I'd never hurt her like Connor had; I'd never even consider wronging her. But I wasn't a good man, and she didn't have the first concept of how deep the bad ran inside me. All the way to the core, all the way to the roots where my father and family had tarnished my soul as a child.
I'd killed my first man at six, years before Samara came into my life. She'd never known me as an innocent, only ever known the killer in me.
In the years since Matteo had taken over for his father, other people handled the dirty work. I'd already proven myself, and my expertise was far more useful in the legal businesses, but that didn't make me clean. It didn't erase the years I'd spent living in the trenches, fighting like every day of my life was a war zone and the only way out was to die.
Given all of that, Samara loved me. I had no doubt about that, not given the way she melted at my dirty words and my stolen kisses. Not with the way she sank into my embrace like she was always meant to be there.
But no, the real reason she should have feared me had nothing to do with the fact that I was a hardened killer under all the times she made me smile.
It was because I would never let her go.
She was mine.
And it didn't matter if there came a day when she wanted something else, when her life led her to a juncture where she wanted to leave me. I would throw away the keys to her gilded cage to keep her mine, even as I worshiped at her altar.
So when she'd suddenly taken to strutting around in shorts instead of leggings, I knew my Little Dove intentionally pushed my buttons. I knew that she had a rebellious streak just strong enough for her to want to tease and torment me, given she felt safe with the way she assumed that I thought she still had her period, but I knew the moment my woman stopped bleeding. I’d always been able to tell. I allowed it, even if my dick would probably rub raw from jerking off in the shower one too many times.
"Samara," I growled at her when she bent over in some fucking yoga pose in the living room.
"Yes, my Italian Stallion?" she hummed, the bottom of her ass peeking out at me from the fucking shorts I fully intended to rip off her one day.
"Do you want me to smack your ass?" I grunted, making her laugh out loud. The sound of it coated my heart in warmth, melting that icy interior that always seemed to thaw around her. I was convinced if it hadn't been for her, for her constant presence in my life, I'd have ended up colder than Matteo or Ryker. I’d tolerate just about anything from her, even an absurd nickname.
"Maybe," she teased with a shrug, turning her attention back to the television where she'd streamed the yoga video. The sly look on her face only drew me closer. “I like it. I think I’ll call you that from now on.” I stepped up behind her, sliding my hands over the bare skin at the back of her thighs and shoving the shorts up until I could see her peach of an ass.
"Do you enjoy pushing me? I think I’d prefer it when you call me husband." I said, bringing a hand down against her cheek that was just hard enough to turn her skin pink.
"Yes."
"It's not a nice thing to do when I can't punish you for it," I murmured, repeating the motion on the other cheek so she matched.
"You torture me all the time. Why can't I return the favor?" Her voice had gone breathy. My Little Dove liked it when I spanked her ass, and that was something I fully intended to remember when I could finally have her.
"I'm going to shower," I grunted, stepping back from her.
"Do you think about me? When you jerk off in there?" she asked, shocking me with her outright admission that she knew why I showered at least twice a day.
"Do you think about me when your fingers dance over that little pussy?"
"I have for years," she admitted, giving me a saucy smile.
"Same, vita mia."
✽✽✽
I knew the moment Samara stepped inside the bathroom door I'd left cracked open. It was true she'd spent days tormenting me by strutting her sexy little body around the house every second of the day, and I only knew I wanted to return the favor.
Nothing seemed more appropriate than giving Samara her first glimpse of my cock.
I resisted the urge to smirk, pretending I didn't see her standing there as I leaned forward and pressed a hand against the tiled shower wall. I knew the steam in the bathroom would disguise the details, the fact that I could barely see her was enough proof of that. My eyes closed as water dripped over my face, my hand wrapping around the base of my shaft and squeezing like I imagined Samara's tight sheathe would. With my hand wet, I could always get just a little closer to imagining the real deal, to trying to imitate what the moment would feel like when I slid inside her, pushing through the inevitable resistance I would meet.
It'd been far too long for Samara, just like me. She'd be tight, and I kept my grip snug as I worked it up and down my cock in a slow rhythm meant to give her a show. To let her see and feel every detail. The feel of her eyes on me as I worked myself over was nearly too much, nearly sending me spiraling over the edge like a desperate teenager.
But knowing that Samara liked what she saw enough to stay and enjoy the show, I couldn't wait for the day when I could really study her face. Really see her reaction when I stuffed her full of every inch of me.
My pace quickened, my hand making faster work of my orgasm.
I needed her to see it, needed her to watch me come and know that it had been a product of her torment.
I also knew my Little Dove wouldn't let herself watch for much longer out of fear of getting caught.
So I pictured her laid out beneath me in bed, her legs wrapped around me tightly and clenching with every thrust—her hand tight in my hair, her whimpers sounding in my ear.
The visual was enough to send me spiraling over the edge, shooting my load all over the tile as I finished with a ragged breath.
By the time I turned to look at the door, Samara was gone.
But I intended to torment her about the fact that she'd watched.
Twenty-Four
Samara
Sitting through dinner was painful.
Absolutely, miserably painful. It didn't help that Lino seemed determined to torment me, having never put on a shirt while he whipped up food for the two of us. Staring at the broad muscles of his shoulders, the way the muscles in his biceps flexed ever so slightly as he moved and shook the pans around would probably have melted me into a puddle of goo under the most normal circumstances.
But right after I'd watched him jerk off in the shower? Right after I'd seen the shadow of just how massive his package must have been for his hand to have to move quite that much.
Long, nearly violent strokes that gave the general impression I'd feel him in my throat when he finally fucked me. It made me wish we'd had the anal sex conversation after I'd seen that.
Because nope. Nuh-uh.
Just no.
After he'd fully tormented me, he'd sat down in the stool right next to me and tucked into his dinner. My stomach felt like it might shrivel up and die with all the need that pulsed through me, but I tried to still my body while I poked at my food.
I tried not to squirm on my stool, tried not to fidget to get even the slightest bit of friction right where I needed it so desperately.
"Is there something you need, Little Dove?" Lino asked, turning to study me intently. When my eyes met his, I knew.
Without a doubt, I knew he'd seen me. That he'd known I watched him.
My chest flushed hot, my face following as humiliation took over and my spoon clattered to the bowl, soup forgotten. "I—uh, what could I possibly need?" I decided to play innocent, hopeful that he'd let the conversation dissolve in an effort not to embarrass me further. I should have known better; Lino had always enjoyed marching me right up to the edge of my comfort zone and shoving me off it. He loved to watch my reactions, thrived on the way I struck out when I couldn't take anymore.
"Hmmm, did you enjoy watching me?" he asked, setting down his own spoon and pivoting his stool until he put
his hands on my thighs and turned me to him. With our stools close enough, he shoved his knees beneath my own, using them to spread my legs. I clung to the counter with one hand and the seat of my stool with the other as the motion shifted my balance and my back hit the seat back.
"I didn't watch—"
"Don't lie to me, vita mia," he murmured, running the fingers of his hand over the bare skin of my thigh. The metal of his wedding ring felt cool against my fevered flesh, serving as a reminder that Lino was mine.
My husband.
Sometimes I forgot, fell back into the same thinking I'd suffered through in all the years where he'd been just a friend. Sometimes I got lost in the shame of being so drawn to him when we would never be.
But we were and would be.
So I raised my chin, facing him head on as I murmured, "Yes."
His eyes darkened, his fingers tightening on my thighs. He bit his lip to hide his smile, and I knew this was one of those instances where I'd surprised him. Where my reactions seemed to catch him off-guard and offered him entertainment. Even if this time that entertainment came in a far more dangerous situation.
Dangerous to my sanity.
My heart.
My very being.
But we were diving in, testing the waters of our relationship.
"Then I think," he confirmed my train of thought, those fingers gliding closer to my center and brushing the very edge of the hem of my shorts. "that perhaps you should return the favor."
I blinked up at him, feeling disoriented by the sudden shift. I'd expected him to touch me, wanted him to touch me even if I still felt uncertain about my readiness for it. "What?"
"I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to know that you're thinking of me when you make yourself come."
His free hand reached out, grasping mine in his and bringing it down between my thighs. It laid against my core, touching through the thin fabric of my shorts and adding to the warmth there. Even with as warm as I felt all over, my pussy felt like it was on fire already, just from Lino's words and the way he tormented me without really touching me. "I—I don't know," I stuttered, because in all honesty touching myself in front of someone wasn't an experience I'd had before.
He teased the hem of my shorts, gliding the fabric to the side so that his fingers brushed against my bare skin. I already knew I hadn't worn underwear beneath the shorts with the intent of tormenting him, so I knew how obscene I must have looked with my legs spread and pussy open to his eyes. But even with that, even though he must have known from the way he held the shorts to the side, his eyes never left mine. He never so much as glanced down while he waited for my consent. "Let me see how wet I made you, Little Dove," he whispered, leaning forward to touch his lips to mine softly for a moment. I looked down at myself, biting my lip and nodding finally. Then I slid my hand from my thigh to my center, jolting the moment my fingers touched my over-sensitized skin.
Two fingers skirted over my clit in a slow, hesitant circle. When I finally braved looking back up into Lino's face, his eyes were still on my face, still watching and waiting. "Aren't you going to watch?" I asked with more bravery than I felt in that moment, always testing and pushing back. That was the summary of our relationship, a constant push and pull of teasing, torment, affection, love, and testing boundaries.
With a groan, his eyes left mine, gliding down my body until they rested on my hand at my pussy. I knew it must have been hard to see, with his hand holding my shorts to the side and my own fingers blocking part of me from view, so I shifted my hips, tilting them up and spread my legs wider as I put more weight into the back of my stool. "Fuck," Lino groaned, emboldening me. My pace on my clit increased, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Not yet," he ordered. "Finger yourself."
I bit my lip but slid my hand down to slip a finger inside my entrance, my hips rolling with the need to come. "Please," I begged him, seeking the approval I didn't need.
But I wanted it.
Lino offered safety. A place where I could give up my control and know that I'd always be safe. He was everything I needed to feel cared for, because I knew he would always read my cues, always interpret what my body language meant before I was even conscious of what I'd done or that I had hesitations.
He was home.
"Another," he ordered gruffly. "Tell me what you're imagining."
"Your hands," I gasped. "Your fingers, stretching me. Making me feel so full."
"What else?" he rasped as I slid the second finger in, pumping them in and out of myself quickly.
"Your mouth," I whispered.
"Where is my mouth, Little Dove?" he growled. My free hand came up in answer, clutching my breast and pinching my nipple through the fabric of my shirt. He grinned, looking at me in consideration for a brief moment before he tugged my tank top down so that the mound of flesh was free to the air and pebbled from the sudden cold. His fingers touched it a moment later, making me gasp and arch my back into the touch. With a hiss, he leaned forward, and warmth enveloped my nipple as he sucked it into his mouth harshly, giving me exactly the harsh treatment that I needed.
"Lino, please," I begged again, the thought of his fingers inside me bringing me right to the edge.
"Fucking come," he ordered, and I slipped my fingers free to brush against my clit so hard I detonated in a blinding light. When I opened my eyes, it was to find Lino staring down at me, a blissful smile on his face. "Hello, beautiful," he murmured, kissing me while I chuckled. Releasing my shorts to cover me, he took my hand from between my thighs and shocked me when he sucked the two fingers, I'd had inside me into his mouth. He moaned around them, and I sighed happily. When he stretched out a hand to tuck my boob away, he leaned forward and kissed it one last time first, making me giggle and shove him away. "I need to jerk off again," he grunted, but freed my knees and turned me to my soup. He snatched the bowl, dumping the soup out in favor of grabbing hot stuff from the pot and then he kissed my cheek before darting off to go shower.
I smiled into my soup, because I'd wanted to touch him.
Wanted to feel him between my hands, but Lino seemed determined to take his time with me. To respect the boundaries that had been set long before we got together even if his natural inclination was to test them.
It only made me want to respect his good intentions, so I let him go.
I even cleaned up the dishes when I was done eating.
All domestic and shit.
✽✽✽
I eyed him warily as I slid into the bathroom next to him later that night. I wasn’t afraid in the slightest that he would push me sexually, not when he’d shown so much restraint when he had me half-stripped in the kitchen, but I knew he wouldn’t appreciate the conversation I intended for us to have.
He snatched his toothbrush out of the holder, squeezing toothpaste onto it and shoving it in his mouth. “Lino,” I sighed.
“No, Samara,” he grunted, refusing to meet my eyes in the mirror.
“You’re being ridiculous!” I argued. “The bruises are gone!” I lifted my head up, giving him a display as I turned my head from side to side. Nothing remained, no physical trace of Connor’s abuse on my throat.
There was nothing to prevent me from returning to work, and Lino’s insistence that I stay home with him for all time couldn’t go on. He had a job, work to get back to, and so did I. “You’re not ready,” he said as he spat his toothpaste out and rinsed his mouth.
I gaped at him when he left me in the bathroom, trailing after him. He crawled into bed, snatching the television remote off the nightstand.
I did not think so.
“I’m not ready?” I hissed, snatching the remote out of his hands and tossing it into one of the armchairs at the foot of the bed. “Don’t you dare put that on me. I’ve been ready. I’ve humored you. Now it is time for me to get back to my life!”
“This is your life now!” he roared, and I faltered back a step. Lino never yelled at me, never showed any inclination he was capab
le of it. “Do you think it is easy for me to imagine you going back to work? You’ll be at risk, even with Emilio. You’re my wife. You are not going to just drop back into the way things were before and pretend like nothing has changed. Everything changed the moment you married me.”
My bottom lip quivered, and my nose burned with tears I wouldn’t allow to come. I couldn’t cry, not if he meant what it sounded like. “You promised me. You promised me if I married you that you would let me go to work and have freedom.”
“I will,” he sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just need more time. Another week with just the two of us before we—”
“No,” I cut him off. “The bruises are gone, and I’m healed. I want to go back to work.”
“Samara,” he sighed.
“This is important to me. I’ve given you leeway in a lot of ways and forgiven things I shouldn’t have. You have to give me this.” He reached forward, wrapping his hands around my waist and tugging me into his lap. He shifted his body to lean further into the headboard, maneuvering me until I straddled his hips and looked down at him.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Emilio will take you from here to work, and he’ll stay nearby but not crowd you while you’re at work. If you leave the office, you call him. I expect to hear from you throughout the day, so I know you’re okay. You will change your name immediately.”
“I think I need to go to the DMV and social security first,” I told him.
“I’ve taken care of it. You are already legally Samara Bellandi. I’ll get you your new documents from my safe before you go to work. Those are my terms. If you leave this house, you are doing it with my name and my rings on your finger, and I expect you to flaunt them proudly.”
I sighed, staring down at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “You changed my name without talking to me?”
Forgivable Sins: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 2) Page 16