by Bethany-Kris
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 someone 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?”
“I like how others express themselves in words. Everyone is different. I’ll read just about anything—not a standard textbook meant to teach me something; I learn more reading things that aren’t being spoon-fed like I should fit in the same box as everyone else. You can tell a lot more about someone in the way they write than in the things they say.”
“Huh.”
She didn’t expect the response.
Then, again ...
“That’s not the answer I expected you to give,” Alessio murmured. “But still a good one.”
Yeah, she was full of surprises.
“It’s the only right answer for me. That’s why I majored in English.” Ginevra shook her head, laughing under his breath. “Not that college matters with me here, I guess.”
“You’ll get back to school, eventually.”
“Who knows?”
“You will. I’m sure he’ll make sure of that, if it makes you happy.”
She stilled in place.
Did he mean Corrado?
Ginevra turned, only enough to watch Alessio where he stood in the doorway. Not much about him had changed in the time since she had seen him last. He still wore all black, from the jeans molded to his legs, to his leather jacket, and even the black necklace with a cross made of skulls hanging down from his throat. His face, still hauntingly handsome, seemed carved from stone. His eyes, hiding secrets and warring emotions, nailed into her from across the room.
She stayed quiet as he scrutinized her. Not because he bothered her. Oh, he unsettled her, sure, and made her fine hairs stand on end, but she didn’t dislike it, though. She found something familiar in his gaze and recognized it. That intensity in his gaze as he surveyed her from a safe distance was the same way Corrado liked to watch her when he assumed she wasn’t looking.
That was the unsettling part.
The only thing that had changed about the man in the doorway since the last time she laid eyes on him was his hair. He lost the shaggy mane he seemed to hide his gaze behind. Shortened around the sides, but still long on the top to push the strands back, if he wanted. A touch wild, still, but more tamed.
It suited him better.
Not that she had any business thinking that at all.
Then, all at once, Alessio rocked back on his heels, hands loose in his pockets, before he came forward, closing the distance between them. Ginevra didn’t know if sh
e should keep standing there or get the hell out of his way. That concentration stayed in his gaze like he wanted to burn her to the ground right where she stood, but as though he also found her extremely interesting.
Would he hurt her?
Would he do something to her to hurt Corrado?
Those were things she didn’t know.
The closer Alessio came, the more Ginevra teetered on a sharp edge. He wasn’t the only one curious and muddled in his heart and mind. She only had to look at him to feel those things.
What was it about him?
There was something about him that Corrado loved—something that made him get out of bed far earlier than he normally would to chase a chance. What was it?
She wondered ... how did they fall in love?
“What are you reading?” he asked.
Ginevra broke their staring contest to look down at the book. “A Life Lived in Words by—”
“Anonymous.”
Swallowing hard, she peeked back up to find he stood next to her. She would still use overwhelming to describe this man, and his presence. Imposing fit, too, but she didn’t feel like he was imposing on her or this space she adored so much.
“It’s my book,” Alessio said, “I found it at a used bookstore in Portugal. Figured it was ... strange, spine cracked, pages smudged like someone had read the words repeatedly. One of five English books in that store.”
“Maybe someone lost it?”
“Possibly, but I bought it, and the book made its way into this library.”
Ginevra blinked. “It’s yours.”
“I just said that.”
“No, I mean ... the library here.”
Alessio raised a single dark brow high, and with his new haircut, she realized how much easier she could see the things he had hid behind shaggy hair.
“Corrado only reads things that are legal, and he needs to sign.”
Ginevra laughed. “That can’t be true.”
“Mostly, yeah.”
“Someone needs to fix that. Did you dog-ear the pages, too?”
The corner of Alessio’s mouth twitched. “And what if I did?”
“That’s a crime.”
“Well, it ain’t your book, girl.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, half-playful and yet still serious. “Or use a fucking bookmark. And you can call me Ginevra, or Ginny. But not girl.”