He pressed his face against my throat, let out a masculine groan that sent goose bumps down my body, and bit my neck hard enough it would leave a mark.
I sat there with my arms around his shoulders, my breath fanning his throat. His presence soaked through my skin with each inhale. His touch and taste and smell sank so deep they filled the cracks of my heart. He was becoming a drug, an addiction I would have to feed every day. From the recent hit, euphoria filled my veins and relaxed my limbs.
He was an infatuation, a craving, a need, and I was sure it was unrequited. But as my fingers ran down his tie and rested on his chest—
Bu-bum.
Bu-bum.
Bu-bum.
His heartbeats raced for me.
“We do not remember days, we remember moments.”
—Cesare Pavese
I RAN MY HANDS DOWN her back, marveling at the softness. She was so small and breakable in my arms—I could snuff the life right out of her with little effort. The thought made something tighten in my throat.
I didn’t know what to do with this woman, but I did know I was keeping her. Every time I saw her, my blood burned hotter, searing the word mine into my chest. If it were only the greedy Russo in me driving this infatuation, it would’ve gone away the moment she left my bed. Everyone at the Abelli house today knew that hadn’t fucking happened.
I’d come to the conclusion I didn’t give a shit if she wanted to be with another: she couldn’t. It was that simple. I kept myself from digging into her past because I knew if I found something I didn’t like—specifically, a lover—I wouldn’t be able to handle it with a clear mind. And the thought of earning her hatred sent a hollow ache throughout my chest.
Her breath fanned my neck, and I ran my fingers through her hair. There was so fucking much of it. I’d had to hold it out of her face while she sucked my dick. She hadn’t been lying—that was the first time she’d done it. A heady rush consumed me. Maybe she wasn’t as experienced as I’d believed.
What else hadn’t she done? I wanted it all. Everything. The urge to demand she tell me was on the tip of my tongue, but I forced myself to keep it in. I didn’t want to talk—or even think—about her sexual history. I had a feeling it would only end up with another broken piece of furniture.
She chose me instead of her papà.
And fuck, if that hadn’t filled me with a warm wave of satisfaction.
Her fingernails ran into the hair at my nape, and it sent a chill down my spine. “Nico, are our families going to kill each other at the wedding?”
Amusement rose in me. “Maybe.”
She tilted her head, and all of her silky hair slid across my hands. “I don’t think my papà likes you.”
I laughed. “I don’t think many Abellis do.”
“I do,” she whispered.
Fuck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Warmth flamed to life inside me. “You’ll be a Russo soon, so it doesn’t count.”
She trailed a finger down my neck. “Next weekend.”
Tomorrow. But she didn’t need to know that yet.
After her papà had threatened to change his mind, I’d decided I wasn’t risking waiting. Elena was mine, and tomorrow she’d take my name to prove it.
“I think we should have a couple more functions before then,” she said. “Somewhere our families have to interact.” She paused. “Like the casino.”
I chuckled. “Probably not the best idea, baby.”
“Oh,” she laughed, and the sound hit me in the chest. “I forgot you’re a bunch of cheats.”