by Mia Madison
“Patience, piccolina.”
“I don’t have patience, you know that.”
“Good practice, then.” His eyes are warm with amusement, the deeper heat beneath the warmth only stoking my fire.
It’s been a week since the Adamo Spa Invasion. Vasily Gagarin and his men are still around, a bunch of hot guys are still hanging out at Revved, I still have an escort wherever I go … and in the last seven days, I’ve had enough orgasms to last eighty women a lifetime.
If Carlo’s near me, he wants to be touching me. And if we don’t have an audience, it doesn’t take long for touching to escalate to other things. One morning, in the kitchen, he was standing behind me, the short, silky little robe he got me hanging open. He had one hand cupping a breast and the other between my legs.
My head was tilted back against him and I was almost liquid with pleasure, but I scraped together enough brain cells to verbalize a question. Or most of one, anyway. “Are you always this … this …?”
His deep, sexy chuckle rumbled against my skin. “I’ve got a healthy appetite, babe. But being horny as a teenager all the time, that’s on you.”
“Not — complaining,” I managed as his thumb found my clit and a climax rippled through me.
“That’s good, angel.” He nudged me forward until I was bent over the table. “Because I don’t see it changing anytime soon.”
Carlo’s appetite includes an appreciation for variety, so I’ve done quite a few things this past week I never imagined I would, and others that I didn’t even know were possible. All with heaping helpings of the big O.
But the man is even bossier in bed than he is out of it, which brings us to now, and his telling me to be patient. My head drops forward, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Make sure there’s no rope in the house,” I say darkly. “Because I will strangle you while you sleep.”
“If you kill me, babe,” he says in my ear, “it’s goodbye to my cock forever. Is that what you want?”
My head snaps up. “I want you to let me fuck you!”
“I like being inside you,” he says in that same low, smooth, seductive, infuriatingly unhurried voice. His hips flex, his cock gliding in and out of me. “I want to make it last.”
“Carlo.” I lean forward, my mouth almost touching his, my voice pleading. “We can do it more than once.”
“I like it this way.”
“You just like torturing me.”
He doesn’t deny it. “You get so fuckin’ wet when I tease you, baby. So fuckin’ hot.”
It’s true. I cross my arms and glare at him. “So I should practice being cold.”
“You couldn’t be cold if you tried, gioia mia.”
Not with him, I couldn’t. He melts me with a look, let alone actual contact. I touch my forehead to his and say softly, “Carlo, please.”
He always gives in as soon as I surrender … and not a moment sooner. “Had enough, baby?”
“Yes.” I don’t try to keep the desperation from my voice. My hunger for him won’t let me.
“How do you want it?” he says against my lips. I kiss him, pouring all my need into it, and he finally lets my hips move, lets me ride him a little. “Hmm?” he says when I break off.
“I don’t care.” He’s never let me finish on top, not without him taking over. “Please, baby.”
“You want it hard?”
“Yes.” He loves it rough and so do I, especially after he gets me worked up like this. Not that he doesn’t have other moods, other ways of being with me. But the rawness of what we feel together more often demands expression.
He drives up into me, and my head goes back again, this time in exultation. “Yes.” His hands grip my hips and he starts to move me, lifting me up and slamming me down again, meeting me on every downstroke with a powerful upward thrust.
I love the way he can hold me so easily, like I’m tiny, his magnificent arms going faster and faster as he drills into me. “You feel so good, baby,” I babble, “never stop fucking me.” The first orgasm crashes into me like a tidal wave, and he just goes faster.
My breath comes in panting gasps, my breasts jiggling as I bounce. “Oh god Carlo I love you so much baby please don’t stop,” I moan, vising around him as the next climax sears through me, and that’s when he flips us over and motors into me like a jackhammer on speed, taking me with him for the big finale.
Floating along in the afterglow, Carlo on top of me, it takes me a while to realize that he hasn’t moved. Usually he turns us on our sides so he can tuck me against him, and we spoon until the next round. But he’s still above me, propped on his elbows.
My eyes drift slowly open. He’s watching me, with a look on his face I’ve never seen before. It sends my mind racing back through the last couple of minutes until I realize what I said. Oh crap. “That was just —”
He lays a finger against my lips. That look is still there, and I can’t read it, and he’s not talking. “Carlo?” I say, and I’m mortified when my voice cracks.
His mouth lowers to mine and he kisses me, a long, slow, wet, deep kiss that makes me start to squirm beneath him. Then he shifts us into our usual positions, but without letting me get cleaned up like he usually does. “Go to sleep, angel,” he says against my hair.
Is he holding me tighter than usual? It’s probably just my imagination. I close my eyes and will my mind to shut down. It takes a while, but eventually sleep rises up to claim me.
23
Commitment
It’s still dark when Carlo wakes me, hands and mouth skimming over my skin. When his fingers slip between my legs, I’m already wet. He eases me onto my back, settles between my thighs, and slowly fills me.
We don’t speak, the rhythm of our bodies the only conversation. Unlike so many of our heated encounters, this one stays slow. Not lazy; there’s an intensity to him that communicates itself in the way he moves over me, in me. Like it’s vitally important that we do this, right now, but not quickly.
My body glides slowly up to peak, and when I come he’s right there with me, burying his face in my hair. Then he turns us, carefully, until he’s on his back, and I fall asleep with him still inside me.
The next morning, it’s almost as though the night before didn’t happen. Carlo doesn’t mention me blurting out that I love him, thank god. He seems his usual self, and our morning encounters (wake-up sex in bed, followed by a quickie in the shower) are as hot and heavy as ever. It’s not until he’s leaving that he drops a bombshell on me.
“I’m takin’ you out tonight,” he announces as we’re standing by the front door.
“Out? Like a date?” Yikes. That’s couple stuff, not “convenient sex with woman who happens to be under your roof” stuff.
“Restaurant. Dress nice.” Carlo gives me a quick, hard kiss. “See you later, babe.” Then he’s gone and I can panic at leisure.
At some point over the past week, I got home from work to find that he’d transferred all my clothes from their crates to his closet and dresser. This gave me palpitations, which I dealt with by pretending it hadn’t happened.
But he’s seen my clothes, so he knows I only have one outfit that’s even semi-nice. I race to the bedroom and pull the dress out of the closet. It’s purple, a good color for me, but not even close to new. The fabric is worn. My one pair of decent heels is old too. I did what I could on a tight budget, but these clothes are not adequate for going out on an Adamo hottie date.
Definitely panic time. I text the girls. Carlo says we’re going out tonight. I need an outfit. Help!
Cait’s working today, but Erin answers immediately. Meet me at Bianca’s. Mickey, you in?
Wouldn’t miss it, comes the response.
I can’t afford Bianca’s! I message back. It’s the most exclusive boutique in town — great for window shopping, not actual shopping. I was thinking more like an outlet mall sales rack.
Gina, Erin answers. Do you realize who owns it?
Oh my god. Ca
rlo and Tonio’s sister? That Bianca? There’s no one else she could mean. I still can’t afford it, I text back.
There’s a pause, and then, Okay. We’ll figure something out.
My relief is interrupted by a text from Cait. Noooo! Don’t go without me! You’ll still have time after I get off work.
We agree that the girls will meet me at Carlo’s place and we’ll all go from there. Cait and Erin even say they’ll ask Tonio and Kosta to provide our security, so I don’t have to tell Carlo. But they won’t be here for hours, and I need to keep busy.
So I clean the downstairs of the house and the upstairs bathroom. I’d like to sneak into Carlo’s office on the pretext of cleaning it too, but I don’t. Next, I do the laundry and unload the dishwasher. Finally, when everything in the house is as spic and span as I can make it, I allow myself to go upstairs to the studio.
I’ve been coming up here when Carlo’s not home to do sketches. No paintings; a painting is a commitment. It requires you to set up your space, and implies you’re going to be there a while. A sketch can be done on a single piece of drawing paper and tucked away, ready to be moved at a moment’s notice.
Sitting on the floor, my back against the wall, I pull my sketchbook from a crate and flip to a blank page. With my eyes closed, I bring into focus the way Carlo looked at me last night, and then take a simple charcoal pencil and begin.
24
Complete Details
The lines flow through my hand and onto the page, until I’ve got as faithful a recreation of his expression as I can manage. I still don’t know what it means. Turning to a clean sheet, I start another sketch.
I’m almost out of paper; this is the third sketchbook I’ve filled since Carlo brought me here. Almost all my drawings this week are of him: naked, clothed, in every pose imaginable. One morning, I woke up before he did, and for twenty glorious seconds I got to watch him sleep before his eyes opened, fixed on me, and filled with heat. I did five sketches of that alone.
Time seems not to exist as I fill one page after another with images of the house, the grounds, my friends, people at Revved, and some of Carlo’s men, plus, of course, more Carlo. By the time I close the sketchbook, it’s time to go. I make a mental note to ask if we can swing by the art supply store so I can stock up.
The doorbell rings as I come downstairs. When I check the security screen, my stomach tightens. Bianca’s standing out there with my Revved friends, the security guys waiting next to an SUV.
Dammit. Why did Erin do that? Now I’ll have to be rude to Carlo’s sister. Turning my face into a smooth mask, I open the door.
“Gina.” Before I can say anything, Bianca reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. “Can I have a moment?”
There’s only one acceptable answer. “Of course.” I step back to let her in, and she shuts the door, leaving Erin and Cait and Mickey on the porch.
“I heard through the family grapevine that you were going shopping,” she says quietly. “The security, you understand.” I nod and she goes on. “I talked to Cait, and she explained what you needed and why, and also that there were certain … constraints.”
That’s a tactful way of putting it. “The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable,” Bianca says. “But I would consider it an honor if you would let me help with this.”
Tact is not my strong suit. “An honor?” I repeat, utterly baffled. “Why?”
“You make him happy, Gina.” My throat swells shut; my eyes are hot. “‘I’ve never seen him like this before. If you have an outfit you love for tonight, you’ll be happy; my brother will be happy; and that will make me very happy.” She gives me a gentle, radiant smile. “Will you do me that favor, please?”
I nod, because I can’t speak. Bianca pulls me into a hug, and I even hug her back. It’s a red-letter day. Then I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, and we all go to Bianca’s boutique.
She won’t let me stop with just one outfit. When I protest, she tells me to pay it forward to someone else one day. I end up with three killer outfits, complete with shoes, lingerie, and accessories. And Bianca wasn’t kidding; she seems thrilled to be doing this.
Thanks to her magical ability to know what would look good on me, the whole excursion only takes an hour. When we get back to Carlo’s, there’s still plenty of time for me to change and get ready. Bianca stayed at her shop, so it’s just my Revved pals in the car with me, along with Kosta’s men.
“We want complete details tomorrow!” Cait says.
Mickey giggles. “Well, maybe not complete details.”
“Speak for yourself,” Erin says, and they all crack up.
“I’ll tell you what I can,” I promise as I get out of the car. “You’ll have to use your imaginations for the rest of it.” Waving goodbye as the SUV reverses and pulls away, I walk up the porch steps with a goofy grin on my face, trying to decide which dress I’m wearing tonight.
The door swings open after I use the key Carlo gave me. I walk in, my hands full of bags, and freeze.
25
Too Close
“Well, look at you. Carlo’s little slut.”
Vicious words, spoken in a soft, almost delicate voice by a woman who looks to be twice my age. She’s got red hair like me, except hers came out of a bottle. She’s lounging on the couch in a satiny little wisp of a teddy. Except for the hardness around her eyes, she looks damn good.
The bags slip from my hands and fall unheeded to the floor. “Carlo didn’t tell you about me?” she says. Her smile is sad, but not her eyes. “He fucks a lot of women, you know. But he always comes back to me. He and I had a little … disagreement a couple of weeks ago, so I haven’t been here.”
My stomach is churning. I take a step back, toward the door. “I can see why he went for you,” she says, her eyes undressing me. It’s just as creepy when a woman does it. “Let me guess. He likes to do you in the kitchen?”
Hot tears flood my eyes. I stumble backward, turn, and fumble the door open. My car is parked outside; I haven’t been using it, but Carlo’s guys brought it back a few days ago with a clean bill of health.
It starts up right away. I wheel it around, angrily swiping tears from my cheeks, and aim it at the gate. I’m afraid it won’t open for me, but it does, and none of Carlo’s guys materialize to stop me. Thirty seconds later, I’m off the property and on the streets.
I can’t go to my loading bay because my sleeping bag and everything else are at Carlo’s, and I can’t call Cait or Erin because their men are Adamos. That’s how I wind up in a shocked Mickey’s bedroom, telling her everything.
“Oh god, Gina,” she whispers when I’m done. “I can’t believe it.”
“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes. Right there in Carlo’s living room, in a freaking teddy!” I’m lying on my side, hugging a pillow. “I just — I thought he was different.” I sniffle and grab some more of the tissues Mickey’s provided. My mood has been veering from grief to rage and back again.
“I did too,” she says softly. She’s sitting next to me, head on her knees, arms around her legs. “I thought he was one of the good guys.”
“Apparently, he’s just another guy who thinks with his dick.” Not like I didn’t have plenty of evidence of that. I’ve been bracing myself for this to end ever since it started, but I thought it would be Carlo getting tired of me. Not me finding out I’m a convenient piece of substitute pussy.
I was starting to let my guard down. Starting to relax with him, and feel almost at home in his house. Even getting used to having a bathroom again, and it’s ridiculous that I want to cry about that.
But I was right, after all, not to unpack my art materials. At least my loading bay is waiting for me. Bleak comfort, but better than nothing.
Still, it means I’ll have to get my stuff out of his place, and I can’t face him again. Maybe I can ask Cait and Erin to get Tonio and Kosta to negotiate a time I can come in when he’s not
there. People getting divorced must do that kind of thing, though I have to choke back a bitter laugh at the idea that our situation is anything like married couples breaking up.
Voices sound in another part of the house, coming closer, getting louder. One of them is Mickey’s mom and she doesn’t sound happy. “I said you can’t —” Then the door opens, and Carlo’s standing there.
He’s giving off emotion in waves and none of it is good. “I’m calling the police,” Mickey’s mother says, and hurries away. Carlo ignores her.
“You want to give us a minute?” he says to Mickey, who jumped off the bed when he came in and is standing between us.
“That depends.” And sweet little Mickey, all five foot five of her, hands on her hips, gets in Carlo’s face. “Are you here to be an asshole?”
There’s a long moment of silence, and the mood in the room eases off a bit. “No,” he says at last. “I’m not here to be an asshole.”
Mickey turns to me. “Gina?”
God, I have good friends. “It’s okay,” I whisper.
“I’ll be right outside.” She sends Carlo a stern look. “I hear yelling in here, I’m coming back in.”
When she’s gone, I can’t meet Carlo’s eyes. I stay where I am, clutching my pillow, staring at the wall. He sits on the edge of the bed, but doesn’t try to touch me.
What he does is say, “The fuckin’ Russians hacked my security system.” My eyes fly to him; that’s not what I was expecting. “Had it rigged so they could go back and forth between a repeating loop and live footage, when my guys knew there was something they should be seeing.”
I stare at him. “That woman was Russian?” His eyes close and my heart sinks. “I didn’t think so.”
“That woman,” he says, “is my ex.” Pain stabs through me but he keeps talking. “I was married to her briefly when I was young, and she’s been a pain in my ass ever since. I knew she was a bitch, but I didn’t know she was such a psycho bitch that she’d collaborate with the Russian mob to get back at me.”