I was in a sea of pure sensation.
Nothing mattered to me but the feeling of his hard cock sliding inside my tight sheath, the feel of his breath against my lips. He was the center of my world, and I his. Needing to break the connection, I lowered my mouth to his neck and bit down lightly at the skin above the collar of his shirt.
"No," he bit out as he reached out and yanked my hair back so I was forced to look at him again. "Look at me. Keep your eyes on me, cara. I want to see you."
He was taking me over and he knew it. I couldn't allow it, but there was something about my dark angel that I simply couldn't fight, not while he was deep inside me. I flexed the muscles of my pussy on his thick cock, making him curse as I squeezed him.
"I'm close, Angelo. Make me come again."
"Yes," he hissed out. "Come on my cock and milk me."
I felt my body tighten with another orgasm, swiveled my hips so my swollen clit rubbed against him to heighten my pleasure. I gasped as my body exploded. His mouth captured mine, muffling both of our cries as this time I took him with me.
My pussy rippled over his rock hard cock as he thrust once, twice, three times, then buried his face into the crook of my neck as he spilled his hot come inside me.
He rested there a minute, holding me to him, both of us grabbing each other for support. Finally, he pulled out of me and looked at me with wild eyes. We stared at each other like that for a moment, our breath coming out in ragged gasps.
After a long moment, he broke the silence, staring into my eyes as he spoke. "Don’t doubt me again, Karen,” he said. “I always keep my word. Believe that.”
I looked at him, eyes narrowed.
“As do I.”
Chapter Three
It had been two days since my erotic encounter with Angelo DeSilvo in the dark alley behind his restaurant. After we’d come together, we stayed together in the alley for several minutes, both of us dealing with the emotional aftermath of our tryst in silence. It hadn't been awkward, which surprised me.
In fact, the quiet somehow seemed to strengthen the strange connection between us. I could feel each breath he took, felt every exhalation as he nuzzled the sensitive skin of my neck.
And in his arms, I'd felt... safe.
It had giving me a sense of contentment that I didn't want to think about, because I knew it was an illusion. He wasn't safe at all. Angelo DeSilvo was a devil, tempting me with the promise of passion, but I wanted more than that. Even though I'd had my share of men, I had to be honest with myself and my heart – the truth was, I looking for love. I'd refused to settle for anything less than a man I was wildly, deeply in love with. Angelo had the potential to be that man, but he was dangerous – to me and to my heart. He wasn't a man someone could date to see where it would go. If I got involved with him he would try to take me over completely. And that was something I would never allow.
Once Angelo had pulled out of me he got rid of the condom while I straightened my clothes and found my purse on the ground where I'd dropped it. I'd tossed my destroyed thong into a trash bin and when I turned back he had been watching me with those dark, intense eyes. I could see he'd distanced himself from me, not just by taking a few steps away, but it was there in his eyes. I could read him as clearly as he seemed to be able to read me.
And what I saw was that neither of us knew what the hell to say to the other. We'd used our bodies to speak in such a profound way that now the words just wouldn't come. I mean, what could we say? We still didn't know each other no matter how connected we'd been when he'd been inside me.
Angelo had reached into his pocket and took something out, offering it to me. When I looked down I'd seen it was a business card.
"Call me, Karen."
And that had been it.
I had taken the card and walked out of that alley, hailing a cab as soon as I made it back to the street. I'd spent the entire cab ride home staring at that card. I was amazed at how a simple scrap of paper could be so powerful. Somehow I knew if I called the number on the card, it might just be the catalyst that would change my life.
And so, before I could second-guess myself I had ripped the card in half, then again and again until there were nothing but tiny pieces left. I'd opened the window and tossed the scrapes out, watching them fall like snowflakes disappearing into the dark.
I'd spent the last few days locked in my apartment, holed up and trying to make sense of my encounter with Angelo. I’d tried writing about him in my diary, something I hadn’t done in a while. But this time, the words had flowed out of me as if my subconscious wanted to purge the memory from my mind. It helped me make sense of this story, seeing it down on the page in black and white.
The only problem was, I didn't know how this story ended.
The phone rang, startling me out of my musings and I smiled as I looked at the caller ID of my cell phone. I answered it and said, "Hi, Garrett!"
Garrett Jones was a brilliant photographer that I had dated a few years ago. He was one of the few men that I could call a true friend, even after the fire of lust had burned out between us. I wanted to curse as I remembered that he had a photography show coming up...or had I missed it?
Some friend I was.
"Karen! Where the hell have you been, love? You've been MIA for weeks," Garrett said with a laugh.
I groaned. "I know, I know. Sorry about that. You know how life gets… New York’s a crazy city. You never know what’s waiting around the corner.” Or waiting to fuck you silly in an alley-way, I thought to myself.
"Well, even so, you’d better be taking a break tonight. You are still coming to my show, right?" He asked.
I exhaled in relief. Thank God I hadn't missed it. "I wouldn't miss it for the world! Garrett, I'm so proud of you. Really. I can't wait to see all of your new photographs."
He cleared his throat. "About that..."
Uh oh...an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
"The gallery owner asked if I'd include a selection of portrait shots for this showing..."
That gave me pause. "But you don't do portraits, right? You do landscapes and other stills."
He breathed out heavily. "I know. But I did have a few. Do you remember those photographs that I took of us that night after we went to that charity auction?"
Oh shit...
Suddenly, I remembered the night he was referring to, in all-too-vivid detail. I'd had way too much to drink that evening at the benefit gala, and when we had gotten back to his place I had agreed to allow Garrett to take pictures of us while we had been making love. The pictures had been tasteful and artistic, yet they were still incredibly raw and graphic. They had been in black and white, capturing us in various positions, while still mostly covering any of the naughty bits that would have made them something that I would truly have regretted.
I looked around the walls of my office. Garrett had gifted me a full set of the framed photos as a Christmas present last year. You couldn't see either of our faces in most of them, but still, the thought of people looking at my naked body in an art gallery had me gulping in dismay. I wasn't expecting this.
"Umm, Garrett..."
"I know. I know,” he said. “I promise, Karen, you have nothing to worry about. I only selected a few of us from that night, and a couple of you alone – but they don't show either of our faces. They could be anyone. And to tell you the truth, we look fucking hot together, Karen. You look simply beautiful in them. Even though it’s not my usual style, I really think it’s some of the best work I've done. I wouldn't do this to you, but the curator only asked me two days ago, and he’s made it seem like it was essential to complete the collection for the showing."
I sighed. "It's fine. But I swear I'll kill you if you have my face in any of them."
Garrett's relief was evident as he laughed. "I promise they don't. I just wanted to make sure I told you before you got here tonight."
"Yeah, that was probably smart. I wouldn't want to kill you at your
own show."
He laughed again. "I'll see you tonight, love. Bye!"
I hung up the phone and shook my head. This was certainly going to be an interesting night. The phone rang again and when I answered it was Garrett again.
"Come a little early tonight, would you? It starts at seven, but I could use the support in case no one else shows up."
This time I laughed. "Stop worrying. People will come."
"Well, come early anyways. We'll drink champagne together and you can tell me how talented I am.”
I laughed again. "Will do."
I hung up the phone, but it immediately rang again. I rolled my eyes as I answered it. "Stop calling me, you psycho!"
There was a long pause then I heard a voice say, "Karen."
Shit, it wasn't Garrett. I knew that voice – I’d know it anywhere. It had haunted my dreams for the last two days. Angelo DeSilvo had found my number, and now he was calling me. A thousand butterflies took flight inside me, and I immediately felt myself get wet by his saying my name. Even though I knew it was him, I wouldn't let him know that he got to me that easy.
"Uh, may I ask who’s calling?" I asked cautiously. I could practically imagine his teeth grinding together on the other end of the line. I smiled.
"This is Angelo," he said tightly.
"Oh, hi Angelo. How did you get my number?"
"I have my ways." His voice lowered and I could hear the tinge of anger that entered it as he continued. "Who did you think was calling you, Karen? Is someone bothering you?” He sounded incredibly earnest and concerned all of a sudden. “I have ways of taking care of them, if that’s the case."
Shit, why did that scare me and get me hot at the same time? And what exactly was he threatening to do?
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, intrigued now. He paused.
"Nothing,” he said. “I just meant that I can look into it if someone’s bothering you. I have...connections."
I laughed. "What, like the mafia or something?"
The sound of his deep chuckle filled my head and make me breathless just listening to it. I wished that he was in front of me so I could see that small dimple appear on his cheek. "You still haven't answered my question, Karen. Is someone bothering you?"
His own refusal to answer my question didn't make me feel any better. Who was this man, really? First he tracks down my number, and then he offers to “take care of someone” for me? I nibbled at my lower lip as I pondered what the hell to do with him now. I'd tried to avoid contacting him again when I got rid of his card, but that obviously hadn't deterred him. Still, a part of me was thrilled that he had sought me out, no matter how confused he made me feel.
"It's nothing like that,” I said. “I was just talking to a friend and though you were him calling again.”
He seemed to accept this explanation, and moved on to another topic. "You never called me," he said, making my nerves flutter again. There was that anger again. I don't know how I knew it, but I did – I could feel his anger, coming through clearly over the phone line. He had expected me to call him, and he was a man used to getting his way.
"No, I didn't. I...don't have your card." That was partly true, at least. "How did you get my number?" I asked again.
He ignored my question and asked another one of his own. "A funny thing happened when I was tracking down a way to contact you, Karen. I happened to notice that there was no mention of you being an author." His voice hardened. "I don't particularly like liars."
Really? Who the hell did he think he was? My own voice dripped with sarcasm as I responded. "Gee, you know there is this thing that some authors use called a pen name. Ever heard of it? If you just called me to insult me then—"
"I hadn't thought of that."
Obviously.
"Forgive me, cara,” he continued, all apologetic now. “I was upset when I hadn't heard from you, and even more so when I couldn't find your work. I’m sorry I doubted you. Have dinner with me tonight and let me make up for it."
I wanted to say yes. God, did I want to see him again, but I couldn't. "I'm sorry, I can't. I'm busy tonight. How about tomorrow?"
A normal man would have let it go and agreed to a date the following day. Not Angelo though. There was nothing normal about my dark angel.
"What are you doing tonight, Karen?"
"Oh, my friend had a showing at an art gallery that I promised I'd go to. It's his first big show for his photos and I can't miss it."
"Then I'll go with you."
I started to agree, but then the words froze in my throat as I realized he couldn't come with me. Something told me that having Angelo see those naked pictures of me would be a really bad idea. "I don't think so,” I said.
"Why not?" he snapped out.
I found myself faltering. "I'm...ah...going to be busy with my friend and there are pictures that...umm, you probably don't want to see," I stuttered out. My god, the man actually had me fumbling for words. I needed to end this conversation. Fast. "Listen, I have to go and get ready soon. Why don't we have dinner tomorrow?"
There was a long pause then Angelo said, "I'll see you soon, Karen."
I listened to the click as he ended the call. For a moment I simply stared at the phone in my hand. That wasn't the response I had been looking for. He hadn't said yes to dinner tomorrow. Dread filled me as I played back the words he did say. He wouldn't... no, he couldn't just show up tonight.
Besides, I hadn't told him where I was going.
Even so, the unease stayed with me as I got ready to meet my friend at the art gallery. Questions fluttered through my mind, making me crazy. Who was Angelo DeSilvo? And what had he meant about those “connections” of his?
And why, oh why was I so desperately, undeniably giddy to see him again?
Chapter Four
The gallery was already packed by the time my taxi pulled up in front. I paid the driver and got out. I smoothed down the skirt of my dress and smiled at the doorman as he held the glass door open for me to enter the building. I had chosen a new, white strapless dress with artsy purple flowers scattered on the knee-length skirt. I'd paired it with a vivid eggplant colored shawl and matching stilettos and clutch purse.
I did have a weakness for my accessories.
Classical music filled the air as I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. I looked around the room and saw a clever mixture of sculptures strategically placed around the room on stands that were clearly pieces done by other artists. But the walls were covered with my friend Garrett's work and, from what I saw, he had truly outdone himself. I walked up to a particular still of the Brooklyn Bridge and the New York skyline with the sky lit up in the background like fire at sunset. Wow. It was truly spectacular, and for some unknowable reason, I found that I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
I wanted that photo… No, I needed that photo.
"There you are!"
I turned around and found myself smothered in a hug. Laughing, I wrapped my arms around Garrett and returned his embrace. "Garrett!" I pulled back and smiled at him. "Congratulations, sweetie! This is amazing!"
Garrett Jones was a handsome man, the epitome of the bad-boy biker. He had an edge to him with his multiple tattoos and long dark-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, but what people didn't know what he had the soul of a poet. Garrett and I had dated for a few months, and it didn't take long to discover we were better off as friends. Now, I loved him like a brother, and the pride I felt as I saw his work covering the room was overwhelming.
"People came!" Garrett whispered as he gripped my arms, hard enough in his excitement to make me yelp and pull my arm away in laughter. "Can you believe it?"
I laughed. "I know, Garrett. Your first official showing is a success! I'm so proud of you."
"Don't say that!" he hissed. "It won't be official until I sell some shit."
"You will," I promised then turned to point at the photo I had been looking at. "Actually, I want to buy this one."
&nbs
p; Garrett shook his head. "No. I'll make you a copy, but you are absolutely not allowed to buy anything tonight. After what you did for me? Hell, no!"
Nerves had my stomach fluttering. Shit. I'd forgotten about the nude photos of me for a moment. Casting a discreet glance around the room I sighed in relief when I didn't see them. "I don't see—"
"They're in here." Garrett steered me into an adjacent room, and my breath caught in my throat as we entered. The light was dimmer than in the main showroom, creating an intimate feel in the smaller room. Several patrons stood, staring fixated at the large black and white photographs covering the walls.
There in front of me was the photographic evidence of our night of passion, so long ago – and it was captured in a visual display so erotic it made me wet just looking at it. Garrett had been true to his word, and neither of our faces showed in any of the pictures, not that it mattered. It was clear by the tattoo-work on the man that it was Garrett in the photos, or I should say it would be clear to anyone that had seen him naked.
And as for me...
I could see the same body I saw in the mirror every day, but in the pictures I looked... simply amazing, somehow. I certainly didn’t consider myself to be a “perfect 10” type of girl, and though I did have my share of admirers, I still found plenty wrong with the body I saw in the mirror. But by some trick of the light, or some photographic artistry Garrett had turned me into a goddess – someone to be desired by all who saw me. In a few of the pictures my full breasts were cupped in his large hands, covering up most of the flesh but letting my nipples poke out towards the camera in a sultry, teasing pose. In others, he had highlighted the curve of my spine or focused on the contours of my torso. These photos were hot.
Seeing my body on display like this, for the whole world to stare at, was simultaneously exhilarating and scary as hell. Our bodies were captured in sensual poses so graphic that I shivered as memories of that night invaded my mind, but surprisingly Garrett wasn't the man I saw myself entwined with.
DARK ANGEL: A Mafia Romance -- Book One: Hunter, Hunted Page 3