Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

It was such a damsel-in-distress thing to think, to feel turned on by, but my base instincts were obviously stronger than my stubbornness.

My attention was all over the place during the next race, so even though I started in the front row right beside Adamo, I finished as tenth. Of course, Adamo had played a huge part in my bad result. He’d cut me viciously after the start, so I’d briefly lost control of my car and taken a detour over the bumpy shoulder of the road.

Not that I hadn’t done the same to other racers, but so far Adamo hadn’t showed me his ruthless side. I had to admit it only made me desire him more. I didn’t want to be coddled by anyone. That night after the race the following party was boisterous, and soon most people were drunk or passed out.

I’d only drunk a glass of the slightly less disgusting concoction with peach Schnaps someone had created. Adamo and I had kept an eye on each other all through the evening but hadn’t talked. Now that Dima wasn’t my shadow, many other racers came by to chat and many of them were more interesting than I’d given them credit for. As the crowd dwindled, I got restless. Something in me called to seek Adamo’s closeness but I resisted.

To my surprise, he sought me out when I was heading back to my car. “Already leaving?” he asked, close by, making me jump. I threw him a glance over my shoulder. “Nothing kept my attention.”

Adamo caught up with me. “Maybe I can. I bought a bottle of the best vodka I could find in the last liquor store we passed by. How about we share a drink?”

I stopped. After how our last encounter had ended for him, I was wary of his motives. Trust wasn’t something I handed out freely. Despite my distrust, I nodded and followed him toward his car, which was far away from most of the others. Dark and secluded.

We shared a drink in silence, leaning against the hood of his car, our shoulders brushing once more. With the music from the party in the background—for once a slower, melodic piece—this felt almost romantic.

“Are you pissed?” I asked eventually.

“Life’s too short to hold grudges.”

“That’s not a motto I live by.”

“I bet,” Adamo said. He straightened and moved in front of me, towering over my head.

I didn’t move, only peered up at him calmly. Slowly he leaned down. “You look as if you want to run. Are you scared of kissing me again?”

“I’m not scared of anything,” I muttered. “But I’d rather not have to kick you in the balls because you feel the need to avenge your hurt pride and forget what the word no means.”

Adamo braced one hand on the hood, bringing our faces so close together, the heat of his lips seared mine. “I’m fluent in the meaning of no, Dinara. Don’t worry. And my pride isn’t easily hurt. But tell me, are you saying no to a kiss?”

I should have. Last time, I’d lost myself completely in it, but having Adamo so close, especially his mouth, clouded my judgment. I bridged the distance between us, brushing my lips across his.

Adamo didn’t need another invitation. He tore the control over the kiss out of my hands and I let him, too delirious by every stroke of his tongue.

Sleeping with Adamo had never been part of the plan. Maybe if I’d known more about him, about his dark sides, which called loudly to me because they reflected the darkness deep within myself, I could have anticipated it would come to this. His grip on my neck tightened as he deepened our kiss. He tasted like sin and darkness, and he could kiss in a way I’d never considered possible. My body tingled from the simple friction of our lips, from the soft caress of his tongue and the taste of him. Soon the tingle turned into a pulsating need and my panties became damp. I was losing myself in Adamo again, losing control of my body. I snapped back to attention, forcing my mind into stark focus and submitting my body to its command. It had never been difficult. I’d practiced control for years, depended on it.

I reached for Adamo’s belt and unbuckled it, snatching my mouth away from Adamo’s dangerous lips. I reached for his cock that was trying to break through the fabric of his boxers, but he grabbed my hand and caught my lips in another kiss. “My turn. I have some trust issues when it comes to you and my cock.”

I couldn’t help but laugh against his mouth but then his hot, skilled tongue traced the seam of my lips before it dipped into my mouth once more. Adamo’s hand cupped my breast through my tank. Of course, I wasn’t wearing a bra. I was an A-cup so I rarely saw need to do so. Now I wished I had because like last time, Adamo began playing with my piercing, sending bolts of pleasure through my body. Adamo’s other hand popped open the button of my jean shorts before it slipped in, stroking over my slit. Like a clam snapping shut to protect itself, my mind did the same, removing myself from the touch. Adamo’s hand slid beneath my panties, touching skin, but I witnessed everything through a fog, barely registering the touch. I was in control of my mind and body, focusing on the tattoo on Adamo’s forearm, following its intricate lines broken by burn scars. The ugly and beautiful becoming one.