t she care again?
Oh, yeah, because of the man with his face currently buried between her thighs. Guilt was hard to comprehend when you still had the tendrils of an orgasm sliding through your veins. Or easier to fucking swallow.
“You want this?”
The gruffness of his tone dragged her back into the present with a shudder. Something about his voice changed during sex. But in a really good way. She loved the sound of his voice anytime, but it ramped up like this.
“Ginevra, do you want it?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled.
She understood what he asked.
What he wanted.
“Now, kitten.”
She slipped down his body, her hands steady against the sheets as she moved. Still spinning high, and loving the way he watched her as she took over at his cock once he’d pulled the condom off, she took him in her mouth and hands. She sucked and worked him as his fingers threaded in her hair to pull tight, and his hips flexed upward against her rhythm. Satiny and hot against her tongue, the hint of salt said he would blow soon.
Another one of those groans left his lips—heady, and deep. So fucking husky, too. Her name followed right after, and his tightening fingers stilled in her hair.
“Fuck, kitten …”
The pet name made her shiver. He’d used the name the morning after they first had sex. Because you are, he’d said, as soft as a kitten during sex. Because he was rough enough for them both.
“Ginevra.”
He came hard, and she took every drop he gave, letting her throat relax as she swallowed him down. She released him from her mouth, but kept her fingers tight to his base as she stared up at him from his cock.
Corrado grinned back at her. “Look at you, huh?”
She smiled back.
“What’s that mean?”
“You … There’s something about you like that.”
“Tell me when you figure it out.”
Corrado laughed darkly. “I will. I definitely will.”
She had no doubt.
“Let me clean up, yeah?”
Her lips curled up in dislike of the idea, but he only chuckled, and waved his hand. The action alone was enough to remind her that, yeah, he’d taken the condom off, and needed to handle it. She gave a little huff before rolling off him. The sound of his laugher colored up the bedroom. His hand landed to the palm of her ass with a soft crack, before grabbing the spot, and rolling her over in the sheets.
Corrado dropped a quick kiss to her lips as he climbed over her body to leave the bed. The loss of him seemed substantial as she watched his naked backside disappear into the bathroom. But that was a nice sight, too.
Very nice.
“I have something to do today,” he said, voice filtering out of the bathroom.
Ginevra sat up into a cross-legged position in the bed, dragging the sheets to cover her nakedness. She needed to cover herself. Hide what she had done again. Corrado slipped out of the attached bathroom into the walk-in closet.
“Oh?” she asked.
In his tone she found the truth.
Relief, but wariness.
Love but anger.
“Are you going to see Alessio?”
There, she asked.
Ginevra figured if she had any business being in this man’s bed after everything, then she at least needed to have the courage to ask him outright about the situation at hand. Right? That didn’t mean she would like the answer.
Still, she had to ask.
All the noise in the closet quieted, and the silence echoed. A few seconds passed before Corrado came to the doorway, still naked except now he’d pulled on a pair of clean boxer-briefs. Dragging a hand through his hair, his gaze darted around at everything except for her before finally, he met her stare.
“Yes,” he said. “He wants to meet up at a place two blocks away. A restaurant, my brother’s.”
Ginevra nodded and stared down at the sheets bunched at her waist. “Okay.”
Her voice came out faint.
“Ginevra.”
Her hands became interesting.
The sheets, too.
Anything but his face.
“I hope you figure … whatever … out.”
“Ginny.”
There were things she didn’t want to ask. Stuff the two of them didn’t need to talk about yet because she wasn’t sure she would like what happened after. She needed to understand why Corrado would take her to bed again and again, but not seem to have an ounce of guilt. What kind of relationship did those two men have inside their bedroom?
Was this really okay?
She didn’t have a good grasp on her own emotions here.
Dirty.
Blissed.
Ashamed.
Wild.
She felt all of it ….
That’s what held her back; kept her quiet.
Ginevra dragged in a shaky breath and decided changing the topic might get them away from this for now. Oh, it wouldn’t fix the deep ache in her heart, or how the bed suddenly seemed cold.
“Have you heard anything about New York—my sisters?” she asked.
Still, she stared at her hands on the sheets.
Not at him.
“Not yet,” Corrado murmured, “but I can try to get a message through, and see what comes out.”
She sighed. “All right.”
At night, home filled her mind. About her sisters. When no one saw her struggle, or how she cried over things she couldn’t control and the fears keeping her company, that’s when she allowed herself to wonder.
All the things that might happen, and her helplessness. A rock and a hard place.
It was funny, though, how when she crawled into Corrado’s bed at night, and he dared to tell her everything would be okay, she trusted him.
Her worries left.
Sleep came easier.
Or hell, maybe it wasn’t funny at all.
“The building is secure, no one knows you’re here,” Corrado had told Ginevra before he left, “so you’re fine to stay here alone. I’m trusting you not to do something to change that—yeah?”
And then he left.
For the first few minutes, Ginevra wandered the large penthouse, moving from room to room trying to find something to keep her occupied. She used to enjoy being alone, but not right now.
She didn’t want to consider what Corrado might do with someone else instead of being there with her—where she wanted him to be. Because that was most selfish of her. She didn’t have any claim here, and not over Corrado. She was the other.
She expected nothing from him.
Ginevra wouldn’t wallow on the topic, either. It only hurt her more, and she shouldn’t feel that, either.
Not now.
Eventually, she found herself in the office and library space again. Her fingers drifted along the edge of a shelf, taking in the spines of the books lined up by size. Not a single one was bigger than the other in whatever row she stared at—all matched. She often came back to this space in the penthouse because for whatever reason, this comforted her.
More than the books, and the escape provided by the words.
Something about here … she craved it; something she didn’t even find in Corrado.
Soon, Ginevra found the book she had been looking for on the fourth shelf up from the floor. A book of poems by an author named only as Anonymous. That’s what had drawn her to the book in the first place; someone didn’t want to put their name on their words. As though instead of claiming their art, they wanted to give the words to people without the pretense of who created them, or why.
She kept coming back to the book of poems, all ranging in topics from
everything like love, to the way sunlight looked on a sidewalk in the month of May. There wasn’t rhyme or rhythm to them, but she liked that. She would come into the library, find the book, and read a few pages before sliding it back into the slot.
Someone else had read this a lot before she ever found the book. A cracked spine and the dog-eared pages told the story of someone else’s appreciation of the words inside.
Opening to her last page, she always remembered the page number and didn’t need to dog-ear to find her place, she became lost in words again. Time slipped by when she had a book in her hands, and nothing else to do.
She flipped to a new page—the start of a new poem—when a familiar voice came from behind her, almost making her drop the book.
Goddammit.
“What are you doing in here? Are you supposed to be alone where you might … oh, I don’t know, run?”
Alessio.
He had a darker quality to his voice than Corrado’s. She noticed that about him first. Both spoke with deep tenors that made her pay attention, but something was different about Alessio’s.
Like he was always holding back.
Never giving everything.
Refusing to let the man behind her see he had scared her, Ginevra continued reading the poem as she replied, “Why would I run?”
“I’m not sure if you want to be here.”
Ginevra almost laughed. “I didn’t at first; I wanted to be with my sisters, but I also don’t get a choice, so here I am.”
“That doesn’t mean you want to be here, though.”
“Right now, I do.”
He made a noise behind her—gruff, and curious. She didn’t understand what to make of that, or why he came here again, although it was his home along with Corrado, so she focused on things that made sense.
Like the book of poems in her hand.
“Did you trick him again to come here alone?”
Alessio chuckled. “And if I did?”
“He won’t like that.”
“He doesn’t seem to give a shit about what I like lately, either. Fair is fair, yeah?”
Ah.
Yeah.
Ginevra wouldn’t argue that point.
“But what are you doing in here?” he asked.
“Reading.”
“Why?”
“Because I like to.”
Alessio made another one of those noises. “But why?”