How does he know the lines? Then I remember the book in the courtyard. He was reading Romeo and Juliet the day I fell through his gate.
I look down to find him wrapping one hand around the drainpipe, the other searching for a grip in the rock.
Is he coming up here?
What the hell is he doing? I call down. “Romeo, oh Romeo, get the hell off my wall, and back to your hall. I have until noon, so leave me alone.”
He looks up with a catlike grin. “You played Juliet so beautifully. Almost brought a tear to my eye when you took that dagger. Those aren’t the words. I know you remember them.”
I do remember them.
A few lines rush to the front of my memory, taunting me now.
Deny thy father and refuse thy name.
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
The words pierce my soul. When that sun rises in the sky, I’ll no longer be a Russo.
I’ll be…Esme Romano.
And there’s no way I’d take a dagger for this man.
He’s still climbing, steadily making his way toward my room, one hand and foot on the drain, the other clinging to the crevices in the stone wall.
I don’t want him up here.
My gaze searches the room, desperate for something to slow him. I grab a cup of water from my nightstand. I’ll dump it on his blond head.
But as I hold the glass out the window, I remember: wasn’t it this impulsivity that got me into this mess?
I put the glass down on the sill.
He’s only a bit below me now. My God, the strength he must have to have gotten this far.
He calls up to me. “Should I listen for more, or should I speak now?”
I may not be throwing the water, but I don’t hold back my tongue.
I hiss at him, “Hey, Romeo. Why don’t you shimmy down that drainpipe and give Juliet here a few hours of peace before she has to marry your crazy ass?”
He’s reached my windowsill, his fingers gripping it as he looks up at me, an uncharacteristic mischievousness dancing in those blue eyes. “Can’t I pay my fiancée a call?”
He seems lighter, freer, somehow.
While I’m plagued by the weight of our situation, heavy on my shoulders.
“Fiancée? Not really. More like prisoner.” I step back, crossing my arms over my chest as the top of his golden head reaches the sill of my window.
His long fingers curl around the still. Using the strength in his bulging arms, he pulls his upper body through the window, kicking a leg over the sill, then the other.
He perches there, like he owns the place, seeing the glass on the sill, he lifts it to his lips and takes a drink. “I was thirsty. So kind of you to bring this for me.”
“It was meant to pour over your head.”
He gives his head a shake. “Naughty girl. I’m glad you re-thought your impulses.” His brow rises and he flashes me a commanding look that has me pressing my thighs together.
Bastard.
I suddenly feel as if there’s heat coming off his skin. I take a step back.
He takes another sip from the glass, then runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “Delicious.”
His lips have turned red from the cool water and I find myself staring at them, remembering how it felt to have them on mine.
Remembering how he kisses.
Damn…why does he have to be such a good kisser?
I clear my throat. “Why are you here?”
He puts the glass down, gazing around my room. “Nice place. I’ve never seen your room before.”
“Why are you really here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” His eyes catch mine. “And I knew you couldn’t either.”
“How did you know?”
“Just did.” He gives a shrug. “Anyway, I didn’t like the idea of you away from me until you have the protection of my last name. I trust the man I sent to guard you, but still, you never know you have a turncoat in your midst until it’s too late. I didn’t want to take the chance.”
“So you’ve come here to guard me?”
“Among other things.”
He stares at me, holding my gaze. The lust-filled look he gives me sends a thrill through me.
Does he…want…me?
He’s rising from the sill, moving toward me.
I back away.
His gaze holds mine, desire thick in his irises.
I go to dart backward, out of his reach, but I’m not fast enough.
His arm shoots out, one hand slipping along my lower back. The other caressing my cheek, his huge palm curving around the side of my face.
He’s going to kiss me.
I want to feel his lips on mine.
I also want to slap him.
I pull away, pushing at his chest with both my hands. “What are you doing?”
His lips brush my cheek on their way to my ear. “I wanted to be with you. Once. Before we’re husband and wife.” He pulls back, holding my gaze.
He’s here for me, for my body. To claim me.
I want to push him away but his hand is cupping my face like he’s meant to be here, his palm flattening against my lower back, bringing me closer to him until my belly is pressing against his hard, flat abdomen.
Heat rushes through me.
Lust and desire burn through my veins.
He gives me one last, lingering look, his heated gaze lighting fire to my insides.
And he kisses me.
Hard. Deep. Claiming me with his lips.
I curse myself for being weak as I melt into his arms. My breasts feel heavy, aching for his touch and I press them against him in search of relief. My hands run over his hard abdomen, over his chest, resting just below his clavicle.
His hand slides further up my face, his fingers dipping into my hair as he pulls me closer into his kiss.
I’m breathless, my heart thrumming against my ribcage.
I never want this kiss to end.
And yet…
I hate myself for thinking that.
This has to stop.
In a few short hours, I’ll be his to do what he wants with, but now, this time is mine. Why does he even want me now? It doesn’t make sense.
I move my hand upward, over his throat, his chin, rough with unshaven stubble. I slide my fingers between our lips, forcing them to part. “Why? Why do you want me now, before we are married?”
His eyes search mine and I can’t read his emotions. I’m so used to his hard, taunting gaze, I’m not sure what to make of the way he’s looking at me now. His taste is on my lips, the scent of him in my nose.
His words stun me as he says, “I want you, as just Esme.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just…Esme.”
Is this some kind of enemies to lovers game? Does he want to plant his seed in me before we’re married as some kind of slight to my father?
I snap at him. “As, Esme Russo? Is this some kind of power trip against my father?”
His eyes capture mine, holding them as he answers. “No.”
I hear in his tone, I can see in his eyes, he’s telling me the truth.
Emotions overwhelm me, swirling in my mind, confusing me, unsettling me.
I wriggle from his hold. “Why then? Why come here? Why even agree to marry me in the first place? I mean—why do you even care about my safety so much? You don’t even like me. Not really.”
But the look in his eyes tells me that’s not so.
The way he’s staring at me makes me think…he does care.
“You’re someone worth saving.” He gives a shake of his head. “Just for being Esme.”
Just Esme.
He stares at me, and as he does a realization settles over me.
He sees me. Luca sees me. All of me.
And somehow, he’s found some worth in me.
The baby in the basket. The girl with the braids. The princess of the m
afia.
Someone worth saving.
Up until now, I’ve only thought of how this betrothal will change my life. But it’s changing his, too.
He could have been with any girl in this village.
But he chose me, knowing it was the only way to ensure my safety.
Yes, I’m giving up my house, my home, my last name.
But he’s giving up his freedom. His future.
And if he wants my body tonight.
I’ll give it to him.
Just as I’m softening towards him, he pulls his typical asshole move, making me question every thought I’ve just had.
He pulls me in tight to him, too tight, his breath hot against my ear. His hand slips over my ribcage, hovering over my chest. “Know this, once you’re mine” —my breath hitches in my throat as he gives my breast a hard squeeze— “you’re mine, always. No matter what happens between us.”
I’m not something to own.
I want to snap back at him, to make it clear I’m not his property, but now his mouth is back on mine, his tongue caressing mine. He thrusts his knee between my legs, parting my thighs, his massive hand caressing me as he kisses me. Kneading my breast, he pushes me back, pinning my shoulder to the wall as his hand moves higher on my thigh.
My breaths come faster, shallower, as his fingers crawl their way to the apex.
And I hate myself for my next thought, bewildered by how fast he can turn me from wanting to tear him apart to wanting to let him break me.
Yes. Touch me. Please.
Like every inch of the rest of his body, his hands are huge, carrying great strength. But now, his touch is featherlight. The tips of his fingers dance over my satin nightgown, applying the lightest of pressure between my thighs.
He strokes me, and as he does, he kisses my ear, my neck, sucking and biting and nipping with his teeth. My eyes close, my head lolling back. All thoughts disappear from my mind as I become nothing but the feel of his touch.
His fingers, the slippery satin, the aching in my clit, his caresses, these are my only thoughts. His fingers dip between my legs, cupping my sex, pressing against it as he palms it. “Are you going to be my good girl?”
“Maybe.”
My breathy response makes him gather my ass in his hand, squeezing my flesh, the fingers of his other hand stroking harder between my thighs.
“And if I’m not?”
“You’ll be punished.” He gives my ass a slap, gathering it back in his hand. “And if you don’t obey me…”
“What will you do?”
“You’ll be whipped with my belt.” He strikes my ass with his opened palm, the sting settling over my skin.
Making me want him all the more.
His mouth finds my ear. He licks and nips my lobe, his fingers caressing me harder, making tingles of pleasure rip through my body. “Will you be my good little obedient wife?”
Too far. I hiss back. “Never.”
He gives a dark chuckle, slapping my ass, twice as hard as before. “You’ll learn. I’m happy to teach you.” He grabs my ass, hard, his fingers digging into my skin.
I cry out, rising on the tips of my toes, but his mouth covers mine, stealing my cries.
He slides his hands up the sides of my body, gathering me underneath my arms. He crosses the room in three steps, laying me down on the bed.
Standing over me, he eyes me hungrily. Now that I’m so close to having him take me, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by his sheer size. His shoulders are so broad, twice the width of my own. His fingers go to the buttons of his shirt and I can’t tear my gaze from him. He slowly makes his way up from the bottom, undoing each one until the shirt opens at the front, a long, tan strip of his abdomen and chest exposed to me.
He shrugs the shirt from his body and I find I’m holding my breath.
He’s…gorgeous.
His muscles are sculpted, tight from working his family’s land. His skin is golden, from the sun shining over it as he spends hours chopping wood for winter. I’ve seen him out there, his chest bare, and I’ve stared, telling myself I was just taking in the scenery, the nature.
All the while my mind wondering what it would feel like to touch that chest.
Now, I reach out with trembling fingers, and stroke the skin just above his hard belly.
Smooth, strong, warm.
And all…mine?
I touch the man that I’m to marry.
Though I’ve been labeled as boy crazy, always having crushes and flirting shamelessly, I’ve only been with one boy and our fumbled trysts on the back of the Russo property were awkward and bumbling. Now, as Luca eases his body over mine, I know this encounter will be nothing like those.
This is not a boy, but a man.
And when he kisses me, I feel like a woman.
To desire someone with the strength of a building wave, and to be desired like this…his kiss taking from me, his hands exploring, claiming, his mouth marking the skin on my neck and my shoulders…as his…it’s intoxicating.
He tears the white gown from my shoulder, pulling it down my arm, my bare skin exposed to his greedy mouth. He runs his tongue over my collarbone, nipping at it with the tips of his teeth.
He grabs at the hem, rucking it up around my hips. His hand slides between my thighs, stroking me over the gusset of my silk panties.
It feels so good it makes my head go light, tingles covering my skin. As he strokes me, he kisses me, his tongue swirling against mine in time to the movement of his fingers. A moan rises in my throat as the tip of his finger slips beneath the band of my panties.
And his bare flesh is on mine for the first time.
Touching me, stroking me.
My breath shudders. I spread my legs as his fingers find their way.
“Finally, I get to see how wet you are for me.” With one punishing move, he plunges both of his thick fingers inside of me at once, stretching me.
“Oh!” I cry out as my flesh burns, moving to accommodate him.
“So tight. And you’re all wet. Just for me.”
His gaze locks on mine and I can’t look away. He moves inside me deeper.
I give a moan, the pain ebbing away into pleasure.
I want more. I want him inside of me.
He knows I’m ready.
His fingers slip from me, going to his waist. He unbuttons his pants, his belt still back on the floor of the Romano pantry. He frees his cock and it stands, hard and ready.
It’s…massive.
I’m suddenly no longer a sultry woman. I feel like a scared little girl. I give my head a shake. “There’s no way that’s fitting inside of me. You’re…too big.”
“You can take me. I know you can.” His hands go to the waist of my panties and he tugs them over my hips, pulling them down my legs, over my feet. He tosses them to the floor.
Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he stares at me for a moment.
And I take him in.
Strength and girth and power.
His hands slide over my satin-covered belly, making me tremble. He clutches the neckline of the nightgown and flashing me one wicked smile, he tears it into two.
My virginal white gown, ripped to shreds, in two pieces, my naked body exposed to his devilish, flashing blue eyes. I want to protest, to scream, to slap him, but his hands push the fabric away, cupping my naked breasts, taking my taut bud in his fingers and pinching, his mouth going to my other breast, kissing and sucking.
And my nightgown is forgotten.
He lays his body over mine, our warm, bare flesh pressing together. He kisses me, scooping his hands under my bottom. He shoves my legs further apart with his knees. The head of his cock goes to my opening.
I feel it moving past my tight muscles, slowly. My breath catches, waiting for the moment I know is coming.
“I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” He plunges inside me.
As with his fingers, he’s too big and I feel as if I can’t take him, the pain, the burning
making me want to cry out, but he’s kissing me so deeply I can’t. I bring my hands to his shoulders, digging my fingers into his flesh, showing him the pain he’s causing me.
And he moves deeper still, inside of me.
Filling me, stretching me, until I fear I’ll break.
Turning my head to the side, I part my mouth from his. I cry out and he grabs my chin, bringing me back to him and he kisses my mouth to silence the sound of my cries. His tongue swipes against mine as he enters me further. His hands scoop under my ass, tilting my hips upward and he plunges inside me again, even deeper this time.
Tears sting at the backs of my eyes and I gasp; I feel as if I’m tearing. But then he moves slower, back and forth, his cock stroking inside me, and the pain eases into pleasure.
An incredible pleasure like I’ve never felt before.
The pain a warm, distant memory, now serving as the kindling to a fire.
A fire that I want him to ignite.
8
Luca
She will be my wife. She will take my name. She will bear my children.
And tonight, when I take her, I’ll let my seed flow inside of her. By this time tomorrow, she’ll be mine.
Forever.
Once she says I do, there’s no turning back. No one leaves the Romano family.
And this is what I’ve wanted for so long. For her to be mine.
I had that ring made a year ago. The day after she played Juliet in the play.
I’ve always been drawn to her, wanting her, wanting to protect her.
And yes, wanting to torment her.
But watching her on that outdoor stage, under the full moon, the breeze blowing back her hair as she recited her lines…
Something in me changed.
A hardening, a resolve.
A resolution to make her mine.
I didn’t know how, or when, but I just knew, watching her up there, that she was my fate. That she was made for me. And that she would be mine.
Call it my attempt at a romantic gesture, but the following day I called my friends at Bachman Jewelers, and put in an order for a simple gold band, one that would look elegant on her beautiful finger.
She’s always had the most beautiful hands.
And my inscription? The words straight from my heart.
You will be mine.
Dark Throne: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Russo Royals) Page 8