Chapter 21

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Anya

T he man next to me is confusing. Everything about him is a contradiction. I've seen how dangerous he is, yet with me, he's strangely protective. He's a vicious criminal but a perfect gentleman. There's a sharp edge to his anger, a darkness inside him that sends a shiver down my spine, and at the same time, he's so beautiful it hurts to look at him. He's a killer, a man no one wants as an enemy, but he's the most attentive date even though it was only a fake date.

He doesn't abide by the law, but he lives by his own code of conduct. He's not a mafia boss, but he's the most powerful man in their circle. Luigi may be at the head of the organization, but Saverio runs the show. It's plain to see. I only had to watch them in action tonight to know who calls the shots. He's careful around Luigi, but he didn't hesitate to tell him not to smoke in the presence of the women, and he only insisted because I'm pregnant.

I shouldn't appreciate his consideration, but there's no arguing that I'm grateful. I even admire him for it. He doesn't have to look out for my baby's wellbeing. He doesn't owe me a single thing. In that lies the problem. I despise him for forcing me to pretend that we're together and to lie about the murder I witnessed because he needs an alibi. Yet his thoughtful acts make it difficult to dislike him completely. No one has ever treated me with so much consideration aside from Livy. Certainly no man. With Saverio, I feel both protected and unsafe.

Yep.

Confusing.

On the one hand, he frightens me, and on the other, he sends chills of pleasure through my body with a single brush of his fingers. In the short time since I was unlucky enough to cross his path, he touched me with the intention to harm and to please. He pressed a knife against my stomach and slid his finger inside me. I never know if he's going to kill me or make me come. I'm always on my guard with my life being in the balance. And then I sleep like a baby in his bed because the men who want me dead can't get to me there. No one can.

Well, except for Saverio.

There are more things he can take than my life. But he doesn't. He just turned down a chance none of the men I've dated would've let slip through their fingers. He's not interested in halfhearted efforts. No, he wants me to crave it. He wants me to desire him. If I touch him, he doesn't want it to be out of obligation but because I'd go crazy if I don't.

That's the kind of man he is.

All or nothing.

Perplexing.

I simultaneously despise and like him. And yes, a part of me also desires him. A part of me wants what he denies me. I guess that part is human nature. At least, in my case, it is. I've always wanted what I couldn't have. Security. Enough money not to worry about where tomorrow's meal is going to come from. A big family. A mother who cares. A man and not a grown-up boy. A man who treats me like the most important woman in the world. As if I'm special. Valuable.

What happened earlier, when I touched Saverio so intimately, rushes back into my mind. My belly heats with the recollection. My palm still burns with the memory of his shape, the steely hardness of his thick length—a very impressive length that he claimed was only for me—and the broadness of the bulbous head.

Only for me.

What does that even mean?

Our relationship is for show. He doesn't have to be faithful. He can screw anyone he likes as long as he's discreet. We can show the world one thing and behave very differently in our private, hidden lives. Our love affair may be fake, but I can't deny that my reaction to him is real. He muddles my reason and scrambles my thoughts with a single touch. I've always been a practical person, but with him, my body rules my mind. I'm even a little jealous of the women for whom his affection was real—the ones he pulled onto his lap and fed little treats and kisses.

We're quiet for the rest of the way. After his rejection, I'm glad for the reprieve.

At home, he ushers me upstairs, but when I try to escape to the bathroom, he advances on me like a predator, backing me up until the bed stops my progress.

"Saverio?" I ask, uncertainty hooking its claws into me.

Have I been too fast in declaring him innocent of forcing me? He just told me he didn't want my favors, yet he looks at me like a hungry, salivating beast.

"Lie down on your back," he commands in a deep voice as he drops my wrap on the foot-end of the bed.

"Why?" I manage to ask through dry lips.

He takes my bag from my hand and chucks it on top of the wrap. "Why do you think?"

I try to sound brave, but I don't quite pull it off. "You said you didn't want me to."

"I said I didn't want it if you're doing me a favor. That doesn't mean I don't want to."

Bending backward, I put space between us. "Want to do what?"

"Make you feel good."

"So you get to touch me, but the rules are different for me."

"I get to put my hands on you because I want to do it. Now lie back for me, tesoro . You've been teasing me all night with that tight ass on my lap."

"Whose fault is that? You made me sit there."

"Because that's where you belong when we're out." Flattening his palm between my breasts, he says, "Now, enough with the talking," before giving a gentle shove.

I go down with a shriek, my body bouncing on the bed as my back hits the mattress.

Before I can ask what he's doing, he kneels in front of me and hooks my ankles over his shoulders. The silk of the skirt glides down my legs and pools around my waist, exposing the green thong that came with the dress.

Giving me a heated look, he buries his head between my thighs. The objection dies on my tongue when he presses his lips on the throbbing spot at the top of my sex, kissing my clit through the lace. He clamps his teeth around the nub and teases me with a flick of his tongue.

My back arches from the pleasure. As when he spanked me, I like the bite of pain. It's not hard enough to hurt, but the idea that it may perversely excites me. The fear makes me wetter. The cruel anticipation as the most tender part of my body is caught between his teeth, not knowing if he's going to choose pain or pleasure, has sparks sizzling under my skin.

Slowly, he increases the pressure, tightening that vise until I writhe beneath him with exquisite pain.

I thread my fingers through the thick, soft strands of his hair, holding on instead of pushing him away like I should. "Sav."

The discomfort flares as he lets go, the ache pulsing in one condensed point as if all my nerve endings are concentrated there. I untangle my fingers from his hair and push up on my elbows to look at him, to gauge his intentions. Because this game is dangerous.

His jacket slips from my shoulders and falls at my back, but the clean, spicy fragrance of his cologne still hangs like a soft, warm blanket around me. The notes of musk and sandalwood smell like strength and virility, like power and protection. Like the essence of a male. Of the silent promise when a man decides a woman is his. Of the kind of adoration and devotion only a few lucky women know.

He swipes a finger along the crease between my inner thigh and my folds and pulls the elastic of my underwear away. Cool air washes over my exposed skin. Lowering his head once more, he licks away the sting he inflicted.

My arms shake under the onslaught of the pleasure. I collapse onto my back, giving over to the sensations. I surrender to the languid lapping of his tongue, losing myself in the building ecstasy and the experience of a man who knows how to make my body sing. He's thorough in provoking my arousal. The lazy strokes of his fingertips over my folds just before he parts them and slips a finger inside have me cry out with need.

"You taste delicious," he says, the rough timbre of his voice reverberating in my core. Another nip. Another kiss. "You're so damn tight. If I ever get inside you, I'm going to rip your body in two."

His wicked words bring the picture to life in my mind, and my wanton body tightens around his finger. The stretch feels so good already. So full. Remembering the size I held in my palm, I'm not even sure I'll be able to take him.

"You're close," he declares, brushing my dress over my stomach and laying a hand over my pelvis.

One more nip, pump, and lick, and the vise is no longer his mouth but something powerful inside me, something that locks my muscles into place as a violent current of electricity pulls everything to that one point before exploding with ripples of shockwaves.

The climax is so overpowering I'm quivering. I want it to last and to stop at the same time. My mind lost its ability to make decisions on behalf of my body, and all I can do is ride out the storm while it tears me to pieces.

When my breathing finally calms, Saverio still has his finger inside me. He flicks the tip of his tongue over my clit, inviting a full-body shiver that runs through me. I sag deeper into the mattress when the spasms finally abate. The fullness of his finger disappears, leaving me empty, but it's soon replaced by soft, wet heat.

It takes enormous effort to strain my neck and lift my head.

He removed his finger, and he's licking me from the top to the bottom of my slit.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are when you come for me?" he asks in a husky voice, lifting his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Too lethargic to answer, I close my eyes.

He lowers my legs. When I peel my eyelids open again, he stands over me at the edge of the bed, staring at my exposed sex where my elastic is pushed aside.

A flush of heat works its way up my neck. Reaching down, I pull the dress over my hips.

"Shower?" he asks.

Too tired, I shake my head.

"Come." He offers me a hand. "Let's get you to bed."

My gaze is drawn to the telltale signs of his arousal. "What about you?"

He grins. "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

I consider my answer. "What if I wanted to?"

Leaning closer, he cups my cheek. "If you wanted to, and I mean really wanted to, I'd know."

"How?"

He grips my arms and pulls me to my feet, pushing our bodies flush together. "You would've been naked and begging for my cock on your knees."

My mouth drops open, but he doesn't give me time to reply. He turns me around and marches me to the bathroom.

"Brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. I'll wait for you to finish before I have a shower."

My hands tremble a little when he closes the door to give me privacy. I don't know what's scarier, his arrogance or the fear that one day, I may give in.

For the two minutes I brush my teeth and wash my face, I contemplate what it would be like to be with a man like Saverio. He's so intense in everything he does. I bet he's also an intense lover.

I examine my body with a critical eye in the mirror. My stomach is slightly rounded, but I'm not showing yet. I suppose I won't have to worry about his advances or my weakness when I'm sporting a baby bump. I'll probably put him off when my belly is as round as a yoga ball.

When I step out of the bathroom dressed in the T-shirt and cotton shorts I wear to bed, Saverio leans in the doorway of the bedroom. He changed into sweatpants that ride low on his hips and a white T-shirt that stretches over his massive chest. His feet are bare.

With a shoulder braced against the door frame and his ankles crossed, his stance appears relaxed, but strain oozes from him. The atmosphere crackles with that underlying sexual tension from earlier in the car.

Hooking my hair behind my ear, I avert my gaze as I advance to the bed. As much as I pretend not to notice the tenseness in the air, my stomach draws into a tight ball. He's proven himself to be virtuous as far as not jumping me goes, but he's as unpredictable as a hungry tiger. A starving tiger. I may not look at him, but I can feel the heat in his gaze burning on me.

I'm acutely aware of him advancing toward me as I pull back the covers and climb onto the high mattress. The bed is so big I feel like the character from the Princess and the Pea when I settle underneath the soft blankets. The duvet is the lightest, fluffiest, warmest one I've felt. It's as if I'm lying on a bed of moss, buried beneath a pile of feathers. No wonder I slept so well last night. Yet despite the luxurious comfort of his bedding, my pulse quickens when he pauses on the other side of the bed. The mattress is enormous, but not even that is a big enough barrier between us.

"Did you sleep well last night?" he asks.

When I meet his gaze, he's still watching me with a fierce look, but the icy blue of his eyes is less chilling. Something warm creeps into their depths as his mouth curves into a half-smile.

"Yes." I pull the duvet up to my chin. "Why do you ask?"

"You're sleeping on my side."

Surprise barrels through me. "Oh." And then embarrassment. "You should've said so."

I scoot to the opposite end, fighting my way through those puffy layers of cloud-like covers, but he stops me with a brutish, "No."

Somewhere between his side and the middle of the bed, I freeze.

"By all means, stay." His lips quirk. "If it makes you sleep better."

"Don't flatter yourself." I ball the sheets in my fists, hugging them to my chest. "If I'd known it was your side, I probably would've had nightmares."

Chuckling, he puts one knee on the mattress. The bed dips with his weight as he leans over me. I stop breathing as a whiff of that spicy, musky, manly scent hits my nostrils. My body goes rigid when he lowers his head ever so slowly while holding my gaze with a challenge in his. My heart misses a beat as traitorous anticipation builds in my gut. My lips remember the shape of his, and like his seductively comfortable bed, his kisses are heaven. Wrong. What I don't need. What I shouldn't want. What I don't want. But then why is my heart pounding in my chest?

Get a spine, Anya.

Yes, I've already fallen into his bed but not by choice. Getting him off to repay the favor is one thing even though deep down, I know it's a bad idea. A terrible idea. This isn't a game we should take further. He might've forced me into his bed with threats, but I'm not going to fall into his arms. Just because I got myself pregnant on a one-night stand doesn't mean I'm easy. He may be considerate and protective, but that's only because I'm his alibi. When he no longer needs me, I don't have a doubt he'd slit my throat.

The chilling thought sobers me. The cold, hard facts douse the flames that blaze in my belly.

I flatten a palm on his chest to stop him, to push him away, but the contact mocks me as the heat of his body burns me through the fabric and the hardness of the muscles underneath reminds me that I'm never a match for this man. I tense when he comes closer, but his breath merely fans over my lips before he presses a kiss on my forehead.

"Sleep well, tesoro ," he says in a deep voice tinged with amusement.

He's playing with me like a cat with a mouse.

Before I can find my tongue, he gets off the bed and heads toward the door.

I never know what's going on in his mind or what he's planning, and it counts against me.

"Where are you going?" I ask with a mixture of befuddlement and uncertainty. If I'm lucky, maybe he'll leave.

"To the gym."

It's what I was hoping for, that he'd go away, but something that feels too much like disappointment sinks in my stomach. "Where?"

"In Brooklyn."

"Now? I thought you wanted to have a shower."

"A shower can wait." A sexy grin curves his lips. "I have some frustration to work off first."

I open my mouth to tell him it's his own fault, but he doesn't give me the chance. He enters the dressing room and exits a moment later with a pair of socks and trainers in his hands. Without another word or as much as a glance in my direction, he flicks off the light and walks from the room.