Primal: London Mob Book Two

by Michelle St. James

  She found some bath oil on the side of the tub, opened the cap, and gave a sniff.

  Lavender. Heavenly.

  She poured some into the tub and twisted her hair on top of her head, securing it with a couple of pins before sinking into the hot water, thinking about her conversation with Kate earlier that afternoon. Her sister hadn’t seemed surprised by the request that she come to Italy. Then again, for Kate everything was a lark. This would be just another adventure to add to a very long list. A luxury vacation on Farrell Black. She’d lay on the terrace, let her skin brown like toast in the sun, swim with Lily in the pool Jenna had discovered when she’d explored the property. The reason for her visit, the fact that the estate was surrounded by armed guards, that Jenna might very well be in danger, would be on the periphery of Kate’s consciousness, if there at all.

  She envied her sister. How lovely it must be to be so focused on one’s own happiness. She would have to try to learn from Kate when this was all over. Worrying didn’t seem to do any good anyway.

  She soaked in the bath, letting her mind drift until the water cooled. Then she lathered her body with a bar of rough-hewn soap that smelled vaguely of olive oil and oranges and stepped from the tub. The bathroom was swirling with steam as she grabbed a thick towel and wrapped it around her body. She used one hand to wipe the fog from the mirror and studied her face, thinking about the fact that she’d actually fought for the right to leave the country alone with Farrell.

  Again.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered to her reflection.

  Her image had no answer, and she finally turned away, returning to her bedroom on bare feet. She found a pair of ivory satin panties and matching bra in the top drawer of the bureau and slipped them on. A quick look through the wardrobe netted drawstring capris in cool cotton and a silk violet tank. She put both on, combed out her hair, and smoothed moisturizer over her face, already a little brown from the warm Tuscan sun, before touching her lips with sheer gloss. She looked at herself in the mirror, noting the shine in her eyes that seemed to be a hallmark of Farrell’s nearness. She never looked — or felt — as alive as she did when she was with him. Her body was primed, blood pumping swiftly through her veins, breath moving deeply in and out of her lungs, all of it prepping her for the moment when they would come together and everything else would fall away. Then there would only be their bodies moving as one, their souls complete at last. It was the only time she felt truly comfortable in her own skin. A dangerous kind of euphoria as addicting as any drug.

  She shook her head and hurried to get Lily from the bedroom. Fantasizing about Farrell was a pastime she couldn’t afford.

  They headed out of the room, down the winding halls toward the sound of music on the first floor. But not just music: conversation and laughter, the clink of silver on porcelain, the popping of a cork. When they turned into the kitchen, Jenna’s eyes were drawn to the terrace, nearly overflowing with people. Ernesto and Anthony were there, along with a doe-eyed girl a little older than Lily. Carmen, the woman who had been talking to Mrs. Pendleton that morning, was there as well. Four men in casual clothes stood at the edge of the terrace with beers in their hands, eyes watchful as they quietly conversed. Jenna immediately pegged them as off-duty guards from their massive size and the readiness in their stances. One of them was casting longing glances at a beautiful young woman with long, dark hair who was setting a rough hewn table with plates and silver. Leo was there, too. And of course, Farrell.

  She watched him from the door, taking in the tailored fit of his shirt, cut close enough to hint at the massive biceps that lurked under the fabric. His trousers did nothing to hide the big thighs, the ass that she knew from experience was rock hard, the bulge between his legs that was big enough to stretch her to the limit. The thought of that — of him between her legs, sinking into her, dragging out, looking into her eyes while he took her closer to the peak of their own mountain — sent a pool of wetness between her legs.

  But it wasn’t just his body that moved her. It was the warmth in his eyes when he touched the little girl’s head, the smile that lit up the room just before his deep laughter filled the room in response to something one of the men said, the easy grace of his body as he lifted the girl into the air like she weighed no more than a feather.

  He set her down, and his gaze caught and held Jenna’s. Everyone else seemed to fade into the background, blurry and distant as he came into sharper focus. Then he was coming toward them, the smile on his face private, meant just for her and Lily.

  “There you are,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.

  She caught his scent and knew then and there that she would end up in his bed later that night. Her body’s reaction to him was raw and elemental.

  Animal.

  Primal.

  Unstoppable.

  She smiled. “Here we are.”

  He held her gaze. “I’m glad.” He turned his focus on Lily. “I heard someone gave the goats a run for their money today.”

  “Goats don’t have money, Daddy!”

  His smile reached all the way to his eyes. “You’re right. Probably because you took it from them when you chased them all over the fields.”

  “Daddy!”

  Jenna couldn't help but laugh. Their rapport was so easy. It was obvious that Lily would someday give Farrell a run for his money — and her, too — in the wit department.

  “Let’s go meet everyone.” He lifted Lily into his arms and reached for Jenna’s hand.

  The next three hours passed in a happy blur of wine, food, laughter, and more wine. Jenna met the four guards and Lucia, the young woman who helped Carmen keep house and cook. After several courses — most of them created from ingredients grown in or around the villa — Mrs. Pendleton took a sleepy Lily to bed while Carmen took Anthony and Lessa, his little sister, to their cottage on the grounds. The room grew quiet as they settled in for coffee, Ernesto softly strumming his guitar through a series of Italian ballads and folk songs. Farrell met her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat at the look of naked desire in his eyes. When he reached for her hand under the table and squeezed, she felt it all the way to her core. Felt her body clench in response.

  The candles were burning low on the table, their soft light casting shadows on the old plaster walls when the last note echoed through the room. They sat in silence for a couple minutes, drinking in the afterglow of the shared evening. Jenna could almost believe they were all alone in the world, thousands of miles from anyone who might do them harm.

  Finally, Ernesto stood, bowing. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Mr. Black.”

  “No thanks necessary,” Farrell said. “This is your home. It wouldn’t be what it is without you.”

  Ernesto ducked his head, clearly both embarrassed and pleased by the compliment. Everyone else rose, talking and laughing as they pushed in their chairs and exited the room. Then she and Farrell were alone. The one thing she feared and desired more than anything else.

  He looked over at her, his face somehow more menacing — and more sensual — in the candlelight. She held her breath as he reached out, captured her hand in his, lifted it to his mouth. He opened her fingers, revealing her palm, and kissed the center, his lips searing her skin.

  She closed her eyes. Not to try and fight it. There was no fighting. This she already knew. No, she closed her eyes and let herself fall instead.

  He stood, dropping her hand. “Come.”

  He was already to the hall when she rose from her chair. She followed him up the stairs, down the first floor hall. He didn’t turn, didn’t wait for her to catch up. This was Farrell’s game, and they played by his rules.

  A primitive drumbeat had started at the center of her body, radiating outward until it was a pulse between her legs. She was already wet. Already ready. She didn’t know exactly what was to come — she never did with Farrell — but she knew he would own her, and she knew she would welcome his owning.

  They p
assed Lily’s room, then her own, and came to stop at the very end of the hall. She followed him into a bedroom, and he reached around her, the brush of his arm delivering a shock to her system as he shut the door.

  She waited as he turned away, walked farther into the room. He opened the doors to the terrace wider, and a breeze, fragrant with the fields and the residual heat from the summer day touched her bare arms with gentle fingers. She watched as he pulled a book of matches from the nightstand — Farrell always kept matches in his nightstand — and proceeded to light the candles scattered around the room. She focused on the furnishings as everything was slowly illuminated — the enormous bed carved from a rough wood, the black satin sheets, the heavy, dark furniture, as substantial and strong as Farrell himself. It was a simple room considering the rest of the estate, and yet she had no doubt that everything had been carefully chosen, and none of it was cheap.

  Finally he stopped moving, turned to look at her. There was no doubt in her mind now. No fear of the future or indecision about what was best. Because it didn’t matter what the future held. It didn’t matter what was best. It only mattered that she belonged to him. That she always had and always would, just like he’d said in Cornwall. Allowing him to possess her body was an inevitability.

  She walked toward him, stopping when she was a few inches away. She didn’t touch him at first, just searched his eyes for answers she knew she wouldn’t find, for reassurances he wouldn’t offer. When she finally lay a hand against his chest, allowing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat to pulse against her hand, he closed his eyes.

  Like it was painful. Nearly unbearable.

  Maybe it was.

  She lifted her other hand, began undoing the buttons at the front of his shirt. He opened his eyes, looked deeply into hers as she slowly revealed his magnificent chest. When she was done, she slid her hands up his pecs to his shoulders and pushed the fabric off his body.

  He growled, sweeping her into his arms in one easy motion. Playtime was over. Now he would work her his way.

  Leave no part of her body unexplored.

  Leave no part of her soul untouched.

  He set her next to the bed and reached down, pulling off her tank top. Then he knelt in front of her, untied the drawstring on her pants, slid them off her hips. He lifted each of her feet, gently removing the fabric and tossing it aside. He rocked back on his heels, gazing up at her with the kind of adoration usually reserved for worship.

  She didn’t move. He wanted to look, and he would not be rushed.

  This she also knew.

  Finally he stood, lowering his head to her neck, breathing in the scent of her. He was close, so close, but careful not to touch her, not to let so much as an inch of his skin touch hers. This was the discipline in letting Farrell take over her body. The price she paid for the pleasure he would give her later. She pressed her thighs together to kill the heat burning there. It only made things worse, and she tried to force her breathing even as he lifted his hands, unfastened the front clasp of the bra. He pushed it off her shoulders, and she closed her eyes as his gaze swept her body. She was on fire, dying for his touch. She suppressed a whimper, not ready to give him the satisfaction when it would soon become apparent how totally she was at his mercy.

  He stepped back, slipped his hands into the ivory panties and slid them off her body. His face was inches from her pussy. She could almost feel his mouth on her, feel his tongue working her clit. She drew in a breath, trying not to think about it.

  When she was naked, he stood, stepped back, paced in front of her like he wasn’t sure what to do next. She felt exposed in the best and worst of ways. She wasn’t embarrassed; he knew her body better than she did. He would see the taut nipples, the flush on her chest, maybe even the moisture clinging to the smooth lips of her pussy. He knew she wanted him, and the bulge in his pants left no doubt that the feeling was mutual.

  It was always hard to be still when she was naked under his searching gaze, but she did it anyway. This was part of the game. She had made him wait for her. Had made him go without her for three long months. Now she was the one who would wait.

  “What do you want?” he finally said, his voice gruff as he looked at her.

  She swallowed. “You. I want you, Farrell.”

  “You want my cock.” There was a bite to his words, and she knew he was still hurting from her abandonment.

  She met his eyes. “No, I want you. All of you.”

  “For how long?” he asked. “How long this time before you leave me again?”

  She wouldn’t lie to him. That’s not what they did. “I don’t know. I only know that I want you. That I’ve never stopped wanting you. That I never will.”

  He closed the distance between them in two long paces, slid his hands into the hair at the back of her head and claimed her mouth with the kind of force that stole her breath. There was no time to wonder if she’d said the right thing. No time to think about anything except his tongue pillaging, his teeth nibbling at her lower lip, the brush of his shirt against her nipples, the scratch of his trousers against the already aroused mound between her legs.

  She twined her arms around his neck. He lifted her off the ground in one movement, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing her center against his bulging cock until he groaned in her mouth.

  He threw her on the bed, not at all gently, and she propped herself up on her elbows, watching as he unbuckled his belt, freed his cock from the constraint of his pants. A fresh wave of heat wound its way to her center. His cock was as glorious as the rest of him.

  Massive. Hard. Wide. Perfect.

  He advanced on the bed, spreading her legs unceremoniously and positioning himself between them. He grabbed her arms, lifted them over her head, held them in place with one of his big hands as he gazed down at her.

  He didn’t say anything, just looked into her eyes, marking her as surely as if he’d lain a red hot brand on her skin. She squirmed under him. The desire to spread her legs, to nestle him in the cleft at the top of her thighs was instinctual.

  “Don’t move, Jenna,” he said gruffly. “Don’t. You. Move.”

  She forced herself to be still as he lowered his head to her neck, leaving tiny kisses behind her ear, nibbling the lobe on his way down to her collarbone. His free hand wrapped around one breast, pinching the nipple as his mouth worked its way toward the sensitive peak of the other one. She was rendered almost immobile by the press of his body, the position of her hands over her head, but her hips tried to move of their own accord anyway.

  He took her nipple in his mouth, and she gasped, arching her back, wanting the heat to cover every inch of her skin. Wanting to lose herself in it. His cock pressed against her clit as he sucked, the friction sending her close to orgasm.

  It was too soon. Way too soon. She wasn’t ready. She’d dreamed of him every night the last three months. Had imagined the moment every time she touched herself, needing to release the pressure that built in her body in his absence. Sometimes she woke to throbbing between her legs, her need for him so great, she could hardly move from the torture of it.

  No way was she coming yet.

  He moved down her stomach, continuing until he was kneeling between her legs. His gaze raked her body, and he put his hand on her belly, the big palm spanning her midsection. The place where Lily had grown when they’d been apart. He looked at her like she was something sacred, and she heard the word in her mind even before he spoke it.

  “Mine.”

  She nodded, and he lowered his head to her stomach, touching his mouth to her skin and sliding farther down her body. He spread her legs, looking into her eyes as he ran a finger between her soaking folds, watching her face as she moaned.

  He leaned toward the nightstand and pulled something from the drawer. When he returned, she was unsurprised to find that it was a vibrator. Her body hummed in anticipation. The only thing better than Farrell in command of her body was Farrell in command of her body with sex to
ys at his disposal.

  As a newly graduated twenty-two-year old, it had been shocking to realize how far she would go to find pleasure. She’d been used to uni boys — drunken sex that lasted less time than it took her to shower in the morning before class.

  Then she met Farrell, and he’d immersed her in a world she hadn’t known existed. She’d accepted it all. More than that, she’d relished it, finding an outlet for the unfettered passion that had lurked in her body, hidden behind a rational facade.

  Now he repositioned himself between her legs, the vibrator in one hand as he used his thumb to brush her clit.

  She flinched like she’d been burned.

  “Too soon to be afraid, Jenna,” he murmured. “Too soon and too late.”

  He bent his head, his breath soft against the petals of her pussy in the moment before he lowered his head. He ran his tongue through the wet creases shielding her center, then flicked it against her clit. Her hips came up off the bed, and he reached up, put his hand on her belly, forced her still as his mouth locked onto the little nub.

  She fisted the sheets as he alternately sucked and licked, his tongue bringing her close to orgasm again and again, then pulling back, moving to a less sensitive part of her center just before she tumbled over the edge.

  She was already out of her mind when she heard the vibrator, felt the slide of it into her as he returned his mouth to her clit. She cried out as he moved the vibrator inside her, working it in time to the rhythm of his mouth. The dildo was nowhere near as big as his cock — that would come later — but the soft pulse of it between her thighs coupled with the expert attention of his tongue sent her barreling toward the orgasm that had been teasing her since the moment he started touching her.