I shifted on my heels, waiting for the smallest cue to get the hell out of here.
“Touch one of our women against her will and see how fairly we’ll treat you,” Ricardo growled.
“Against her will?” The Abelli laughed. “I could have her begging for my cock in no time.”
Hardly.
Salvatore Abelli appeared almost amused at the exchange, and Ace only sat there, leaning back in his chair, not in any hurry to stop the words from being hurtled back and forth. His eyes expressed how ridiculous he thought this was, but he seemed resigned to let it play out. And I knew why: I was the perfect experiment to see how the families would react to the other’s taunts.
“Keep laughing,” said someone else. “Everyone knows you have to pay for any of the pussy you get.”
A few laughs broke out.
The Abelli’s face reddened. “I’d get more than that. I’ll tell you how her ass feels, Rus—”
Without a look in the Abelli’s direction, Allister pulled a pistol from his jacket.
Pop.
The gunshot reverberated off the walls and rang in my ears. Everything but my heart went still. I stared, watched the Abelli slump from his chair to the floor.
It was so quiet I could hear each drop of water falling from my dress to the concrete floor. Drip . . . drip . . . drip.
A chill passed through me as Christian put the pistol away without a flicker of emotion.
Tony Abelli wiped blood splatter from his face. Luca shook his head. Ace looked at his watch.
“What the fuck, Allister?” growled Salvatore.
The fed’s response was as dry as his eyes were cold. “He was annoying me.”
Strained silence reigned for a moment, and then Jimmy’s booming laughter filled the room, parting the tension like the Red Sea.
My God, this was madness.
I stepped back when everyone’s gazes suddenly came to me. “Um . . . I’m just gonna . . . yeah.” I took the stairs two at a time and disappeared out the door.
I practically ran through the club, my racing heart pushing me outside and back into the rain. It fell on my overheated skin like a cool caress.
The sky was dark and the streets were quiet. Not seeing a single cab, I crossed my arms and headed down the sidewalk to the next block over.
The club door slammed shut behind me. I halted where I stood, feeling his presence before he’d even said a word.
His cold and brutal slaying still played in my mind, sending a shiver of alarm down my spine. Christian Allister didn’t think twice about taking someone’s life. I suddenly feared the day he’d decide mine was too great of an inconvenience.
I turned around, thinking that here, on the street, was the best place to face him rather than anywhere else.
The rain blurred the broad span of his shoulders, the blue hue of his suit, the handsome lines of his face, but the anger in his eyes shone through like a flash of lightning in the distance.
The longer he stared at me, the further the tension stretched, wrapping around my lungs and tightening. His gaze descended over my dress. The look burned, from my breasts, to the wet material sticking to my midsection, to my smooth, bare thighs. It was as real as a rough hand sliding down my body; as tangible as the cool drops of rain on my skin.
He broke the silence. “I’ll take you home.”
It could have been a generous offer, but the displeased edge in his voice, as if he’d rather be doing anything else, ruined it.
Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to refuse—
“I’m not asking you, Gianna.”
I bit my tongue. If I argued with him, I had no doubt he’d carry me kicking and screaming to his car. And I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore.
We walked side-by-side into the parking garage. My skin lit like a beacon to each move he made. My pulse played in tune with his steps. My breath faltered with every minuscule touch of his arm against mine. The tension that lay between us grew tauter with every second that passed. Pulling and pulling, until it threatened to snap.
“What are you wearing?” He said it calmly and slowly, but the anger was laced too finely to be masked.
“Dolce and Gabbana.”
“The jacket?”
I sawed my bottom lip.
“Let me guess, it’s from the Vincent Monroe Collection.”
I didn’t deny it.
He shook his head, letting out a sardonic breath between his teeth.
Uncertainty slid down my back. He was mad at me for interrupting his stupid meeting no doubt, yet I couldn’t seem to hold onto any frustration in return. Not with this pressure in my chest that seemed to expand from a single look from him.
He twisted his watch on his wrist, once, twice, three times. “As much as everyone enjoyed that little show back there—A-plus on the entrance, by the way—I’m still trying to figure out if you’re an attention-seeker, or just an idiot.”
I flinched, knowing it hadn’t been my finest moment.
“My guess is the former. Trying to reel in a crowd for your next husband audition?”
Anger finally lit in my stomach, but I quelled it before it could escape. He was trying to goad me. He wanted me to respond, and I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. This rivalry with him didn’t make me feel good. It often left a regretful and restless feeling in my chest for days after our exchanges. It couldn’t be healthy. I was dropping Christian Allister, just like blow.
“There isn’t a man on this earth I would ever marry again.”
“But somehow Richard Marino passed muster?” His words were a vicious bite against my skin. “Call me crazy, but I don’t believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want, Allister. I don’t care what you think about me.”
“Just everyone else, huh?”
I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me, or if he was angry I didn’t hold his opinion in high regard. I tried to gauge his expression, but it was just as cold as a Siberian winter.
“You’ll marry again, Gianna, because that’s what good Italian girls do.”
“I’ll run before I’m ever forced to marry again.” The unwavering words shocked me as they hit the air because every one of them was true. I had never admitted it to myself out loud, even as I’d begun to collect a sizeable nest egg to start over wherever I wanted.
“Ah, sweetheart . . .” He let out a bitter noise as we reached his car. “We both know you weren’t reluctant to wed Antonio.”
I faltered. I hadn’t yet met Christian at that point in my life, so how did he know what opinion I’d held about my marriage? My heart beat, fast and unsure. Did he know why I hadn’t been reluctant? Did he know more about my childhood than I would ever tell him? A cold sweat drifted through me. He was so much smarter, so much more perceptive than me, and I despised him for it. I would never beat him.
“I’m done playing games with you.”
He opened the passenger door for me like the quintessential gentleman, his words amused and cynical. “Is that what you think we do? Play games?”
“I don’t care what you call it. I’m done! With this.” I gestured between us. “With you.”
Like the set of the sun, his eyes filled with darkness. A merciless darkness that wrapped around my soul and pulled.
The force of the snap made me fall back a step.
He slammed the car door. Stalked toward me.
“You’ll never be done with me.”
He grasped me by the throat, pushed me back against the car, and swallowed my next breath in his mouth.
AN EXPLOSION OF FIRE BURST inside me, spreading from my stomach to the tips of my fingers. My blood sizzled. My body tingled. I couldn’t breathe.
The press of his lips against mine hit me with such intensity my first response was to push him away. I brought my palms up to his chest to shove him as hard as I could, but when he nipped at my bottom lip and then licked it, soothing the sharp sting with his tongue, want filled my veins with boiling wa
ter. A moan traveled up my throat. My fingers curled, and I scraped my nails down his stomach, stopping at his belt buckle.
He hissed against my lips and then slid his tongue inside my mouth. I felt that wet glide between my legs. Just the knowledge that his hands were on me sent a tremble through me, but the feel of them—the palm sliding over my hip to the curve of my ass; the gentle yet unyielding grasp on my throat—incinerated any of the resistance left in me. I swayed toward him, my body melting against his.
His lips left mine after I’d only had a single taste of him, and protest flooded my veins. I suddenly wondered how many women he’d kissed in Seattle, but the thought was only fleeting as he moved a hand into my wet hair, grabbing a fistful and tilting my head. He nipped a line down my neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and lightly sucking. My heartbeat dropped like a weight between my legs.
The heat of his body, the force of his presence, the anger in his movements—it stole my breath. With my palms resting on his stomach, I could only pant like some kind of pliant doll while he nipped and sucked at my throat, my collarbone, the tops of my breasts.
His fingers glided up the outsides of my legs, drawing my dress upward until a glimpse of my white thong showed at the junction of my thighs. He dropped his gaze, and the warmth of it seared through the material, brushing my clit as strongly as if he’d touched me there. Heat tugged in my lower stomach. I rolled my hips, closing the small distance between us, trying to find some relief from the ache inside.
A car alarm sounded from somewhere on the street, but the noise barely registered as his eyes followed his hands over my body. He wasn’t kissing me anymore. Just touching me, in the soft sound of our breaths and the patter of rain.
He was rough yet meticulous in his movements, as if he was infatuated with every curve and dip but hated himself for it. He slid a palm lower to grab a handful of my ass, and then he placed a slap on my cheek, caressing the sting with a rough palm.
A low moan traveled up my throat, and I lightly bit down on his chest to keep it in. My insides liquefied, my limbs light as air, while I let this man touch my body without even kissing me in return. There was something so filthy about it, so far from romantic—it was making me hotter than I’d ever been.
He rubbed the string between my cheeks, up and down, pausing just before reaching the wet material between my thighs. I couldn’t breathe as every nerve in my body waited in anticipation for how low he would go. Desperation was eating away at me, burning and clawing at my insides. I couldn’t take it any longer.
“Christian . . .”
His eyes were dark enough to emanate one of my nightmares. They fell to my mouth. He braced his hands on the car on either side of me and leaned in. I was so sure he was going to kiss me, I shook with the anticipation of it, but instead of meeting my lips, he placed a single kiss on my neck.
“If you ran, Gianna . . .” The words were malicious yet somehow as soft and desperate as sex in a war-torn field. He pressed his lips to my ear. “I would find you.”
I broke out in shivers.
And drag me back? was what I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t find the voice.
At this point, I didn’t care what he said. I wanted him so badly I trembled. I could attribute it to the fact it had been too long since I’d had sex or even been touched for that matter, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. No matter how much I hated him, this man had always done something for me.
Cupping his erection, I slid my hand up and down his length, from base to tip.
He drew in a rough breath between his teeth, dropping his gaze to watch me rub him off through his pants.
I’d never thought another man’s hard-on was so hot in my life. Just the weight of it filling my palm sent a hazy wave of lust through my blood.
While he was distracted watching the movement of my hand, I rose to my toes and kissed him. A rumble resounded in his chest, half-groan, half-growl, as my tongue met his only once—a hot, wet sweep—and then I pulled away before he could.
I came back breathless. And a bit delirious.
The urge hit me so strongly my mouth watered. I didn’t care that it was two o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday, or that we stood in a public parking garage. I wanted him in my mouth, even if it was all I could get. I worked on his belt buckle with every intention of dropping to my knees right here.
He made a tortured noise and muttered some thick Russian word. Before I could lower myself, he spun me around and pushed my front against the trunk of his car. I gasped but swallowed it as the heat of his body met my back.
He pulled my hair to one side and pressed his face into my neck. A shudder erupted beneath my skin, warm from his soft touch and cold from the volatile energy emanating from him.
“I thought you were done with me, Gianna.”
Oh.
I was. I am, I wanted to say, but the press of his lips against the hollow of my ear stole my breath and voice. All I could do was shake my head because I couldn’t bear to let this end, not yet.
“Say it.”
I shook my head again, but my mouth betrayed me. “I’m not.”
“You’re not, what?” he murmured, tracing the edge of my ear with his tongue.
Goosebumps ran down my arms.
“I’m not done with you,” I breathed. I’d always known it wouldn’t be that easy.
A growl of satisfaction against the nape of my neck, and then a little nip.
“Back seat.”
I listened to the command without a single thought, but before I could get far, a snag caught my sleeve and ripped the jacket off me in one smooth move. I turned my head just in time to see it landing in a puddle on the ground.
His gaze was on me, dry and caustic, but it quickly filled with heat when his attention dropped down my body. My dress was still pulled up indecently, baring the smooth curves of my ass. My skin tingled, and heat bloomed inside me. Letting this man see my naked body was more thrilling than it should have ever been. He was so formal and uptight, anything remotely sexual felt so much dirtier with him.
As soon as he pulled the door closed, shutting us in the back seat of his car, I straddled his hips. He let out a rough breath, watching me lazily, as I ran my hands up his chest, over his neck, into his thick hair, and then down his biceps.
His suit jacket was only in the way, and he let me push it off his shoulders and toss it to the floor. The white dress shirt fit him like a second skin, highlighting his strength, his utter masculinity, and I was infatuated with every inch of him. He tensed as I ran my nails down his arms, wanting to sink my teeth into them.
Grabbing my hips, he pulled me closer to sit me on his erection. The hardness lined up with the damp material of my panties, and a wave of lust blurred my vision. I couldn’t stop myself from rocking against him. Riding him just like I did my pillow while secretly pretending it was him late at night.
My eyes, half-lidded and hazy, met his.
He traced my lips with a thumb, pulling the bottom one down before releasing it.
I leaned in to kiss him but he held me back.
His voice was dark. “No more Vincent Monroe, Gianna.”
“You threatened him.”
“Hardly.”
I should be angry—angry that he approached Vincent, angry that he thought he held some authority in my life, but at the time, I could only think about how he’d taken me home when I was drunk, took off my shoes, and left a glass of water on my nightstand.
“There is no Vincent Monroe,” I breathed.
When he released me, I didn’t hesitate to press my mouth to his. This time, he kissed me, lazy and sweet, before pulling back with a long, deep lick that wasn’t much of a kiss at all.
Fisting the string of my thong, he ripped the material at my hip, leaving a sharp sting behind. My panties fell down one thigh, baring me to his eyes completely.
He ran a thumb down my landing strip, voice hoarse. “I’ve wondered if this was still here.”
A smile touched my lips. “You’ve been thinking about me, huh?” I’d only been teasing him by repeating something he’d once said to me and certainly didn’t expect his response.
“Only when I need to come.”
My smile fell, and my breathing shallowed.
I met his eyes to see he was owning what he’d said completely, and something about the admission was so incredibly hot, it brought a rush of honesty from me.
“Ditto,” I whispered.
A groan resounded in his chest, and then he kissed me. Slipped his tongue into my mouth. Pulled my bottom lip between his teeth. Kissing Christian Allister made me feel more alive than any drug ever could.
I tried to undo the buttons on his shirt, but he grabbed my wrists and stopped me. Something cold settled in my stomach. I worked myself free from his grip, and as if he hadn’t already denied me once, I tried again, only to get the same result.
“It’s staying on,” he said harshly against my lips.
He wouldn’t let me touch him, not really. And sitting here with my body on shameless display, it suddenly felt . . . humiliating. I pulled away, tugged my dress down, and reached for the door handle.
“Fuck no,” he growled, grabbing my wrist. “You got me this hard, Gianna. You’re gonna stick around and fix it.”
“Fix it yourself, stronzo.”
“You’re an attention-seeker, sure, but not a fucking tease.”
“And you’re a selfish bastard who takes and doesn’t give anything in return,” I snapped.
“Selfish?” He laughed. “I ate your pussy for so long last time I can still taste you three years later.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re crude.”
“Don’t play the innocent virgin with me, Gianna. I haven’t seen you blush a single time in my life.”
I let out a little growl. “I don’t like you at all. Let me out.”
Why had I thought this was a good idea? There were so many ups and downs with this man it made my head spin.
We stared at each other in a silent battle of wills.
His jaw ticked. And then he pulled his dress shirt from his pants, grabbed my hand, and slid it over his stomach and up his chest. He was compromising with me, allowing me to touch him without taking off his shirt.
The Maddest Obsession (Made Book 2) Page 15