Chapter 14

14

Jeanne

"What does it look like?"

I bring the glass of wine to my lips and sip from it. The bartender opposite me jerks his head around to watch Luca's approach. His features grow wary.

Luca comes to a halt next to me. Anger vibrates off of him. I shoot him a sideways glance, then wish I hadn't. The man's not wearing a shirt, revealing the expanse of that sculpted six-, no, eight pack of his.

Once more, I take in the tattoo that covers one arm from wrist to elbow. Then, because I can't help myself, I reach over and touch the raised skin. The muscles under his skin undulate. A hot melting sensation coils in my belly. It's like touching a dangerous predator. And oh, god, it's the most erotic thing I've ever done. Almost as erotic as hearing the sounds of the alphahole jerking off next to me, no doubt, thinking of me.

I know he was thinking of me, for he groaned my name as he came. I could feel him come and come, his muscles coiled with so much tension, I could feel the release all the way down to my core. And the heat from his body... OMG, it was like someone opened the door to a sauna and I received a full blast. I squeezed my thighs together, locked my fingers under the sheet, and pushed my heel into my pussy. Not that it helped.

A bead of sweat slid down my throat, and for all that, I hadn't even physically exerted myself. I sensed the bed move, heard the whisper of fabric, and realized he'd thrown the towel onto the floor. The towel he'd jerked off to while thinking of me. While imagining my body. While visualizing what he would do to me. Dirty, filthy, racy thoughts, no doubt.

Moisture coated my core and slid down between my thighs. But I didn't move. I stayed that way, clenching that ball of arousal that had grown bigger and tauter and tighter in my lower belly. When I was finally sure he was asleep, I crept out of bed. I'm not ashamed to say I rubbed one out in the bathroom. It helped, but not by much.

Still dissatisfied, and with a gnawing emptiness crawling between my legs, I dressed, all the while, refusing to take in the massive figure sprawled under the covers. If I did, I'd probably jump him and beg him to fuck me, and no way was I going to lower myself to that level. I crept down to the bar, and found a sole bartender shutting things down. Luckily, he was happy enough to serve me. Thank god. At least the alcohol helped dim the sharpness of my need... Somewhat.

He jerks his chin at the bartender, who retreats to the other side of the bar and out of earshot.

"Did it hurt?" I point at the ink.

He raises a shoulder.

"Why get the tattoos?"

"Why did you become an actress?"

Touché. I lower my hand to my side. "It's easier to pretend to be someone else than to be myself."

He holds my gaze. "It's a reminder."

"Of what?"

"Something I'll never allow myself to forget. This—" He raises his arm. "It's part of my penance."

I'd caught a glimpse of the design when he'd been working out, of course, and later, when he was in the shower, but this—a full-frontal view of his body is next level gorgeous. It lends him a lethal air and brings home exactly what he is. A dangerous Mafioso who is nothing like the suave characters I've seen on screen. This man is untamed, unpredictable, and by the looks of it, very angry. His shoulders are bunched. His jaw is clenched so tightly, the veins of his throat pop in relief.

"What penance? What will you never allow yourself to forget?" I ask.

"What the fuck are you doing down here?" he growls back.

Answer a question with a question? Typical. "If you don't want to answer the question, you only have to say so. No need to get all huffy about it."

"Answer. The. Question." He lowers his voice to a hush, and my nerve-endings spark. Something inside me wants to do as he commands. Wants to please him and give him what he wants. It's only an answer to a question. It doesn't mean anything if I obey him on this. I firm my lips.

"I woke up and was thirsty. I came down to find Vincent, here, closing up the place. He offered me a glass of wine."

The tension pouring off his body multiplies by a factor of one hundred. When he speaks, his voice is tight with suppressed rage. "There's water in the room."

"I needed something stronger," I shoot back.

He glances at the glass of wine I have my fingers wrapped around, then reaches down and takes it from me. He drains it, then makes a face. "What the fuck was that?"

"A rosé." I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from curving my lips in a smile.

"Figures," He scrunches up his face and signals the bartender, who moves to stand in front of us.

"A pint of Peroni," he snaps.

"We only have Stella," the man replies.

"Figures, only the Brits would pass off that swill as beer." He leans forward and grabs the edge of the bar with his big hand. "Do you have Grappa?"

"We have tequila."

Luca cuts the air with the palm of his hand. "Whisky, neat. Jameson?"

The man nods, then turns to grab the brown colored bottle from the shelf behind him.

Luca wraps his fingers around the nape of my neck and thrusts his face into mine.

"If you leave my sight again, I'll turn you over my lap and spank you, capiche? "

I dart my gaze to the bartender, who's moved to the other end of the counter and is busy pouring the whiskey into a tumbler.

"I don't need your permission," I hiss.

"You do. We're going to be married, or have you forgotten?"

"Why do you think I'm at a bar at two a.m. chugging down alcohol? It's not because I am all agog with happiness, you lummox," I snarl.

"That another of your schoolgirl insults?" He smirks.

"I was taught to be polite, you ass-clown, unlike some gangsters I know."

"So, you decide to use words which are an insult to be called insults?"

"Oh, my god!" I whisper-yell. "You're getting on my nerves."

"Oh, I'm getting on your nerves? You're so innocent, you don't realize the danger you're in."

"I'm in more danger from you than anything else in the vicinity, you numbskull."

"Numbskull?" He blinks, then his lips twitch. "Did you call me a numbskull?"

"Yes, I did." Pathetic, I know. But I'm running through my limited repertoire of rude names at an alarming pace.

We stare at each other, then he chuckles. The sound is rich, warm, and so masculine, a burst of need sparks to life deep in my belly. I can't take my gaze off of the curve of his lips, the tiny lines that deepen at the corners of his eyes, the flash of pearly white teeth, the heavy darkness of his eyelashes, which are so thick that they should look feminine, but instead, they only add to the overwhelming feeling of heaviness, thickness, larger-than-lifeness that is this man. This mobster. This villain. This anti-hero. The kind of man I'd never thought I'd run into.

He leans in closer, until his eyes are poised in front of mine, until his nose almost brushes mine, until his mouth is so close to mine that his breath brushes my skin. A thousand goosebumps seem to pepper my skin all at once.

"Angel," he breathes.

"Luca," I murmur at the same time.

Something shimmers in the air between us, and the goosebumps seem to multiply until every inch of my body is ablaze with a strange writhing need to close the distance between us. To rub myself up against that hard chest. To brush my cheek against his and feel the roughness of his whiskers abrade my skin. To lick him from top to bottom, then bury my face in that delicious hollow between his chin and his chest.

The bartender clears his throat. "Your whiskey."

I jump, try to pull back, but Luca doesn't release the hold on the nape of my neck. I glance sideways at the bartender, who looks between us with a frown on his face.

"Leave," Luca snaps without taking his gaze from my face.

Vincent pales. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and Luca holds up his free hand.

"Out," he says in a voice that whips across the room.

Vincent swallows, but he doesn't move away. He glances at me with a worried expression on his face. I appreciate his concern, but if he stays here, jerkhole, here, is sure to beat him up, and I don't want him getting hurt for no fault of his own. I nod and half-smile at him, trying to convey that I am fine.

He hesitates, then finally nods and backs away. A door bangs shut somewhere near the back, indicating he's left the building. Then, that sound, too, fades away, and I realize I'm alone. With a very angry Mafia guy. In a bar in the middle of nowhere.

"There are other people in the rooms above the pub."

"Nope," he makes a popping sound with the last syllable of the word. "There's only one room taken—ours."

"Oh," I gulp.

"Why? Are you scared of being alone with me?"

"Oh, pfft," I raise a hand to brush the hair back from my forehead, and of course, my fingers tremble.

"I… I'm not scared of you. I was alone in the room earlier with you."

"That was different."

"How?"

"You hadn't disobeyed me then."

"You didn't tell me not to leave the room."

"It was understood." The lines radiating from the corners of his eyes deepen further.

"How? I'm not a mind reader."

"You knew if I woke up and found you gone, I'd think you escaped."

"Escaped? So now I'm your prisoner?" I prop my hands on my hips. "Where would I go, anyway? I couldn't sleep. Also, your snoring was driving me up the wall so?—"

"I don't snore." His forehead furrows.

"Yes, you do."

"I must have been very tired," he murmurs. He rubs his thumb across my throat, and tendrils of heat emanate from his touch.

"What are you doing?" I clear my throat. "No hanky-panky stuff, okay?"

"Your vocabulary is very strange, Angel."

"Don't call me that."

"You haven't told me your name yet."

"And I don't intend to either." I jut out my lower lip and his gaze lowers to my mouth.

"Is that a challenge?"

"It's my intention."

"And what will you give me if I get you tell me your name in the next five minutes?"

"Nothing, because I'm not?—"

He moves so quickly, I yelp. He releases his hold on my neck, only to grab my waist, lower my feet to the ground, then push me into the bar counter so I grip it to support myself. He grabs the waistband of my yoga pants—which is what I was wearing when those idiots kidnapped me—and shoves it down my hips, along with my panties.

"What the—! What are you doing, you—?" His palm connects with my backside with enough force that I rock up to my toes. I yell. A blistering line of heat sizzles across my butt. "Stop that, why are you—?" I huff, as he spanks my other ass cheek with the same force. A tremor cuts straight to my core, my pussy clenches, my nipples stiffen, and my breasts seem to swell. He brings that wide palm down on my first cheek, then in rapid succession, spanks me on alternating cheeks. Slap-slap-slap. Each one reverberates up my spin, down around my breasts, then arrows to my core.

"Stop that." I try to wriggle away, but alphahole here, once again, wraps his fingers around the nape of my neck. He squeezes, and it's as if there's a direct line to my center, for my pussy clenches. I squeeze my thighs together and he clicks his tongue. "You know, I'm not going to let you come; not until you tell me your name."

"Go to hell," I spit out.

"You shouldn't have said that." He brings his palm down on the curve of my behind with such force that my entire body shudders. Pinpricks of pain sizzle up my spine, down my thighs, and pour into my lower belly. He massages the burning flesh of my backside. I gasp. He rubs the pain into my skin and my core contracts.

"Oh, god. Oh, my god." I dig my teeth into the wooden edge of the bar counter to stop myself from crying out.

"You going to tell me your name yet?"

I shake my head.

I sense him draw in a breath, and close my eyes and brace myself for the next slap, which never comes. Instead, he straightens. He moves around to stand behind me, and the heat from his body covers my backside. The pain pulses out from where he's spanked my ass. I wait. Wait for him to make his next move, then groan when he bends over and licks the nape of my neck.

"You taste so fucking sweet and spicy at the same time. I can't wait to taste your cunt again."

He straightens again, then kicks my feet apart. I yelp, then gasp when he slides his tongue along my seam.

"You're fucking soaked," he growls. The vibrations from his words swirl along my inflamed clit, then sink into my center. A trembling begins from somewhere deep inside. I sense him smile against my pussy. "You will not come, Angel, not until I give you permission."

I'm not going to listen to that. I'm not going to obey this… this… sadist. There's no other way to describe him, and yes, I know that word, as I know other swear words. I just refuse to say them aloud.

"You going to tell me your name?"

I draw in a breath.

The silence stretches for a beat, then another.

"Very well then," he rumbles against my melting core. He swipes his tongue up my slit, and my entire body shudders. He licks my seam and curls his tongue around my clit. My stomach clenches. My breasts distend until they seem too heavy for my body. I dig my feet into the floor for purchase as he slurps at my cunt. He nibbles on my pussy lips and my eyes roll back in my head. The trembling at the base of my belly intensifies. Oh, god, oh, god, I'm going to c?—

He pulls back.

I push my butt back, chasing his tongue for the feel of that warm wet lave across the most aching, swollen part of me.

The orgasm begins to fade and I snap my jaws together.

"You going to tell me your name?"

"No, I will not, you imbecile, you rascal, you?—"

He pushes his face into my pussy and stabs his tongue inside my sopping wet channel.

"Oh, my god! Please, don't stop. Please, don't stop."

He slides his fingers around to play with my pussy lips, then grinds the heel of his palm into my clit. My head spins. What feels likes a fountain of sensation ripples over my skin. The swirling tension at the base of my spine tightens, folds into itself, gets tighter, tauter, knotting into a hard ball of desire that thrums and throbs and— "Please, let me come, please," I cry out. "Please, Luca."

"Your name?"

I hesitate.

He pinches my clit, and that ball of heat pulsates and grows and quivers and vibrates. He thrusts his tongue inside my channel and sweat breaks out at my hairline. A chill grips my skin, even as the heat in my lower belly begins to pulse in tandem with the beating of my heart. The blood pounds at my temples and I curve my back. Close, I'm so close.

"Your na?—"

"Jeanne," I yell, "it's Jeanne. Now let me come already."

"Your wish is my command."

He begins to lick and suck and eat me out in earnest, as he circles my clit with his fingers and stimulates the swollen bud. He brings his other hand up to grasp my breast and squeeze. He tweaks my nipple at the same time he pinches my clit, and the vibrations zing out from my core.

He pulls his tongue out from my pussy, rises to his feet, and slaps my already sore backside. Thwack-thwack-thwack. The pain pours into my blood, the heat from the contact sizzles straight to my cunt, and the ball of desire explodes.

"Come," he orders, and I throw my head back and shatter.