The Beast I Can’t Tame: Brooklyn Kings, Book 3

by L. K. Shaw

  Kisses grow deeper and more passionate. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

  “Touch me,” I murmur against his lips, the words pleading.

  He answers my plea with a strong, calloused hand. Gio touches every inch of me. My breasts. My belly. I suck in a sharp breath. My clit throbs and swells beneath his fingertips. He pauses, gauging my reaction. “More?” he asks, his voice gone husky with desire.

  “More.”

  Gio’s touch glides easily through my wetness. I clutch his biceps tight, keeping my eyes on his, watching his face, seeing his expressions. The love shining from them holds me in the present, especially as a single digit enters me. He slides further inside, going achingly slow, taking his time and building the intense sensations growing inside me.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” he grounds out, sweat beading on his forehead.

  He’s holding back for me. My hand grabs his wrist and he freezes, his finger still inside me, not moving. Just there. Filling me. I take a few deep breaths. And then, I guide his hand, only for a second, showing him what I want. He learns quickly how to touch me, and the pleasure rises swiftly again.

  “More. Faster.” My back arches, pushing harder against his hand. He goes deeper, and there’s a stretch and slight burn as he adds another finger. I ache.

  Onward I continue to fly, higher than I ever thought possible. Gio flicks his thumb over my clit, the friction nearly too much. But he does it again and again, while my breath catches in my chest, and I’m free-falling. Tumbling end over end waiting for him to catch me before I crash. Gio’s body lays over mine and he claims my mouth in sweeping kiss as my body still shudders and jerks from the orgasm he wrung from me.

  Slowly, I come back down, wrapped safely in his arms. Tears of happiness leak from my eyes. Emotions I’d thought long lost pour out of me.

  “Francesca?” he asks, worry evident.

  “I love you so much,” I choke out, pulling him tighter against me.

  Gio places kisses to my hair, stroking it in a soothing gesture. I’ve never felt so loved or safe before. Finally, my tears slow, and I manage to pull myself together. I pull back and stare at him.

  “Will you make love to me, please?”

  Chapter 28

  Giovanni

  * * *

  I brush Francesca’s hair off her face, my expression shifting from concern. My heart had stopped when she started crying. I’d been afraid I’d hurt her. “You never have to ask.”

  Claiming her mouth with another kiss, she melts into me, welcoming me. I line my cock up with her entrance and slowly slide through the wetness. My muscles burn from the tight rein I have on my control. I murmur words of praise—of love—in Francesca’s ear. Her pussy clamps down on me, fitting like a glove. I’m about to explode, but I breathe through it. Her pleasure comes first. I want her to orgasm at least once more before I come inside her. Fuck.

  “I don’t have on a condom.” I’ve never forgotten before.

  Francesca worries her bottom lip and meets my gaze. “I haven’t since…” she trails off.

  “I haven’t either. Not since I met you. You are the only woman I’ve wanted.”“It’s okay. It’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask intently. She has to be positive, because there’s no going back after this.

  Her answer is to push her pelvis upward and my cock notches even deeper. I’m fully seated inside her pussy, which throbs around me, those little pulses matching the beat of my heart. It’s all the incentive I need. My pelvis rocks, thrusting shallowly, before I pull out further and surge back in gaining speed. We rock together, the friction mounting.

  The smell of sex permeates the air along with the sound of flesh against flesh. Francesca’s kittenish noises and my groans join in creating the most beautiful symphony. It’s perfect—she’s perfect—just like I knew it would be. Worth the heartache and the wait. Her cries grow louder. I can’t hold back much longer.

  Reaching between us, I finger Francesca’s clit, rubbing it the way I’ve learned she enjoys and it only takes a minute before her breath catches and her pussy clamps down hard, milking my come that I can’t hold back any longer. I thrust one last time and lock my cock inside, holding it there while I explode inside her. Tremors course through me, and she pulls every bit of seed from me until I collapse over her in an exhausted heap.

  Sweat coats our bodies. I feel complete. This is where I was always meant to be. In this woman’s arms and in her bed. I roll to the side, taking Francesca with, and pull her to me. She snuggles into my chest, burying her nose against my skin.

  “That was amazing,” she whispers, her breath tickling my flesh.

  “Yes, I was,” I agree with an amused chuckle.

  She pinches my side with a scolding, “Hey!”, but her laughter joins mine.

  It feels so good to be able to bring a smile to Francesca’s face. To feel her joy. I’ll do anything for her. Whatever she asks. Her laughter fades. Having her in my arms is more—better—than I imagined.

  “Do you want kids?” she asks quietly, her breath warm.

  “I don’t know,” I say after a moment, the image of that little boy and girl popping into my head again. “What if I’m a shit dad? I mean, look at my own. Couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge my existence.”

  “I’ve thought about them a lot recently. Like all the time. Wanting them. Seeing their smiles. Hearing their laughter. Watching them grow up. Then,” she pauses, her voice cracking a little, before she clears her throat. “Then the guilt creeps back in.”

  “Why do you feel guilty?” I ask.

  Francesca takes in a ragged breath. “Because I didn’t want the other baby.”

  What other—? Oh, fuck. The second understanding hits me, she shifts as though to pull away, but I tighten my arms around her, not letting her hide from me. She stiffens for a second and then relaxes enough that she’s not rigid, but there’s still tension in her body.

  “You were an eighteen-year-old girl. I can’t even begin to imagine what that was like for you. But I don’t think you have anything to feel guilty about,” I say quietly, rubbing her arm with gentle strokes.

  “When I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to die. I didn’t tell anyone. Not Theresa, my shrink. Not my brother. And definitely not my mother. I’d never been so scared in my life. What would everyone say? Would they hate me? The baby?” Francesca’s voice is filled with pain. I’d give anything to take it away from her.

  “I wish I could have been there for you back then.” With my very soul I wish I had been. I could have held her through the pain. Showed her how much she was loved.

  “When I started bleeding, I freaked out. Called Theresa. Before she even got there, it was gone. I knew it. There was so much blood. She called 9-1-1, and they rushed me to the hospital.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “All I could think about while I lay in that bed was how glad I was. What kind of person does that make me?”

  I tip Francesca’s head up with a finger under her chin. Her eyes are watery. She blinks, and a tear drips down her cheek. “It makes you a scared young woman who went through something horrific. It makes you human. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  There isn’t anything else I can say to ease her guilt. All I can do is hold her through it. And still love her. I release my hold, and she lays her head back on my chest. We continue to lie there, quietly, while I run my hand up and down her back.

  “If I was going to have kids, I’d only ever want them with you. You’re going to make an amazing mom. When you’re ready.” For Francesca, I’d be the best dad I knew how to be. We’ll learn how to be parents together. With her at my side, there’s nothing I can’t do. Even be a great father.

  “I love you,” she whispers. “So much that it terrifies me.”

  “I love you, too. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

  Francesca snuggles deeper against me. From the nightstand, my phone ring
s. I’m tempted to ignore it, but a call this late can’t be good news. I roll over and grab it.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Giovanni Saccone?” The male on the other end asks.

  “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Saccone, I’m with the Brooklyn Police. Are you related to a Beatrice Saccone?”

  I bolt upright. “She’s my mother. Is everything okay?”

  “I was hoping you’d be able to come to the station, please?”

  “I’ll be there shortly,” I say, already out of the bed and picking my clothes up off the floor, and end the call.

  Francesca sits against the headboard, the sheet pulled up and covering her breasts, her expression full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “That was the police, calling about my mother. I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

  She scrambles out of the bed, disregarding her nakedness. “I’ll come with you.”

  An instant denial gets strangled in my throat. I’ve been expecting this moment since I was a kid. To get that phone call from either the cops or the hospital. He didn’t need to tell me why he wants me. My gut says Beatrice is dead. It’s always been in the back of my mind, regardless of how much I hate her. I’ve never wished her dead, though. She’s still my mother. I’m not sure I can do this alone.

  Once we’re both dressed, I make my way to the police station. The ride is quiet, and Francesca holds my hand the entire way. Finally, we walk through the doors. It’s quiet and somber.

  We approach the desk manned by a haggard-looking cop. “Can I help you?” he asks, his voice dragging as though it took effort to even speak.

  “I’m Giovanni Saccone. I’m here about my mother, Beatrice Saccone.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Francesca and I sit and wait. It could be minutes or hours later, but finally a middle-aged, paunchy gentleman wearing a buttoned jacket that pulls around his waist—the kind I’d assumed would be on Jacob’s payroll—steps through a door.

  “Mr. Saccone?”

  Francesca and I rise and follow him to a private office where he gestures for us to sit.

  “I appreciate you coming down here so late.”

  “Is she dead?” I ask. “That’s all I want to know.”

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” he says.

  “How?”

  “We won’t know until the final toxicology reports and autopsy are performed, but we suspect it was a drug overdose,” the detective announces.

  I can only nod, because it doesn’t come as a surprise. You knew it would end like this. I imagine Beatrice did too. She knew the risks and took them anyway. With everything in life, I’m guessing.

  “Thank you for letting me know.” I rise, as does Francesca, and I shake his hand.

  The ride back to the house is just as quiet. I should say something—anything—but what is there to say? After I park, we walk inside. I head to the couch, while Francesca goes into the kitchen. She comes back in with a bottle of water. I’m not thirsty, but I take it with a smile and set it on the end table next to me.

  She joins me and once again, I find myself lying on my back with my head in her lap. She strokes her fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath.

  “I should probably feel something, shouldn’t I?” I ask her.

  “You don’t?” There’s no judgment in her tone. Just a hint of curiosity.

  “No. Well, maybe a bit of guilt,” I admit. “But that’s only because I don’t feel anything else. Not grief. Not relief. There’s nothing. It’s as though I’ve been told a stranger is dead.”

  Francesca’s fingers continue to play with my hair, her nails occasionally gently scraping my scalp. It’s soothing. “It sounds like, essentially, she was close enough to being one. There’s nothing wrong with not feeling anything right now. Maybe you will next week. Or next month. Or maybe you never will.”

  “Who doesn’t feel something when their mother is dead?” I ask.

  “A wise person told me recently that not feeling emotions that others might expect only makes us human.”

  My eyes open to peer up at her. Francesca’s expression is soft and full of understanding. I reach up and cradle her cheek, emotions nearly robbing me of breath. She’s so fucking beautiful. “I love you.”

  She leans into my touch. We lay there, in the semi-darkness, until weariness and exhaustion take over. I rise from the couch, and pull her to her feet before we head to the bedroom. We slowly undress and collapse into the bed. I pull Francesca into the cradle of my body, cocooning her within my hold, needing to feel her close to me. With her at my side, I’ll be able to get through this.

  Jacob will need to be notified, but it can wait. In the meantime, sleep is calling to me. I welcome the abyss, where I don’t have to think—or feel—anything.

  Chapter 29

  Francesca

  * * *

  Warmth surrounds me. There’s a hard body at my back. For a moment, panic threatens, but then everything from last night comes rushing in. Gio coming to the house. Making love. The police station. God, his mother. My heart breaks for him, because despite the insistence that he didn’t feel anything, there had been so much pain in his eyes.

  Gio brushes a soft kiss on my shoulder. I turn in his embrace. Dark circles are under his eyes as though he didn’t sleep at all. I run my fingers gently over his forehead, smoothing the lines that linger, and down his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

  “Wrung out,” he says, his voice rough with fatigue.

  I can only imagine. It was an awful night and I don’t expect today to get much better. Arrangements will have to be made. “Did your mom have any other family that needs to be notified? Any brothers or sisters? Parents?”

  Gio shakes his head. “Not to my knowledge. Growing up, it was always just Beatrice and me. I asked once about her parents, and she told me she was dead to them.”

  I feel sorry for her. And him. I’d be lost without Pierce and Jacob. I lean up and brush my lips across his. “We’re your family now.”

  He gives me a grateful smile. “I should probably call Jacob.”

  Gio sits on the edge of the bed and picks up his phone. I sit up and listen in on his side of the conversation.

  “It’s Giovanni.” Pause. “Beatrice is dead.”

  There’s a bark of sound from the phone, but I can’t make out what Jacob said.

  “Cops called me late last night. Apparent drug overdose, but they can’t confirm it until the lab report comes back.”

  There’s another long pause, and Gio swallows.

  “Thank you,” he says and ends the call. He rubs his hands down his face before turning back to me. “Apparently Jacob had men watching her apartment. He’s going to check with them and see if they can find out who her dealer was. Said to give him a few days.”

  “Can I help you with the arrangements? I have a lot of contacts I can reach out to. You shouldn’t have to do this by yourself.”

  Giovanni scoots closer and cradles my cheek. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  My hand covers his. “You’ll never have to find out.”

  I lean into him, brushing my mouth across his. He deepens the kiss, and I can taste his pain and sadness. The only thing I can do to try and soothe it, is to take all the love in my heart and wrap him up in it. With every swipe of my tongue against his, every nip of his lip, every caress made by my hands, I shower him with love.

  Passions quickly rise and soon, he’s filling me once again. His thrusts rough, and he clutches me tight. I hold him close, whispering comforting words in his ear, as he picks up the pace. There’s no coordination. It’s raw emotion, and it should terrify me how he’s taking me, but this time is for him, not me. I’ll give him whatever he needs.

  It doesn’t last long, and within minutes, he’s spilling inside me, his breath ragged against my neck. I brush away his whispered apologies, and merely run my hands up and down his
back, letting him know I’m here. Everything is going to be okay. His weight is heavy, but I don’t complain. At last, he rolls off me and throws an arm over his face.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again, still not looking me in the eye. “I didn’t even make you come.”

  I turn on my side and prop myself up on my elbow, reaching over to place my hand on his heart. Directly on the crown crest. “You don’t have to apologize. I know you’ll make it up to me next time.”

  We remain like that for several minutes before Gio finally stirs. He sits up on the side of the bed with his back to me. His entire body is rigid. I reach out and run my hand across his skin and he flinches. I draw it back.

  “I need to run to my apartment,” he says, his voice muffled.

  “Would you like me to come?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I think I just need to be alone for a little bit.”

  That stings a little, but I’m trying to be understanding. “Please don’t shut me out. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

  Giovanni twists and leans back to kiss me. He pulls back and stares into my eyes. “I love you.”

  He rises from the bed and begins to dress. “I’ll call you later,” he says, giving me one more brief kiss before heading out the door.

  Needing something to keep me occupied, I call for Soren and then take a quick shower. Once he arrives, I have him drive me to Brenna’s, so I have someone to talk to and keep me company.

  She answers her door after a moment. “Hey,” she greets me with her usual smile. “It’s early. Even for you. Everything okay?”

  “Not really.”

  Her smile fades. “Oh, no. Come on. I’m just getting ready to fix breakfast. Jacob left in a hurry for some meeting.”

  I follow her toward the kitchen. “Yeah, I know.”