Morally Ambiguous: A Dark Mafia Romance (Morally Questionable Book 4)

by Veronica Lancet

  He turns to me, and a little pensively he comments, "you're right. It does look like a date."

  Without adding anything more, he walks in front of me, setting the basket down and laying the blankets on the sand.

  I shake my head at him, realizing he just can't take a hint.

  It does look like a date?

  Would it have been that hard to agree it is a date?

  I rub my arms with my hands as the chilly night air brushes against my skin. I didn't realize it would be this cold on a summer night, but I guess it's because of the ocean breeze.

  "Done!" He exclaims, sporting a proud expression as he looks down at the little picnic he'd set up.

  "Good job," I add drily, and his smile suddenly falls.

  "You don't like it." He states, his expression downcast.

  "No, I do," I quickly reassure him. "I love that you put so much thought into this," I add, and his face lights up.

  "Perfect! I wasn't sure what girls like..." he says, scratching the back of his head. Suddenly I realize I'm not the only one who is confused.

  The more I think about it, the more I can't control myself as I burst into laughter. Vlad looks at me like a lost puppy, as if his very life depends on my acceptance.

  "Then why..." he trails off, and I want nothing more than take him in my arms and shower him with kisses.

  How is it that this practiced killer can be confident and deadly one moment and then become so timid and unsure of himself the next?

  "I just realized that I've been going about everything the wrong way," I tell him, lowering myself to the blanket and patting the seat next to me for him. He sits down, his eyes big and full of curiosity as he glues himself to me.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've been second-guessing everything that's been happening between us, thinking that maybe you don't find me attractive or..." I feel my cheeks heat up and for some reason I have a hard time bringing up the fact that I'd thought he wasn't into women, "or that you didn't necessarily like women," I finally admit.

  "You... thought..." a smile pulls at his lips before he also starts laughing. "Oh, Sisi, if you only knew..." he groans, bringing his face next to mine. Our noses are touching, our eyes having their own staring contest.

  "I like women," he states bluntly, "one woman specifically," he amends, and my lips twitch in response. "But I admit I'm not the best at dealing with women since you're about the only one I've been around in a very long time."

  "I think we've settled that neither of us are great at understanding the opposite sex," I mention jokingly.

  His eyes darken and his gaze bores into me. Chills erupt all over my body as I soak in his intensity.

  "Make no mistake, however," he whispers, his breath so close to my skin.

  "Yes?" I ask breathlessly.

  "I find you very attractive, Sisi. So much so that every time you leave I have to take a fucking cold shower. Is that what you want to hear? That just being near you makes me so painfully hard I'd like nothing more than to lift up your skirt," his fingers brush my leg as he takes the hem of my dress up in a tantalizingly slow motion, "and fuck you raw and bloody until we're both spent," his mouth nuzzles at my throat.

  "Why don't you?" My voice comes out on a low moan.

  "Oh I will, just not yet," he brushes his cheek over the skin right above my collarbone, "this isn't a race to the finish line, it's a marathon. And for the first time in my life, I find that I'd rather have patience," his lips press right above my heart, "and unwrap you bit by bit."

  Suddenly, he tears his mouth from my body, standing up and taking his shirt off. My eyes widen as I take in his sculpted torso, the entirety of it a canvas for a myriad images. There's barely any spot left untouched by ink.

  "Wow," I whisper.

  The corners of his mouth curl up, and he wastes no time in picking me off the blanket and taking me into his arms.

  "What?"

  "I brought you to the ocean to enjoy the ocean," he says in my hair as he dashes towards the violent waves of the ocean.

  My arms tighten around his neck as he plunges us both in the cold water.

  We both go down as he fully submerges us in the water. My hands tighten around him, but he doesn't let go of me, not even for a second.

  "What?" I ask, sputtering when we finally come back to the surface. The water is incredibly cold, and I suddenly start shivering. "Why would you do that?" I demand, scandalized.

  Vlad has a wicked smile on his face, and it doesn't seem like the cold does much to his body. No, his skin is still incredibly warm as I huddle closer to him.

  "I needed a cold shower," he retorts, and I can only stare at him open-mouthed.

  "You mean..." I trail off, pointing to his lower half.

  He tugs me closer until my front is flush against his, and I can feel the hard outline of him.

  God, he's huge!

  "How could you think I wasn't attracted to you when look like hot sin," his hand trails down my neck, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin. "I only need to look at your fucking tits and all the blood rushes down to my cock," he rasps, his molten voice the fire I needed to keep warm in the water.

  "Then let me help you," I whisper, my hands already going to the front fastening of my gown, untying the knot and slowly slipping the material from my body.

  My breasts bounce free from the confines of the bodice, and Vlad's gaze is immediately fixated on my puckered nipples.

  "It's cold," I quickly make the excuse, but he cuts me off, shaking his head as he stares at them reverently.

  His hand slowly moves lower as he explores the valley of my breasts, his touch hot and exciting.

  "Fuck me," he curses under his breath on a whistle. One hand sneaks behind my waist as he prompts me to wrap my legs around his waist, bringing that hard part of him in contact with my center.

  A whimper escapes me at the sensation, and I can't help myself as I keep on rubbing against him.

  "Damn it, hell girl, you're driving me crazy," he says, bending his head and giving one breast a long lick before wrapping his lips around my nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

  The warmth of his mouth contrasts with my cold skin, the effect on my body sublime. He follows the contour of my breast, laying small kisses on the scar right above my heart. At any other moment, I'd feel self-conscious of the many marks on my body, but as he continues to worship my flesh like it's the eighth wonder of the world, I can't seem to muster the shame.

  I tighten my legs around him, urging him on as I keep on grinding against him, his tongue doing marvels to my flesh. He takes turns between both breasts, sucking, teasing and licking.

  "I could feast on you forever," he speaks, his hot breath making me gasp. Taking one bud between his teeth, he bites. Hard.

  "Vlad," I half-moan half yell as I feel a shot of lightning go straight to my core. "I'm so close," I barely manage to words out, but he seems to know exactly what I need as he continues to lavish the same type of attention to the other nipple until I'm spasming in his arms. The cold of the water is promptly forgotten as I feel tingles spread through my entire body.

  My body spent, my limbs almost numb, I barely realize when he's carrying me out of the water.

  He lays me gently on the blanket, his eyes still hungry as he looks at my half-naked body.

  Kneeling between my legs, he grabs me by the ankles, dragging me to him, his hands roaming up my calves.

  "I'm glad you were hidden at Sacre Coeur until now," he admits, his voice gruff. I tilt my head to get a better look at him, his eyes glazed with desire as his fingers explore my body.

  "Why?" I ask languidly, my senses still overwhelmed from the pleasure he'd racked from me body earlier.

  "Because you're for my eyes only." He uses one finger to lift the hem of my dress, pushing it over my thighs. I follow his movements closely, and just when I think I have his trajectory figured out, he surprises me by grabbing on to my dress with both hands and ripping it in the
middle. The material falls away immediately, his strength amazing me once more.

  The hands of a killer.

  A quick intake of breath and I realize there's a change to him. No longer the playful rogue from before, he's now a predator on the prowl.

  Why does it excite me even more to know that he has the power to snuff out the life out of me? It would be so easy, hands around my throat, a snap of my neck, and he'd end me.

  And why do I want just that?

  I can almost imagine the way his fingers would dig into my flesh, just under my jaw, tightening his hold until I can barely breathe before letting go, granting me a small respite. There's this hidden part of me that wants him to dominate me until I'm begging for mercy, and it both scares and excites me.

  "What are you doing now?" I'm dazed as I look at him, all ink and bulging muscle, his chest rippling with every small exertion. I want to spread my palms over his flesh, feel his hardness under me, and as I try to do just that, he stops me.

  He shakes his head, amused.

  "The moment you touch me, hell girl, I combust," he drawls, his fingers still drawing circles over my naked flesh. "I'm barely in control as it is. The moment my cock is out, or your god forbid, your hands on it, I'll lose whatever control I have left," his voice is thick and strained, and I can see he's trying to fight himself.

  He trails the back of his hand over my damp panties, and my breath catches in my throat as he skims that extremely sensitive part of myself.

  A part that no one but me has touched before.

  A blush envelops my features at that train of thought, but I'd read enough online to know what to expect, and that knowledge only serves to make me even wetter, my pussy leaking out in an attempt to get him to give it the attention it craves.

  "You're wet for me, aren't you, Sisi?" he asks, sliding the material aside to push his finger between my drenched folds, feeling exactly what his voice–his very presence–does to me. He moves slowly as he takes some of the moisture, coating his entire finger and lifting it up to his mouth.

  I watch hypnotized as he opens his lips—those sensuous lips that should be illegal on a man—placing his finger inside and sucking.

  "You make me like this," I answer breathlessly as he uses his tongue to lick every last drop.

  What he doesn't know is that from the moment I first saw him he made me feel like this. I may have failed to recognize it then, but the moment he'd directed those black eyes at me, his hands on my throat as he'd lifted me in the air, I'd been painfully aroused, my entire being tingling from his nearness.

  "Fuck, Sisi. You have no idea what those words do to me," he rasps, his eyes half closed, a pained expression on his face.

  He's on his knees between my parted legs, and I move my eyes lower, to his pebbled stomach, the ink only serving to emphasize the tight squares of his abdominals more. His waist tapers down, and I note his wet pants, and the way they mold to his hips and...

  I swallow hard as I see the contour of his cock, and I get an idea of what my words do to him.

  I'm not ashamed to admit I'd explored the internet in my quest to find out why he makes me feel this way, and I'd read enough to know that that isn't the norm. But then again, everything about him is superlative, so I shouldn't be surprised that his cock is an outrageous size too.

  And yet, even as my eyes have a hard time believing something that big will be able to fit inside of me, I can't help the way I squeeze my walls instinctively, almost able to imagine him sliding in and...

  A moan escapes my lips, the image too vivid, my body more awake than ever.

  His gaze darkens as he watches the way my pussy slowly contracts, more wetness pouring out of me.

  "Damnation, hell girl," he growls, palming that monster in his pants. "Your pussy's too fucking perfect," he says, shaking his head as he keeps on staring.

  Suddenly, his hands skirt along the edge of my panties and a breath catches in my throat as he slides them down my legs. The action is so tantalizingly slow it's only building up my anticipation—and my frustration.

  He chuckles when he sees my impatience, leaning down and teasing my lips with his own.

  "I want to wreck you, Sisi," he whispers, his mouth hovering on top of mine. There's an intensity to the way he looks at me, and I truly believe him capable of wrecking me. If anything, I'd welcome it.

  Maybe even beg him for it.

  "I want to tear you apart and put you back together," he trails his tongue down my face and on my chin, goosebumps appearing all over my skin. "But in the reconstruction phase, I'd keep something of yours," his teeth scrape along the curve of my neck, "so that you're never whole without me."

  "Yes." I find myself agreeing, even though his words should make me run. "Please," I whisper, and his mouth opens wide right at the junction of my neck, his teeth lodging into my skin and breaking the surface.

  I gasp at the unexpected pain. He applies suction, and my legs open up, letting him fit himself between them, seeking that close contact.

  "For now," he whispers as he raises his head, blood staining his white teeth, "I'll settle for this."

  A rough kiss and he continues his journey down my body, stopping briefly over my stomach and trailing his tongue down. He nestles his head between my legs, and for one brief moment I want to protest.

  But as he gives me a long lick my head hits the blanket on a loud moan.

  "You're wicked." I breathe out, and I feel him smile against my pussy. He wraps his lips around my clit, sucking it into his mouth.

  My hands fist the blanket, my thighs trembling as he continues his ministrations. Bringing his finger to my entrance, he tests my opening, finding me snug around him.

  "Christ," he exclaims, his hot breath fanning over my pussy making me squirm, and one hand sneaks behind my waist, holding me flush against him, "you're so tight, I can barely fit a finger, hell girl. Fuck me, I can't help but imagine the way you'll bleed all over my cock," he rasps, his words meant to scandalize, but instead they only arouse me further.

  I want to bleed all over him.

  Lord, but I must be losing my mind.

  Thrusting his finger in and out of me, he continues to tease me with his tongue, an ache forming inside of me as my arousal mounts. I writhe beneath him, my thighs bucking, my muscles tensing as he bites down on my clit, the pain mingling with pleasure in an unstoppable crescendo.

  At some point, it feels too much, and I try to twist away from him, but he doesn't let me. Holding me even tighter, he thrusts in and out of me, his tongue gliding over my clit.

  Suddenly, I start spasming around him, a gush of wetness flowing out of my channel. He continues to lap at me, devouring my release. It's an assault on the senses as he continues to wreak havoc to my body, coaxing more sensations.

  When he's finally done with me, I'm boneless.

  "What are you doing to me?" I barely find the strength to ask, my eyes droopy, my breathing harsh.

  "Bribing you," he drawls, slowly trailing his tongue on my belly. "Giving you so much pleasure, you're going to become addicted to me," he smirks at me.

  I almost groan at his arrogance, but the truth is that it would be so easy to become addicted to him. Certainly, his kisses have become my new favorite form of sustenance. Add the orgasms to my new diet and he's near damn indispensable.

  But there's more to him than that. Way more.

  It's in his darker than black eyes, and the suffering that sometimes leaks through the cracks. It's in his perfectly built facade and the way he presents himself to the world. But more than anything, it's in the way he allows me glimpses beneath his mask.

  I see the screeching loneliness and the maniac instability, all leaving way to a pure yet misunderstood genius.

  And I want it all.

  I crave it all.

  There's no explanation for the things he makes me feel. My own essence calls out to his in a way that sometimes makes me question my own sanity.

  But do I really nee
d to be sane when I'm with him?

  There's freedom in his brand of insanity—of ruthlessness, violence and brutality. And no matter how much I've tried to rationalize him, I simply can't.

  He's beyond logic, and even beyond feeling, in a realm of his own where rules don't exist.

  He interrupts my train of thought as he moves up my body, taking my mouth in an aggressive kiss and making me lose my head.

  Intoxicating.

  That's what I'd call his lips when they touch mine.

  I'm lost in his embrace and I don't even realize as he rolls us over until I'm lying on top of him, my naked skin against his.

  I release a content sigh, feeling happier than I've ever been, a sense of belonging slowly beckoning me and letting me know I may have found my place.

  Nuzzling my cheek in the crook of his neck, I start tracing his tattoos, noting that many of the figures resemble demons.

  "What do they mean?" I ask, glancing up to find him staring at me with an inscrutable look on his face.

  "My curse," he answers cryptically, tightening his arms around me.

  Taking a deep breath, I just allow myself to enjoy the proximity of his body, the way my skin feels next to his, and as we start talking some more, I find myself confiding in him about my dilemma with my brother.

  "I don't think I'm welcome there," I admit, laying out my vulnerability for him.

  "Why?" He frowns.

  "Marcello is..." I trail off, not knowing how to put it since he is friends with my brother, "he doesn't seem very happy I'm there. Most of the time he ignores me, and when we finally had a conversation he was incredibly awkward," I take a deep breath, trying to dispel the knot forming in my throat.

  Vlad is silent for a moment.

  "Don't judge him too harshly," he finally says, turning to look me in the eye. His hand caresses my face, tucking a strand behind my ear. "I've known Marcello since we were young. He hasn't had it easy, and considering the circumstances of your birth, I don't fault him for being a little closed off."

  "What do you mean?" I ask, blinking rapidly.

  What circumstances of my birth?

  "I'm not sure how much you know about your birth mother," Vlad continues, his voice unusually soothing, "but she was mentally ill. She was also a religious fanatic who thought the devil was trying to tempt her at every turn. Marcello didn't have an easy childhood because of that. When you were born, she was convinced you had the mark of the devil," he says, his fingers tracing the red mark above my brow.