Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“I know,” he says, casually.

“You know?”

“Of course. You think I don’t know when a woman wants to fuck me?”

I shrug my shoulders a little. “I’ve only ever known you with me.”

This seems to amuse him. “Maybe that’s the problem.” He swoops in, leaving a few kisses along my neck and whispers near my ear, “You want me to tell you about the other women I’ve fucked since you, Mia?”

Anger shoots through me and I shove my arms against him, trying to get free. “Don’t you dare.”

He smirks. “Why? Thought it didn’t bother you?”

It shouldn’t, but it does. Not because I want him; I only want Mateo, there’s just something wrong with my brain—it’s stuck in possessive mode with Vince. I was always free to be possessive over him, then he was just gone and I never had to witness him moving on. I never had to think about him fucking someone else, because I was fucking someone else. I wanted his happiness; I just didn’t want to see it. Now, here, in bed with him, his body on top of mine in this shadow of intimacy, it feels wrong.

“Get off me,” I tell him, pushing against his hands again.

Instead he pushes his cock between my legs. I’m only covered by a thin scrap of pink lace, and the pressure of him against me gets a response. Blood rushes through my veins, drowning out my momentary pangs of jealousy. “Please, Vince. I mean it, get off me.”

“He’s going to assume I fucked you if he ever catches us, Mia. He’ll never believe I didn’t.”

My heart hammers in my chest. It’s not like I haven’t considered that. I have, a lot. It always turns sexual in my head though. Mateo never kills me. Maybe he even wants to, but he can’t. Instead, he takes his aggressions out on me and lets me make it up to him.

Shit, now mental flashes of making amends to Mateo have me throbbing. Fuck. I need to bring this train to an abrupt halt before I lose control. My mind searches for something awful to fling at him, something that will kill his desire, make him stop wanting me. I never stumbled across any of his extreme turn-offs in our time together.

He releases one of my hands to reach between my legs, pushing a finger up under my panties.

“Vince!” I say again, trying to squeeze my legs together. “Seriously, you have to—”

His finger breaches my entrance and a slow smile claims his lips when the wetness there makes the passage easy.

“That’s not for you,” I inform him, flushing.

“Uh huh,” he says, unconvinced. “Your pussy sure is ready for me, Mia. What was that about it belonging to him?”

“Every inch of me belongs to him,” I tell Vince firmly, expecting it to either piss him off or cool his passions.

Instead, he looks amused. “Well, maybe it brings me pleasure to fuck Mateo’s property—the same way he enjoyed fucking you when you were mine. What do you think about that, Mia? Think it’s time to even the score?”

“This isn’t a game,” I tell him, gasping as he pushes a second finger inside of me, pushing deep. “Please stop, Vince. You’re going to get us both in so much trouble.”

“You were in trouble as soon as you left that bakery with me,” he states. “You knew better. You went anyway. Maybe life’s gotten a little too calm for you, Mia. Maybe you craved a little danger.”

“I didn’t,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I missed you when you were gone and I was happy to see you. I assumed you had moved on with your life. Trust me; if I’d have known you would take me away from Mateo, I would have called Adrian myself.”

Vince shakes his head, but he’s looking at me tenderly. “You still see the best in people. It’s gonna get you killed someday if you ever get away from me, you know.”

“I’d rather die with Mateo than live with you.”

That’s it.

His face falls, my stomach plummets, and I feel like a monster, but how can he possibly want to fuck me after that? I’m doing us both a favor here.

Or, I thought I was.

But then he gets mean. His warm brown eyes go hot with rage. I’m taken completely off guard as he withdraws his fingers and moves down my body, dragging the panties down my legs.

Fuck. I’m out of practice with Vince, I’m calibrated to Mateo’s moods now, but I definitely took the wrong approach.

“Vince, no,” I say, panic surging through my veins. I try to kick him away, but his hands are like shackles on my ankles as he yanks the flimsy lace off and tosses it on the floor behind him. “Vince, wait, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Let’s just keep talking. Talking to you is nice. Please stop.”