Sergio (Benedetti Brothers 3)

But this shadow, it’s not one he casts. The opposite. It seems to cast itself over him. To have a claim on him. Some strange, powerful hold over him.

“You shouldn’t have hurt him,” I say when my back’s against the wall and he’s standing inches from me.

“You couldn’t protect yourself so I did it for you. Besides, this isn’t important. That idiot isn’t important.”

“No, it doesn’t work that way. I didn’t want—”

“How does it work?” he asks, one corner of his mouth curling upward. He looks me over, leans his forearms against the wall on either side of my head. “Huh?” He dips his head closer, inhales, touches the scruff of his jaw against my cheek. “Explain to me how it works.”

I look up at him, at his midnight eyes. I smell his aftershave, remember what we did last night. My body remembers too.

“How does it work, Nat?”

I hate the nickname. Always have.

“Huh?” he continues. “I stand back while some asshole intimidates you into his bed?”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m not fucking stupid. And I don’t need someone to protect me. I don’t need some knight in shining armor and I’m not looking for a hero.” Tears warm my eyes. I hate them, hate the weakness. But what I’ve said has made him stop. Confused him almost.

Then he laughs. “You think I’m trying to be the hero?” A moment later, he drops his head. His forehead creases and he’s looking down for a long time before he shifts his gaze back up to mine, searching mine as if it holds the answers. “I’m not the hero, sweetheart. I’m the fucking monster.”

When I don’t reply, he grins. It’s a sad, one sided thing.

“What do you think of that? Makes more sense, right?”

I push against him, but it’s like trying to move a wall, and the look in his eyes, the dark desperation in his words, his voice, it scares me. “Let me go.”

“No.” He takes my wrists in one of his hands, draws them over my head, pins them to the wall. His other hand grips my skirt, yanks it up. “You’re good. You’re the only good in my life, you know that?” His eyes skim my bared legs, the stockings that reach mid-thigh. “And I want what I want,” he finishes, dragging his gaze back to mine. “I should let you go. It’s the right thing to do, I know.”

I can’t process what he’s saying—it’s almost like he’s not talking to me but to himself. Like he’s been thinking and thinking and he’s just saying it out loud now.

He touches my face, my cheek. His thumb presses against my lower lip, forces my mouth open. “But I can’t,” he says finally.

“You have a key to my house.” It’s all I can say and fuck, he’s so close and when he presses against me, against my clit, it takes all I have to not wrap my legs around him. Rub myself against him. Hump him like some animal. Because I do want this. Want him. It’s not just that part of me, either. It’s all of me. Even though I know my heart will shatter when it’s finished. When he’s gone.

He kisses me hard, not waiting for me to kiss him back. His fingers curl into the crotch of my panties, push them aside, roughly rub my clit.

“You’re wet.”

“This is too fast. We don’t even know each other. Don’t you see how strange this is? How not normal?” I’m just talking though. I don’t want him to go. To walk away. Even if it is wrong.

Keeping me pinned to the wall, he undoes his belt, the buttons of his pants. He pushes them down and the smooth skin of his cock makes me moan as he rubs against my clit, between my folds.

“You should make me stop,” he whispers into my ear, then bites my earlobe. It’s like neither of us is listening to the other, though, because we’re saying the same thing but we’re both powerless to do it.

When he puts his mouth to mine, I open for him, our kiss wet, his tongue dipping inside my mouth as he sets my hands on his shoulders and lifts me up by my hips.

“Say no and I’ll stop,” he says, biting my lip, making me taste the metal of blood. “Say no, Natalie. Make me go. Make me walk away.” He pauses, looks at me. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He whispers the next part: “It’s better for you if you do.”

He thrusts inside me, making me grunt, making me suck in breath. His thick cock stretches me and when he slides out a little, it’s only to thrust in harder. He’s watching me, eyes black but for the narrow ring of midnight, pupils dilated. He kisses me, but our eyes remain open. He’s sucking my lower lip. I know he tastes blood. He must.