Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

“Trying to decide if you’re brave enough?”

I glowered. “I’ve given you a blowjob before.”

His mouth twitched. “You tried, but you didn’t finish, so it doesn’t count.”

I knew he was trying to goad me. Unfortunately, it was working.

I moved down until I knelt beside his groin. Remo reached for his pants and pulled them down, wincing as he did so.

“Quite eager, aren’t you?” I teased.

He smiled but it was dark and hungry, and his body was tense. I lowered my head and took his tip into my mouth. Remo moaned, his fingers tangling in my hair. I swirled my tongue around him, and my own core tightened with renewed need. Remo’s breathing deepened, his muscles tensing as he watched me.

“Take more of me,” Remo ordered quietly, and I did. I let him claim my mouth until he hit the back of my throat. He thrust into me slowly, his hand in my hair keeping me in place. He held my gaze as I let him claim my mouth. His other hand cupped my cheek. Remo. Brutality and tenderness. I still didn’t understand him or us.

Remo’s body coiled tighter, his hips jerking up with less control, lips parting in a low moan.

“I’m going to come,” he rasped. I saw the question in his expression, and my heart swelled with affection … and God help me … love.

I gave a small nod around his head before he drove deeper into my mouth again, and his grip on my neck became firmer. His face twisted with passion, his eyes almost harsh with lust as he tensed and came with a sharp exhale. I had trouble swallowing around his length, and Remo loosened his hold on my neck so I could pull back slightly. He kept rocking his hips, his breathing harsh.

Remo’s gaze laid claim to another part of me, possessive and warm, as he stroked my cheek. I slowly released his cock from my lips and swallowed, frowning at the taste. Remo drew me toward him, brushed my lips with his, and handed me his glass with scotch. I took a sip and coughed. That tasted even worse.

“You’ll get used to the taste,” he said with a small laugh.

“The scotch or your …?”

He gripped my arms and wrenched me against him so I was cradled against his chest. I caught the wince but then it was gone. “My cum,” he murmured as he licked my lips then dove into my mouth. Our kiss was slow, almost teasing, until it wasn’t. It became needy and eager.

He positioned me so one of my legs was thrown over his groin, my head against his shoulder. His hand parted me then his fingers slid over my drenched panties. He pushed the fabric aside and slowly pushed two fingers into me. His other hand began pinching and twirling my nipple. He played me masterfully with his fingers as I lay draped over him. We kissed softly, our eyes locked the entire time, until a new wave of pleasure shot through me.

I’d barely caught my breath when Greta’s cry rang out.

I sighed with a small smile.

“Perfect timing,” he murmured, giving me another lingering kiss. I quickly slid out of bed and rushed into the bathroom to wash my hands before I returned to the bedroom. Remo stood beside the door, waiting for me.

“You should stay in bed and rest,” I said.

“I should help you with our children.”

His voice didn’t allow any objections, and I had to stifle a pleased smile. By the time we arrived in the nursery, Nevio had started crying as well. I took Greta because she didn’t know Remo well enough. Remo lifted Nevio out of the crib without hesitation and pressed him to his chest. It was obvious that he’d held a baby before, that he knew how to handle them. I took a whiff. “New diapers.”

Remo carried Nevio over to the changing table and began his work. I watched him for a moment longer, my body flooding with so many hormones, I could feel the waterworks beginning. I blinked and looked away. “I’ll go into the kitchen and prepare their bottles.”

Remo glanced up, his gaze lingering on my eyes, then nodded.

When I returned ten minutes later, Nevio was already dressed and resting in Remo’s arm. I handed him a bottle, and he sank down in the armchair, wincing again. He was moving more stiffly than before, probably from overexertion.

I changed Greta’s diaper before I settled on the armrest beside Remo and started feeding her. “This is strange,” I whispered after a moment.

Remo frowned. “It’s not what I imagined when I kidnapped you.”

I searched his face, trying to figure out what this meant to him, what I really meant to him, but I didn’t dare ask. I knew it was futile to stay away from Remo, not only because my body was already calling for his touch again but also because my heart yearned for his closeness.