27. Trilby

T rilby

I hold his stare for longer than I should, feeling an irrational anger bubbling up in my chest. Sera is right. Why has he been the one who's followed me around, protected me from danger, laid down rules, and taken me to breakfast? Why him and not Savero?

I shake my head as his eyes catch on the crystal comb I'm wearing in my hair.

It's all his fault. Because of Cristiano Di Santo, I feel completely at sea. I'm not in control anymore.

Since he stalked into my life, I haven't been able to think straight. Because of his insistence on "keeping an eye on me," I've formed an attachment to him. Part of me depends on him, and he knows it. And now he's going to tear that away, because sticking around is uncomfortable for him .

The low chatter around the table slowly grinds to a halt, and I realize too late that everyone is staring at us staring at each other. I glance left to Savero, and a shiver of fright freezes my spine. His head is turned, and his eyes flick between me and his brother. His brother who's still glaring at me as if I just murdered his firstborn.

My head feels too light, and it isn't from the alcohol. If Savero suspects there's anything between Cristiano and me—anything that goes beyond a brotherly sense of duty—God knows what he'll do. I didn't miss the blood on his hands when he arrived which he calmly washed off in the ornamental fountain near the head of the table. And I will never forget the way he sliced open a human torso as emotionless as if it were prosciutto.

I've never had to worry about it much before now, because he hasn't been around to see the way his brother looks at me, or the way I dissolve into a hot mess whenever Cristiano's near.

My heart is racing. Even if he doesn't add me to his kill list, I can't afford for this marriage to not go ahead. I need Savero, because my father needs Savero. If we don't have him on our side, if we don't keep this amicable, we'll lose the port and everything my father has worked for.

I suddenly need air, and I'm not going to get it sitting at this table under the oppressive eyeballing of the Di Santo mob.

"I'll be right back," I whisper to Sera. She's staring at me, but her mind is elsewhere. She's unaware my world has tilted on its axis and is hovering precariously on the edge of collapse.

I place my napkin on the table and stand. Then, without a backward glance, I walk back inside the house.

I don't know where I'm going—I just need to get away. I need to get my thoughts together. What if Savero questions me about my relationship with his brother? How can I explain without revealing too much or blushing?

I walk through the house from the back to the entrance hall. The grand driveway is illuminated white by the sun, but I hardly register it. I step outside the bulletproof doors and walk across the lawn to the pavilion. The stone seat is cool under the shade of the canopy, and I welcome the fresh temperature against my burning skin.

I lower my body and sink my head into my hands. Just a few minutes, then I'll head back. Hopefully, the atmosphere will have thawed some, and Cristiano will have found something else to glare at.

"You defied me."

I look up, almost jumping out of my skin. A small sense of relief seeps through me at the sight of Cristiano, not Savero. But the sharpness in his tone feels bitter and distant.

"What are you doing out here?" I whisper. Low-level panic makes me turn left and right to check no one is watching.

"Answer me, Castellano."

I grip the seat on either side of my legs. "Oh, we're back to using my last name, are we?"

I shouldn't complain. We should be doing everything we can to reverse what happened, and that includes him not calling me by my given name as if it's his to keep.

He steps forward, his gaze brimming with warning.

"You didn't ask me a question," I point out.

"Don't mess with me. I told you expressly not to drink alcohol again. You can't handle it—it makes you behave irresponsibly."

"What does it matter anyway?" My heart thunders at the sight of him; at the debilitating grief I feel at the thought of him leaving. I stand with my fists balled at my sides. "You won't be around to watch me make a fool of myself, Di Santo ."

His teeth mash together, and a growl leaves his throat. He grips the nape of my neck hard and pulls me toward him until our breaths brush each other. "Call me by my name," he whispers hoarsely.

I can't help it. "Cristiano," I gasp. "Call me by mine ."

His gaze drops to my lips, and a full-body shiver coasts from my head to my toes. Then his eyes flick upward, giving me a glimpse of the darkness behind them. "Trilby." His voice breaks. "God help me," he groans, then he puts his hand to the back of my head and pulls me onto his lips.

Relief floods through my bones and softens my muscles. I melt into him.

His mouth forces mine open, and he licks at my tongue with a wild hunger. When I attach myself to him, his hands release my neck and cover my face. Fingers push through my hair and trace an impatient line from my nape to my sit bone. I wriggle restlessly under his touch, and he breathes desperate-sounding Italian curses into my mouth.

He falls back onto the seat, pulling me with him, and my knees come to rest on either side of his thighs. He reaches up to my hair again, mussing it up the way he seems to like, and tugs it while plundering my mouth.

My heart races, the fear of getting caught hovering on the periphery of my consciousness.

He lifts my dress so my underwear is pressed against his pants. Then he pulls me onto his erection and swallows my moan.

My head swims as he stops kissing me to hold my face between his hands. "I need to feel you against me. Skin to skin. Just one last time." His eyes are filled with a deep desperation, and I nod, because in this moment, I'll give him anything.

He releases one hand and drops it to his zipper. The sound of it lowering echoes around the pavilion, and I scan the garden again, terrified someone might have followed one of us out here. When I turn back to Cristiano, my eyes almost pop out of my head. He's released his cock from his pants and is running his fist up and down it.

"Come here."

He slides his hands beneath my ass and lifts me until I'm sitting on his cock, which is laid flat against his stomach. The second my pussy wraps around him, I collapse into his shoulder. He releases a moan that sets my soul on fire. God, it feels like every last thing I need in the world.

My entire body throbs with anticipation, and when he places his hands firmly on my hips, I inhale a breath. He moves me softly, until my whole body sings with desire. His head drops back against the stone wall, and his eyelids flutter shut.

He's hard and soft, feverish and freezing, off-limits yet impossible to resist.

He grips my hips and moves me slowly up and down, the friction making me see stars.

I no longer care that we're in my fiancé's garden and that anyone could walk out of the front door and see us. We haven't even had the sense to hide around the back of the pavilion; we're inside of it, on the balcony, on show to anyone who might walk past.

He places his palm over my mouth, making me realize I've been moaning recklessly.

Neither of us speak, because it feels just so ... damn ... good.

I'm racing toward an orgasm and picking up speed. I press down harder, feeling the ridges of his cock as they roll beneath me. Even though I can feel the climax getting closer, I have the sudden realization it won't be enough. It will never be enough.

I want him inside me deeply.

The thought should terrify me. I'm a virgin. No one has broken my walls down, and they've been promised to the most dangerous man on the east coast of America.

But then . . . Cristiano.

I trust him. I need him.

I want it to be him.

My hips still, and I pull back to stare into his eyes.

His lids lift and his gaze locks onto mine.

I press my palm to his cheek and suck my bottom lip between my teeth. His cock swells beneath me as I try to communicate what I need without saying a word.

His eyes narrow for the beat of a second. It's a question.

I nod slowly.

Then his large hands are beneath my arms, and I'm being carried across the pavilion to the back. He spins around and rams me up against the wall, where he holds the back of my neck tight and silences me with his tongue. His other hand draws my knee upward and hooks it over his forearm before he lifts me up the wall. It all happens so fast. And I want it.

I want it all .

With neither of his hands free to guide it, the crown of his cock searches for my pussy, driving me mad with anticipation. When it finds my opening, our mouths pull apart, and we both look down at where our bodies are about to join.

Our breaths are deep and desperate, our chests rising and falling in tandem. He curls his tailbone and pushes his cock up by an inch. A breathy cry leaves my lips. It doesn't hurt, but the pure shock of having a forbidden part of him inside of me is incredible.

My forehead rests on his, and I inhale the steam rising off his shoulders. "Do it," I command. "I want it to be you ."

He shakes his head slowly, and I'm suddenly terrified he's going to back out.

My words trip over themselves. "I don't care if it hurts. I just want to feel you. All of you." I dip my head and lick my tongue across his lips.

An unbearable few seconds of silence pass before he grinds out his final resolve. "You're mine, little one."

Then he drops me.

His cock slices through my hymen in one fell swoop that steals every ounce of breath from my lungs. I feel like I'm being ripped apart and stretched outward, fit to burst.

"Oh fuck," I pant. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ."

"Trilby ... are you okay? Tell me you're okay." The words come out fast and urgent as his kisses decorate my face.

I nod, because even though I'm in unadulterated agony, I'm okay. "I want you ... to do ... one more thing ... for me," I say through short gasps.

"Anything," he replies between tender licks and kisses.

"Come inside me."

He stops. "Trilby, I?—"

"I just had my period," I say hurriedly. "I know how it works. Please ..."

He grips my face again, but with a gentleness that softens me around him. Then he presses his lips to mine and starts to move. At first it feels as if someone's running a razor blade up and down my soft virgin walls, but as I loosen and relax I begin to sense something else. He was right about me feeling him in my stomach, but what he didn't say was that I'd feel him everywhere .

I loosen around him, and he moves slowly in and out. Every now and then a low growl passes from his lips to mine, along with whispers of praise.

"You're such a good fucking girl, Trilby. You feel like heaven . I can't get enough of you. You take all of me so well."

That last one has me moaning too, and he laps up the sound with his tongue. I'm too far gone to kiss with any sense of order or decorum, so I let him take control. He nibbles my lips and tastes every inch of my mouth and tongue as he thrusts long, deep, and slow into my core.

He fucks with his whole body, as though it's as easy and natural as breathing.

I've never done this before, but somehow I know sex isn't always like this, which makes this one-time slip so delectably bittersweet.

"You're getting so tight," he murmurs, then he thrusts a little harder. " Un. Fuck, you feel so damn good."

I lost the power of speech a little while ago, but my shortened, gasping breaths communicate everything I feel.

He frees my mouth and drags hot, wet lips down the side of my throat to the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder, and there he straight up makes out with my collarbone. His rhythm doesn't break.

When his teeth sink into the neckline of my dress and drag it down over my chest, my gasps become louder no matter how hard I try to contain them.

His tone is urgent. "Bite down on your fist," he demands.

I do as he says, almost feeling a little stupid. My fist is the last thing I want in my mouth right now.

But then I understand.

He dips his scorching tongue into my bra and flicks my right nipple out into the warm summer air. He sucks it into his mouth, along with half of my swollen, aching breast, and devours it.

I thank God my fist is in my mouth as I bite down hard. With the relentless thrusting into the center of my core and the cannibalistic plundering of my breast, I can't contain a sound—I just have to plug it.

He moans as he sucks, sending zaps of fire down my spine, and growls as he lets the nipple pop out before moving to the left. I'm delirious. I need to let go, but I don't know how.

"Cristiano," I whimper.

He swirls his tongue around the circumference of my breast one last time and then looks up at me with dark eyes. "You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he whispers huskily. "Even more so when you're coming undone." He works a hand between us and presses his thumb on my clit while he thrusts faster.

"Oh God , Cristiano . . ."

"Trilby ... Fuck, you feel so good."

"I love it when you say my name." I gasp through the words.

"Then I'll say it every day until I die."

My head falls into the crook of his neck, and he thrusts firmly, repeatedly. I can feel something building, but it isn't coming from where that kind of release came from before. It's coming from inside of me. Whatever he's doing, it's dissecting me limb from limb.

"Oh!"

"Fuck, Trilby, that's your spot, isn't it?"

I can't speak.

He does something with his ass that I can't even describe, and suddenly, everything implodes.

I bite down on my hand and grip his firm body everywhere that I can.

"Un, un, fuck, un."

The sound of him losing control is like a symphony to my ears. My free hand has curled around his nape, which is now slippery with sweat, and my back is bouncing against the pillar.

And I'm rolling.

Dear God .

"Trilby ..." His voice is breathless. "Oh God, fuck, I'm coming." He jerks forcefully and bites into my shoulder.

I feel his roar in my bones.

Then he comes.

And for the first time in my life, I smile around the curl of my fist.