Chapter 45

45

Olivia

I turn over on my side, kick off the covers, then pull them on again. The heating kicked in, and the room is warm. Maybe too warm? Or maybe it's me? The events of the evening crowd in on me—Alvaro's threat, then my coming apart as Massimo made me ride his leg. I never knew that was possible. Since the last time he fucked me—in the aircraft bathroom—I've been horny. I came then, but it wasn't enough. And now, being forced to see him day and night, it's agony. Being near him, being under the same roof as him, seeing him, and smelling him, and wanting to be close to him, when I know it's all wrong for me, is torture. I didn't expect this. I didn't think I'd miss his touch, but the way he looks at me, like I'm at the center of his universe, how he'll do anything to protect me… It's all so overwhelming. And I heard his reply when JJ asked him what he'd give to keep me safe. He replied, his life. Without any hesitation. I'm sure he didn't think I could hear him from across the room, which is why he said that, but still… It means something.

He hasn't admitted he loves me… Although, somewhere inside, I can't help but think he does. I mean, he must feel something for me. It's why he shot my brother, why he manipulated me into marrying him. Why he wants to make sure I'm protected day and night… That last part, though, I can do without. I can take care of myself. I've been doing so all these years on my own, after all. Not that I want to give Alvaro a chance to get to me. That man's pure evil. I've seen Mafia men in the course of growing up with the Camorra, and none of the men my father interacted with came across as being as much of a monster as this guy, and Massimo agreed to pay him.

Shit, he's going to pay him a billion dollars. To keep me safe. He didn't have to think twice; he agreed right away. Not that he can't afford it. He's a wealthy man, but still. Bet if Alvaro had asked for more money, he'd have agreed to that, too. He'll do anything to keep me safe. He will. A funny sensation tickles my nose. I sniff. Why does he have to be so handsome, so sexy, so possessive... and so caring, whenever he lets down his guard? Why couldn't he have been ugly and fat and obnoxious? And why does every action of his confuse me further? My chest hurts, and my stomach clenches. Shit, I'm never going to sleep this way. I need to figure out what's happening here. I need time and space away from him to unravel exactly what I feel for him.

I shove the covers off, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and rise to my feet. At this rate, I'm never going to fall asleep. Maybe if I get something to drink, it'll help. I walk out of my room, down the corridor, and past Massimo's room. The door is slightly open. I hesitate. I should keep going, go to the kitchen as planned. I take a step forward, but in the direction of the door. Fuck it, I'm just going to peek in, and see if he's awake. Maybe he'll want to talk to me, or watch a movie or something?

I pop my head around the door, only to find the bed is empty. Hmmm. Light flows out from the bathroom, and sounds of the shower reach me. OMG, he's in there, under the shower, with water running down the demarcation of his pecs, down his sculpted abs, over his crotch and his monster cock. Is he erect? I brushed up against the column in his crotch when he pulled me up on his thigh in the elevator. And he didn't come. He would have left there with a big ol' hard-on. Is he still engorged?

Leave now, turn, and just go back to bed. Or I can go to his bed? I take a step forward, then another, until I'm standing at the foot of his bed. I glance at the mussed-up sheets. The duvet is hanging off the end, and one of the pillows has fallen to the floor. Apparently, he hasn't been able to get to sleep, either.

The shower shuts off. Silence descends. Shit, shit, shit. I turn to leave, when a noise reaches me. A whack-whack-whack of flesh meeting flesh. It can't be... Is it? Is he in there taking care of himself? Maybe I can help him... I move toward the door, then stop. You walk in there and everything changes, you know that, right? Oh hell! I squeeze my thighs and my fingers ball into fists at my sides. Leave now, and nothing will change. You can continue to focus on your career. And he… is going to pay up the money to save me. He's going to do his best to protect me. And he's my husband. It's his duty, isn't it? And my duty as his wife, is what? To ensure he doesn't have to suffer?

Not my problem. I only married him to keep my family safe. I don't really feel anything for him, do I? I don't consider him my husband. Not really. Best to get out of here.

I take another step toward the exit when a groan reaches me. The hair on my forearms rises. My scalp tingles. Don't turn, don't. I spin around and walk on the wooden floor, my bare feet making no sound, and draw abreast with the open bathroom door. I push it open further, and spot him leaning his forehead against the shower cubicle, completely naked. He has one hand pressed onto the tile above his head. The fingers of his other hand are wrapped around his cock.

Guess he just finished his shower, but there's no steam, so... He took a… cold shower? And when that didn't help, he decided to help himself?

Water clings to his shoulders and slides down his back to the valley between his firm ass cheeks. And that is one fine ass. I felt it up that night in the room above the bar, but seeing him like this is another thing altogether, let me tell you. Is it crazy that I want to go over there and bite it? His glutes are a work of art. They need to be memorialized in marble, and I'll be the first in line to bid for it, and spend every penny of my earnings buying it to keep it on my bed-stand.

Only, I don't need to do that because he's here, standing in front of me. The muscles of his forearms flex, his biceps tense, and the planes of his shoulders draw back as he swipes himself from crown to base. The wet sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the space. My mouth waters. My fingers tremble. Wetness squeezes out from between my legs as he continues to massage himself. His actions are vicious, almost violent, and there's a strength to them I'd never be able to replicate. He swipes himself again, and a grunt leaves his lips. Jesus, that's such a male sound—thick with pleasure, and filled with pain, and so much more I can't put into words. His breath comes in pants, and his movements increase in intensity. His forearm almost blurs as he speeds up. His entire body shudders. A nerve throbs at his temple. He grits his teeth, and squeezes his eyes shut as he slams his forehead into the wall. He opens his mouth and moans my name. "Via," he gasps. " Gesu Cristo , Olivia, you're killing me."

A whine bleeds from my lips. I slap my palm to my mouth, but he's already whipped his head around in my direction.

"What the—" he growls. His gray eyes are almost blue… and I know it means he's equal parts turned-on and angry-as-fuck?—

"Don't stop." I lower my arms to my sides. "Please, don't stop."

He looks me up and down, his chest heaving. "Touch yourself."

"Eh?"

"Now," he snaps.

His voice seems to have a direct connection to my brain, for I slide my fingers under the waistband of my sleep shorts—I'm only wearing that and my camisole—and my fingertips brush my already throbbing clit. A moan wells up.

"Stuff your fingers inside your cunt; bring yourself to orgasm."

He slows his speed, drags his palm from head to base leisurely as he continues to stroke himself. He lowers his gaze to my crotch, I slide two fingers inside myself and gasp as shivers of heat burst from the point of contact.

"In and out, Via; repeat with me."

I hold his gaze. "In," I breathe, as I slide my fingers inside my channel. "Out."

"In," we say in tandem, as he swipes himself from tip to base.

"Out," we chant as I pull my fingers to the edge of my slit, and "in." I add a third finger inside and gasp when the breadth stretches me.

"Out." He drags his hand to the crown of his dick.

"Faster," he says through gritted teeth. His ministrations pick up speed, and so do mine. I bring my hand up to squeeze my nipple as I keep pace with him.

"In," he growls.

"Out," I gasp.

"In," he snaps.

"Out," I whine as a trembling grips me. My entire body shudders as the pressure builds at the base of my spine.

"Stay with me, Via," he says in a hard voice.

A bead of sweat slides down my temple. I pant, gasp, and weave my fingers in and out of myself. In and out. The pressure squeezes in on itself. I moan, shake my head. "I'm coming."

"Don't you dare."

His eyes grow fierce, and his jaw clenches. The fingers he holds above his head clench into a fist. His movements grow frantic; the slap of wet flesh against flesh increases in momentum.

The orgasm rocks against my core, sending shudders of liquid heat spurting up my spine. "I can't. I can't."

"You can." He bares his teeth, and holds my gaze.

His spine bends, and my back curves. Every part of me cries out for release. His shoulders seem to swell, his biceps bend, and his forearms grow so tight, I can see every individual vein outlined under his skin. Then finally, finally, he growls, "Come with me," and with a cry, my orgasm sweeps through me.