Vexing Victor (The Adamos Book 4)

by Mia Madison

  With that, he’s gone, and I decide I really don’t want to know what answering to both of them would entail. Turning, I look around. Vic said I can only help when he’s home, so what can I do?

  I take a tour of the rest of the house. There’s a small room off the living room that looks perfect for a den or office. Just off the kitchen is the laundry room, with the door that goes to the back yard.

  The temptation to go out and explore is strong, but I’m not certain if the yard counts as part of the safe zone. My confinement chafes at me. Dad gave me a lot of independence from an early age, and I’m used to calling my own shots.

  Reluctantly, I turn away and go back to the living room. There’s a hallway leading to the bedrooms — two smaller ones facing the street, with a bathroom in between, and a master suite in the back of the house. That’s where Vic tied me up.

  I sneak back into the room. Poking around in here is another temptation, but I won’t; I just want to get the layout in my mind. The bathroom is spacious. One of the owners did some work in here at one point, because there’s a big jacuzzi bathtub and a separate shower.

  My fingers are itching for something to fix. What can I do that won’t piss Vic off? I roam the house looking for burned-out light bulbs, but none of them need replacing. Next, I check all the faucets. No problems there either.

  The house doesn’t even need cleaning, really. Maybe being a cook instills the habit of keeping things in good order, or maybe he’s just like that naturally. There’s a basket of clean laundry on top of the dryer, and in desperation I fold it.

  When I hear the front door open, I go bounding out to the living room to see Victor entering a code on the security panel. “I was going crazy!” I announce before he’s even done. “I was about to start punching the walls just for something to do.”

  14

  Ache In My Heart

  “Is that right?” He turns and prowls toward me, and it takes me a moment to recognize the gleam in his eye. So he’s in that kind of a mood, is he? Well, I’m in a mood too.

  Without warning, I launch myself at him. He lets me take him down to the floor, and then we’re rolling around on it. Victor pins me, but I hook my leg around his and flip us, only for him to use the momentum to get me underneath him again.

  He pulls my legs apart and grinds himself against my clit. I yank at his t-shirt, rip it off, and sink my teeth into his shoulder. His mouth crashes down on mine.

  The kiss is hot, heavy, almost violent. While I suck on his tongue, he rips my thin cotton top in two, then lifts me up just enough to undo my bra and peel it away. His hands clamp on my breasts, cupping, squeezing, our mouths still fused.

  His fingers pluck at my nipples, tugging, then twisting the sensitive peaks. My nails score his back, and he undoes my jeans and drags them down along with my panties. Vic finally breaks the kiss, leaving me gasping for breath; then I cry out when he plunges a finger into my hot, wet channel.

  He adds another finger, stretching me, pumping in and out of me hard and fast while his mouth covers one breast, then the other, sucking so hard I want to scream, and then I do, a wordless primal sound, my fingers digging into his scalp, doing their best to hold him to me.

  Shifting down my body, his fingers still inside me, he licks me open until he reaches my clit, then sucks me into his mouth. Sensation rockets through me, pressure swelling out from my swollen nub to radiate through my body and then return, tension gathering and coiling in my center, building higher and higher until it bursts over me in a red-hot orgasm, my hips bucking as I ride wave after wave of pleasure.

  He takes off my work boots, then peels my jeans and panties the rest of the way off me, leaving me naked on the floor. I hear a zipper, and then he’s between my thighs, nudging at my entrance, and he fills me with one hard thrust.

  I make a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a cry, and he goes still. “Francesca?”

  “Don’t stop,” I tell him, but my voice sounds funny. He goes up on his elbows to look down at me, so I try again. “I’m all right.”

  “I hurt you.”

  “Only for a second.”

  His eyes, already dark pools, get even darker, and then they blaze. “Holy fuck, Frankie. Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”

  I press my lips together. “Well … I was.” He closes his eyes.”Vic,” I say pleadingly.

  When he looks at me again, I flinch at the anger on his face. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t think.” He starts to ease back and I wrap my legs around him. “If you stop,” I say in a trembling voice, “I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Goddammit, Frankie.”

  “It’s done.” I try to sound reasonable. “Why stop now?”

  “Because I’m not gonna hurt you,” he growls.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore! It was only for a second.” It’s mostly true. He’s too big for me to be comfortable, but the initial shock of pain is gone.

  He swears fluently, then drops his forehead to mine. “Swear to fuck, you are gonna be the death of me.”

  “Please, Vic.”

  His voice is tender, intimate, when he says, “I’m gonna spank the hell out of you later.” I shiver and tighten around him, and then he’s lifting me, keeping our bodies joined as he stands and carries me into the bedroom.

  When he moves in me, it’s slowly, carefully, his eyes on my face. My heart cracks open, then knits itself together again, swollen with foolish words that I don’t dare speak aloud.

  He takes it easy until I arch against him, when his hand reaches between us to find my clit, circling, pressing, pinching until I climax again. Only then does he let himself speed up, and I can tell he’s still holding back. Even so, the friction of his cock is so amazing, the pleasure so intense, that I’m on the verge of another orgasm.

  “Vic,” I moan.

  “Frankie … fuck …” He freezes, his head thrown back, before his face contorts and he jerks back to finish outside me.

  It leaves an ache in my heart. I know why he did that, and it was smart and caring and right … so why does it feel so wrong?

  15

  Fuck Me Or Let Me Go

  His head is cradled on my stomach, and I stroke it until he looks up to say, “Want a bath?”

  I manage a smile. “Sure.” His eyes narrow, but Vic kisses my belly and rolls off the bed, and I lie there and wonder if I’ve lost my mind.

  A moment later, the thunder of water crashing into that big huge bathtub echoes into the bedroom. He comes back to the bed and scoops me up, my arms winding around his neck. “That is an awesome bathtub,” I say as we approach it.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty sweet.” He steps in and we sink down into the still-rising water. There’s plenty of room for both of us, but I curl up in his lap like I never want to be anywhere else.

  Not until the steaming water is almost up to my neck does he turn the tap off. “You need to figure out how to run your business from the bathtub so we can stay here forever,” I say dreamily.

  “Mm.” Vic presses a kiss to my forehead, then tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him. “You okay?”

  I blink. “Yeah. Why?”

  “A minute ago, in there,” his chin indicates the bedroom, “whatever you were thinking … it wasn’t a happy thought.”

  Oh. That. “You’ll think I’m crazy,” I say, breaking eye contact to tuck my head against his shoulder again.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I was sad that you … that you pulled out.” Vic tenses. Oh shit. “I know why you did, and it was … necessary and all. Totally. I get that.” I’m babbling. “I just … I told you it was crazy. I just felt sad, even though there was no logic to it.”

  He doesn’t say anything. I force myself to sit up and look him in the eye. “Vic. I wouldn’t ever try to — to talk you into anything, or trap you.”

  One corner of his mouth lifts. “The girl who keeps trying to run away from me? I know that.”<
br />
  I flush, but don’t back down. “Okay, then …” My voice trails off; I don’t really know how to say what I’m thinking.

  But Victor seems to understand. “Your body wanted it, even though your mind knew better?” he says.

  “Yes! Exactly,” I say, relieved that he gets it.

  There’s a short silence before he says, “Me too.”

  I swallow. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Not coming inside you was the hardest thing — no pun intended — I’ve ever done.”

  Wow. “So we’re both crazy.”

  “Or not,” he says, and my heart gives a hard thump. If he’s saying what I think he’s saying, he’s totally cray cray. I need to change the subject.

  “Um, Vic?”

  “Yeah, babe.”

  “I don’t have any clothes.”

  “You can wear mine,” he says, like it’s no big deal.

  “Your clothes won’t fit me.”

  “A pair of sweats and a t-shirt will fit well enough for now. And you won’t be wearing any clothes tonight, anyway.”

  A thrill runs down my spine. “Not at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “But what if—”

  His mouth claims mine in a searing, bone-melting kiss. “Okay,” I say breathlessly when he releases me.

  “Bath time’s over.” The gleam in his eye makes me shiver. He sets the tub to drain and helps me out, wrapping me in a huge fluffy towel.

  By the time he’s finished “helping” me dry off, there’s a hungry pulse throbbing between my legs. Vic whisks the towel around himself, hangs it up, and stalks me back to the bedroom.

  I leap onto the bed, giggling. He’s on me before I can even begin to turn, rolling us over and over on rich bronze sheets. I wrestle with him on principle, but in seconds he’s settled between my thighs, his erection heavy against me, stealing my breath with another fierce kiss.

  When I reach down, he grabs my hands and laces his fingers through mine, keeping my hands pinned by my head, unable to touch him. I squirm beneath him and he kisses me harder, until I buck my hips as hard as I can. Fuck me or let me go.

  16

  Off The Road

  He releases me, only to flip me over and drag me up so I’m kneeling before him, ass in the air. One hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back. His cock rubs between my outer lips, along my slippery flesh, and then he spears inside me.

  “Oh, god.” My back arches at the sensation of him hitting some extra-sensitive spot deep inside. He pulls back and thrusts deep, again, and again, building up speed, and then his free hand smacks my ass.

  I gasp, the stinging heat arrowing right to my clit. He switches hands without missing a stroke and spanks me on the other side.

  “Fuck,” I moan, tightening around him. He goes faster, still trading hands, one gripping my hair and tugging my head back while the other swats me.

  He’s got a relentless rhythm going, smack thrust thrust thrust smack thrust thrust thrust, over and over, his thick cock pounding into me, hitting that spot with every stroke, and the climax barrels down on me so fast I scream when it hits, clamping down hard on Vic as I convulse around him.

  He waits it out, then grabs my hips with both hands and fucks me like a jackhammer, hard and fast, jerking me back against him, his hips slapping my sore ass every time our bodies meet, and I come again, my hands scrabbling at the sheets as pleasure rakes me with violent claws.

  I’m sure Vic won’t be able to stop in time, but he yells “Fuck!” an instant before he pulls out and spills himself on my back. I collapse onto my stomach, sprawled out and shaky. He kisses my ass, gently, once on each side, before he pads into the bathroom and comes back with a washcloth for me.

  After he cleans me up, he slides in next to me and pulls the covers over us, tucking me close so my head is on his chest. I drape an arm over his stomach and one leg across his and settle in, my body blissful but my mind turbulent.

  I should have said no to him, but I couldn’t; I wanted him too much. And now I’m falling for him. I can feel it, my interior landscape reshaping itself as if an emotional excavator has come through and dug everything up, turning over the soil to make it fertile for new growth.

  Up until now, I would have said I was a very down to earth person. There’s nothing esoteric about machines; figuring them out is just a matter of time and effort. They’re reliable, consistent, dependable in their inner workings.

  I am not the kind of woman who falls in love with a man she’s just met. No freaking way. But it’s happening.

  And it’s not just because I’ve let him do what no man has ever done. It’s the fact that I let him do that, that I wanted him to. That his touch feels as necessary now as breathing. That his happiness is important to me.

  “What are you thinking?” Vic says into the darkness.

  I decide to be honest. “That this is crazy.”

  “Doesn’t feel crazy,” he says, one hand toying idly with my hair.

  “Yeah. And isn’t it crazy that it doesn’t feel crazy?”

  “Maybe,” he says. “Maybe not.”

  I go up on an elbow to add something more, but before I can get the words out, Vic rolls me onto my back and looks down at me, one hand sliding down to curve over my hip. “When I was five,” he says, “I saw the future.”

  “What future?”

  “A bus crash.”

  I suck in a breath. “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. It was in the morning, and we were all getting ready for school, and I told my older brothers and sisters not to get on the bus because it was going to crash.”

  “Holy crap. What happened?”

  “My parents didn’t know what to make of it. I wasn’t the kind of kid who was always making up stories, but on the other hand, I was five. But my nonna Adamo was there, my dad’s mom, and she took it seriously. Said she’d drive us all to school.

  “Well, then my parents got uneasy and divvied all us kids up among the three of them to drive, so none of us would be on the bus. My mom even called the school yard and tried to warn them, just in case.”

  “Did they listen?”

  “Nah. Whoever was on the line thought it was a prank call. So then my mom did a telephone tree with all the neighbors and told them not to put their kids on the bus. And she was doing Hail Marys in the car, while she drove us to school, for everyone on the bus to be safe.”

  “Just in case,” I say softly.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?” I have to know what happened, even though part of me is afraid of what I might hear.

  “It was winter. The bus hit a patch of ice and went off the road.”

  17

  Being Claimed

  “Ohmygod.” I put a hand to his chest. “Were they — was anybody—”

  “Everybody lived. Turned out a lot of parents listened when my mom called, and there weren’t that many kids on the bus. If it had been full, they said it would have been a lot worse. Kids flying around inside the bus, crashing into other kids, and they might have rolled instead of just tipping over.”

  “Oh my god, Vic. You saved their lives.”

  He moves a shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know about that. But at least the kids who weren’t on the bus didn’t get hurt.”

  “Did anything like that ever happen again?”

  “No.” His hand shifts, the backs of his fingers brushing my cheekbone. “But I gotta tell you, Frankie Zanetti. I look at you, and I see a future. And it feels right.”

  My heart stops, and then it swells. “Vic,” I choke out.

  “I know it’s crazy. I know we just met. But I feel it.” He bends down and touches his mouth to mine. “All I’m askin’ is that you give it a chance.”

  How can I say no to that when I feel it too? “Okay,” I whisper.

  He kisses me again, a soft kiss, then a quick, hard one. “I’ll make us some dinner,” he says. “We need fuel.”

  I go into the bathroom while he heads for
the kitchen. I’ve only been in there a few seconds when the doorbell rings. Crap — my clothes, what’s left of them, are in the living room.

  I scurry over to Vic’s dresser and start rooting through it, searching for anything I can wear. I’ve just pulled on a t-shirt when he comes in with a heap of clothing in his arms. “Get dressed as fast as you can, babe,” he says.

  His tone sounds ominous. I clutch the clothing to me. “Who is it?”

  “My family.”

  “Oh god.” I struggle to pull my jeans on. “Are they going to be terrible?” About me, I mean.

  “They’re not terrible, sunshine.” Vic tugs on sweats and grabs another t-shirt. “There’s just a lot of them.”

  Gina’s ten-second history comes back to me. I freeze in the middle of putting on my bra, staring at him. “Wait a minute. Do you mean your family—” I hold my hands close together, cupped around an imaginary small sphere —“or your family?” Spreading my arms wide to encompass the world.

  His rueful grin gives me the answer before I speak. “It’s not the entire clan, babe, but it’s a lot of them.”

  Holy crap. “They all just — showed up? Unannounced?”

  “Yeah.” He gives me a chin lift to indicate I should finish with my bra, and I do, my movements jerky. As soon as I’m done, he takes me hand and leads me down the hall.

  “They mean well,” he says. “Don’t let ’em scare you.” I give him a yeah, right look, and then he opens the front door.

  Ten minutes later, he hasn’t closed it yet. A steady stream of gorgeous Italian men and women, spouses, kids, and grandparents, has filled the house and is spilling into the back yard, where someone had the foresight to bring outdoor heat lamps against the chill. The crowd has also brought enough food for probably three times the number of people who are jammed into every available inch of space.