Kiss & Control: A Mafia Romance Page 22

  “Um, I’m persona non grata in the Lombardi world, for one,” he says, smirking. “And in case you haven’t noticed, your father did an exceptional job of hiding you. I might’ve also promised to never see you again.”

  The betrayal cuts like a blade. He promised not to see me? “Why?”

  “To keep us both alive?” He looks at me like I just asked him the color of grass.

  “He won’t kill me, and he promised me he won’t hurt you.”

  The furnace kicks on and I can’t help but jump at the sudden rattle and whoosh of hot air from the vent overhead, which isn’t exactly selling my confidence over the matter to him very well.

  He shakes my hand from his wrist. “I’m less worried about him hurting me and more worried about me leading someone awful to you. Now how did you get here?”

  “A ride share,” I admit, ignoring the are you fucking kidding me look that he gives me. “A girl drove me with a car seat in the back. She’s harmless. Relax. No one followed me.”

  “Did you watch out the window every step of the way?” he asks, grabbing his phone. “What about walking right up to my door? Did you make sure no one saw you?”

  No, no, and more no.

  “Fallon, please.” I place a hand over his phone, and tentatively rest the other on his chest, finding it as hard and welcoming as I remember.

  He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweats, but this laid-back side of him is a thousand times better than the suits and street clothes he’s worn in the past. This is him relaxed in his element. Exposed. Raw. This is the real Fallon.

  Fallon Tully.

  He should terrify me.

  That revelation alone should’ve sent me screaming in the other direction, but I’m more drawn to him than ever.

  He stiffens at the sudden contact but doesn’t brush either hand away. His eyes hold mine, instead. “You have five minutes, and then I’m calling Antonio.”

  “Are you my timekeeper now?”

  “Something like that.” He brushes tumble of hair out of my face, studying the dark strands between his fingers. They’re flowing freely and probably look insane from being outside in the wind, but I didn’t have time to primp. I doubt he cares, either. I’ve looked a hell of a lot worse in the past.

  “You don’t control me.” He does, in a way, but that’s my little secret to keep. He dominates my thoughts, dreams, and currently, my wants and needs.

  “No one does.” His voice grows thick as he watches my hand drift over him with a mind of its own. “That’s my favorite thing about you.”

  My hand skims his chest, appreciating the contour of his pecs underneath the thin fabric. Teasing. Touching. Exploring. I’ve never felt a man like this, one who’s filled the dips and divots of youth with maturity. He’s not as bulky as the meatheads I see at the club, but he’s rock hard and dense where it counts, a solid chest and thick, capable arms putting him in a league of his own. I want to see and feel what’s under the fabric.

  I grip his phone with my other hand, and he gives it up without a fight. “Here’s the thing, you can’t control me,” I say, tossing the phone to the couch where it lands with a soft plop. “But you can kiss me.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  I nod, and his lips find mine.

  The same avalanche comes crashing down as the last time, plowing over everything I thought I knew about intimacy. The kiss reaches my very core, a delicious ripple that heads straight between my legs.

  Fallon is what I need. What I crave. A deficiency I never knew I had.

  At first, it’s a gentle brushing of lips and gliding of tongues. He’s a gentleman, cupping my face in his hands and allowing me to find my rhythm in a world I’m embarrassingly unfamiliar with.

  But when both of my hands fall to his waist and haul him forward so the bulge jutting from his pants presses to my stomach, he disintegrates. Brushing turns to claiming. Gliding becomes conquering. The man who treats me like a porcelain doll vanishes, and a side of him I’ve never seen comes out to play. A side I’m not sure I can handle.

  I don’t realize we’re moving until my calves hit the couch, and he’s on me, lowering us both to the leather and covering my body with his. He’s between my thighs in an instant, the hard heat pressing exactly where I need it as his mouth does unspeakable things to mine. Things I need to feel reenacted elsewhere if they feel this amazing against my tongue.

  His hands skim my breasts, easily finding my nipples despite the thick cardigan and bra. I arch into his touch and he rewards me with a pinch to my right nipple. I yelp, and he laughs against my lips, his hands falling from my breasts to the hem, stripping me of my sweater in a single tug.

  He drops his head to my breasts, a simple black bra the only thing standing between them and his mouth. I’m gasping, watching him drink me in with his eyes like I’m the only thing he needs in life.

  No man has ever seen me like this. No man has ever touched me like this.

  Should I tell him?

  Should I be doing this at all?

  Catholic guilt tries to ruin the moment. Tries to steer me away from what I want. What I need.

  It dies a miserable death when he unhooks my bra and tosses it to the side, the air cool against the exposed flesh before the heat of his breath nears. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers. The pull against the delicate skin sends a torrent of need below.

  Fuck guilt. Fuck waiting.

  I don’t recognize who I’ve become. My hips rise on their own, rubbing against his hardness. My back arches higher, encouraging him to suck my nipple harder. My body knows what it needs, even if I don’t. The constant friction and pleasure send shock waves through me, settling into a knot low in my belly.

  He moves his mouth to the other nipple, his hands falling to my waistband and yanking down, taking my panties and leggings to my knees at once. I let out a shocked breath as the cool air hits my most sensitive of places and he laughs against my skin, pulling his lips from my breast with a pop. “You okay with this?”

  Am I?

  I blink for a second, trying to come down off the wave of pleasure that’s taken me into unfamiliar waters.

  Looking into his eyes, I know he’ll stop if I ask. And that’s what scares me. I don’t want him to stop.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” It comes out as more of a pant than an answer.

  He doesn’t need to know that I’m clueless. That I’m a virgin who's never been fingered, let alone fucked. That I’ve placed my virginity on a pedestal for a man my father picks to take someday when it’s been mine all along.

  I want him to take it. To take all of me. He knows me. The real me. The stripped down one. What I want. What I need. And he accepts me for it.

  “We have one shot at this,” he whispers against my skin. “Let’s make it fucking count.”

  He presses a featherlight kiss to my lips before trailing across my jaw. His mouth grazes along my neck, the wet heat of his mouth mixing with the scrape of his stubbled skin in a sweeping rhythm I can’t get enough of. The same as my dreams. Kisses and nibbles skim my chest, a quick detour to my breasts, leaving me breathless before they find the soft skin of my stomach, tracing the flat planes.

  I let out a strangled cry of shock and pleasure when his mouth lands there and he pushes my legs apart, his rough hands gripping and spreading me wide. What starts with a tender kiss explodes into a frenzy of tongue, lapping against the bundle of nerves before dipping into me, swirling and sucking in a relentless tempo.

  This isn’t something I remember reading about. Isn’t anything I remember Perla bragging about. This is the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

  His tongue drifts back to the cluster of nerves, circling my clitoris in a steady cadence as one of his fingers slips inside to the knuckle.

  “Fuck,” he groans, the message delivered against my skin. My hands fist in his hair and push his mouth back down, earning a laugh that vibrates through me.

&nbs
p; One finger isn’t all that bad. It’s foreign at first, hooked in a way that it touches me like I’ve never touched myself, but as another slips in and then another, my teeth sink into my bottom lip.

  “Goddamn,” he grunts, working them in and out. “Are you always this tight?”

  I nod stupidly, because it’s all I can think to do other than grip his hair and guide his mouth where I want it. The knot is tightening inside and I need relief.

  “You like this?” he asks, flicking his tongue over my clit. It’s too slow at first. More frustrating than helpful. But he seems to know that, picking up the pace until my hips rise again and he sucks it between his lips, giving me everything I don’t know that I need.

  I’m drunk on him. Infatuated. Addicted. “I fucking love this.”

  I’m so close I can taste it. So close I can feel the knot beginning to unravel.

  But just as suddenly, it’s out of reach. He pulls away, and my hands automatically reach for his hair again, a disgruntled cry flying from my lips. “What are you doing?”

  “Impatient, are we?” he laughs, already out from between my legs and pulling his shirt over his head before I can force his head back down.

  His body is everything I imagined, all man and nothing more, with hard lines and a dusting of hair. A collection of pale scars stand out against his skin, some larger and more jagged than others, painting a tale of a man with a dangerous past I know embarrassingly little about given our current state. The newest one’s faded to a pink like the one on my calf, his left shoulder bearing a permanent reminder of the worst night of both of our lives.

  I rest my head against the couch cushion, watching him with the same intensity he rains down on me from above. I mirror his confidence, telling myself I’ve done this a thousand times over like he has. It’s no big deal. This is just sex. People do this all day, every day. In. Out. In. Out. I’ve got this. He’ll never know.

  He slides off his pants and boxers in the same motion, and with a heavy thud against my thigh, my eyes land on the first penis I’ve ever seen in person, and all that confidence takes a nosedive.

  It isn’t what I expect—not that it’s terrible or deformed—I just didn’t know about the sheer size of them. Long and thick with an angry bulbed head. I can’t wrap my head around how it's supposed to fit inside of me. After a moment, I realize I’m staring, and my eyes move from the stiff rod back to his face, my cheeks burning.

  His hands skim my thighs and haul my hips against him. For a split second, I think he’s going to impale me with that thing before I can brace for impact, but he hooks my legs around his waist and stands instead, carrying me across the living room, through the kitchen, and down a short hall to a bedroom, the thick rod smacking against my ass the whole way.

  The space is cooler than the living area and dark, too, but he rectifies that with a flip of a light switch. The only furnishings are a platform bed and two small end tables, a pair of thick, black drapes covering a window on the opposite wall.

  He sets me down on the bed, and I sink into the gray duvet. The plush fabric holds onto the chill in the air, sending a shiver up my spine that vanishes when his penis is suddenly eye level with me. It’s not there for long though, as he lays down and pats his chest. “Up here.”

  I have no clue why he wants me to sit there but do as he says, seeing that he knows a little more about this subject than I do.

  Fake it till you make it.

  I straddle his chest, my pussy hovering over his heart, and am no closer to figuring out what the fuck I’m supposed to do next when his hands grip my ass cheeks and he lifts me. Caught off-guard, my hands fly out and grip the wooden headboard as he lowers me into place with my knees sinking into the bed on either side of his head.

  I’m about to ask what the hell he’s doing when his mouth finds my center.

  Oh, fuck. That’s what he’s doing.

  My head falls back, my hair tumbling down my back as he consumes me in the best way possible.

  His fingers bite into my hips so hard that I know I’ll see bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care. I need this. I want this. Fuck, I need more.

  His tongue takes me higher and higher, so high that I’m out of breath, overcome with the need for the knot inside to burst and break free.

  When his hands fall from my skin and his tongue slows, I’m almost in tears, so desperate for release that legs physically shake around him.

  “Ride my face.” He delivers the message against my flesh, and it doesn’t take a genius to know what he wants.

  I rock my hips forward and am rewarded with a lap of his tongue, and when I roll them back, I’m met with another blissful bout of hot, wet contact. Putting them together in a rhythm, I take the pleasure I need, letting instinct guide me where experience can’t.

  My fingers clutch the headboard at first before I work up the courage to thread them in his hair, the rush of power the position gives making his mouth on me that much better. He isn’t just pleasuring me. He’s letting me lead, letting me take full control of him and his body. A man who could easily snap my neck and call it a day.

  It shouldn’t, but it thrills me. It breaks the last chain of inhibition, and I give in, relaxing into his touch. That’s all it takes.

  The heavens align.

  An angel gets its wings.

  The patron saint of sex looks down on me with a smile and a wink.

  And I come undone.

  That pesky knot snaps, exploding into a thousand fireworks. The pulsing reaches the point of no return and I’m screaming, begging, pleading with Fallon. For more. Less. Everything.

  And he gives it to me.

  I take it all, greedy for anything he offers. So high on being his that my body hums all the way to my toes.

  When my hips slow to a lazy swirl, he lifts me off and rolls over, leaving me to curl into the bedcover. Reaching into his bedside drawer, his hand rustles around the contents, and I know he’s looking for a condom which hello, we need, but I still feel a pang of jealousy that he has them on hand. That he’s had sex with other women. Most likely in this bed. And who knows when the last time was. One could’ve rolled out of here five minutes before I walked in the door, and I wouldn’t know any different.

  He rolls back with a silver square between his fingers, tearing it open and extracting a rubber ring. Yet another first I’m seeing today. Placing it on the tip of his penis, his fingers drift downward, unrolling the sheath in a clean sweep nearly to the base.

  “What are you in the mood for, babe?” he asks, his voice hoarse with desire. “Ride, from behind, or missionary? Something else?”

  My heart flutters over him calling me babe, but I try to play it cool. Riding sounds terrifying, given the size of that thing, and missionary is always made out to be boring, so I say “From behind.”

  His lips meet mine, conjuring up the same spells as earlier that leave my toes curling. I can taste myself on his tongue, and I’m already thinking of ways he can use it on me again.

  I’m panting and breathless when he flips me over, my hand and knees sinking into the bed. I’m suddenly doubting my choice as he prods at my entrance, the thick head hard and hot against me. He’s given me everything I’ve asked for, and this is his realm. He has control here, and honestly, it terrifies me as much as it excites me.

  He circles my opening before sinking in, and a gasp is all I can muster at the invasion.

  “Fuck.” His hands rest on my hips, holding me in place as he eases in with a slow, steady, unrelenting slide that stretches me beyond my wildest dreams. Once fully embedded, he leans close and dusts a kiss between my shoulder blades, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

  My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I squeeze my eyes closed. The deep ache consumes my every thought, the fullness stretching me in ways I can’t begin to understand. I feel him everywhere.

  This is sex. The big hurrah. The forbidden fruit no one seems to be able to resist. The lead-up to this was nice, but this…
this hurts. Well, it does until his fingers find my clit again, and a bit of pressure and rubbing has my body melting against his touch.

  Leaning back, he almost slides completely out, easing the pressure, but within another breath he’s gliding forward and then back again, building a rhythm of his own. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. It's a rolling wave inside of me, a battle between the pain and the pleasure he’s stirring with his fingers on my clit.

  His free hand grips my hair, snapping my head back.

  “Open your eyes,” he orders.

  I do as I’m told, meeting his, the blue stormier that I remember. Hungry. Feral.

  His hold is unforgiving on my hair, twisting it around his fist as he works into me, my scalp stinging at his roughness.

  Suddenly, I’m afraid. Terrified that I can’t handle this man. That I’m completely, totally, and utterly over my head. I’m all of twenty. He’s… I don’t even know how old he is. I don’t know him.

  What am I doing? Why am I here?

  The questions swirl in a cyclone. I’m so caught up in my head that when he pulls out and flips me over, I shriek.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away as if he’s snapped me in two. He looms above, his chest heaving and forehead dotted in sweat.

  “Totally fine,” I lie, plastering on a fake smile. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”

  He laughs, dipping to meet my lips with a blazing kiss. “Rule one of being with me, Eva: expect the unexpected.”

  I almost groan at the cheesiness, but don’t get a chance. He thrusts himself inside once more, stealing the air from my lungs.

  This angle isn’t as punishing, and he sticks to short, shallow strokes. His fingers pick up the pace and pressure on my most sensitive of places, and while the ache remains, the rising pull inside takes center stage, shoving aside anxieties and making room for a fresh wave of pleasure that sweeps through. It isn’t long until I’m crying out, my fingers flexing into his forearms as I fall to pieces, giving in to the orgasm.

  He’s not far behind, his breaths coming quick pants and his thrusts falling more off beat. He rises to his knees and lifts my hips, sinking in deeper and deeper until I swear I’ll burst. He does instead, letting out a groan as his entire body jerks with his finish.