Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

My eyes closed as I felt him reposition himself behind me. He was so tall that he had to bend his knees to hook his thick shaft inside me. Once he was as deep as he could go, he grabbed my hips. He stared at me as he started to saw his manhood in and out of me.

The motion of his hips was smooth and relentless. He caught my eyes and held them, looking like a wild animal behind me. His face was hard, but his eyes blazed with feeling for me.

He loved me. Vincent loved me. He would die for me.

He’d proven it. And now he was showing me in the most primal way possible. Claiming me. Owning me.

As if he could read my thoughts, he reached forward and grabbed hold of my hair, pulling my head back so that I no choice but to look at him.

“I fucking love you, 'Cesca.”

“Yes.”

“Say it, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

He smiled at me, but it looked painful. He gripped my hair harder and started to fuck me with more force than he had ever used before.

“Say it.”

“What?” I said, challenging him with my eyes. He only smiled wider.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love . . . the way you fuck me,” I said with an answering smirk.

“Brat,” he hissed, pulling free and spinning me around. He lifted me in the air and settled me on his cock, wrapping my legs around his waist. He grunted as I slid down and started to ride him.

Now it was my turn to smirk at him.

“Say it,” I taunted.

“I already did,” he answered, his breathing uneven and rough.

“Say it again,” I moaned, lifting and lowering myself on his perfect cock.

“I fucking love you, Frankie. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes,” I purred, not stopping for a second. Even as I began to come. “I fucking love you, too.”

He hissed his satisfaction at my words, pulling me free and throwing me over his shoulder. He carried me to the bed.

“The shower is still on,” I protested weakly as he licked my aching pussy lips.

“Fuck the shower,” he said as he slid home again. “Fuck everyone and everything. Fuck everything . . .” he breathed into my neck. “Except us.”

Chapter Nineteen

Vincent

I stared at the ceiling, wondering at the insane levels of dopamine rushing through my body. My lifelong instinct to run, to stay alert, had deserted me. In any other circumstance, I was fucked. Hello, under this circumstance, I was fucked.

I had fallen asleep in her bed.

She was the love of my life.

She was my enemy.

I never fell asleep anywhere but my own bed, with a gun under my pillow, the door locked, and my guards stationed outside. I couldn’t quite believe I’d actually been able to fall asleep somewhere else. It was a first.

I never slept when I was traveling. Anywhere but our place in Italy, where there were guards constantly patrolling and insane levels of security. Hell, I barely slept at home.

But I’d fallen asleep in her bed without so much as a glass of warm milk.

My 'Cesca. My woman. My love.

It went without saying, but she hadn’t killed me in my sleep. I must have known she wouldn’t. Not in my head. Not even in my heart. I’d known in my gut. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep.

Fuck me. I was done. I’d known it for a while, but this was next-level. I didn’t just want her. I didn’t just love her. I needed her.

I craved her.

Francesca was my everything. Life didn’t matter without her. Nothing did. I had to keep her safe above all else.

But first I needed to get her daughter back.

My mind started working feverishly, alight with a new passion for the mission. A few things clicked into place. I had an idea. It turned into concrete steps. A strategy.

She was sleeping, I realized as I turned to my side to tell her my plan. I stared at her as it sank in.

'Cesca had fallen asleep too.

The woman I loved didn’t let her guard down easily. Even though she loved me. Even though we knew each other all the way to our bones, lock, stock, and barrel.

There was a game called ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’.

Well, we were all three. But we would never really hurt each other. I knew that. And she knew it too.

Goddamn, I would die for this woman, I thought for the hundredth time. The thousandth.

If you could die more than once, I would do it. I would walk on broken glass. Sleep on a bed of nails. Walk through fire. All the old platitudes suddenly made sense to me.

I would upend heaven and earth for her.

I pulled her closer, sliding my arm around her, and went back to staring at the ceiling. Despite the deep contentment in my bones, I knew I had to think. I had to make moves. I had to solve this conundrum, to plan it down to the smallest detail.