The man, Frances, is broad so he’s blocking the person standing behind him, but I can see that the door is standing wide open. And the Frances fellow doesn’t seem too off put by the threat.
Frances.
The name finally connects all the pieces of recognition. This it the guy whose Abramo’s right hand man, the one who got onto Fabio, Daria’s nephew, at the biker party.
“Well, if you’d pay closer attention, her hands are the ones on me,” he says, his eyes holding mine while he speaks. He gives me a wink that has me blinking.
And looking down to confirm that I am in fact that I’m the one who's still holding onto him.
“Winter, let go of him, and Frances, get the fuck out.”
I let go of him as if my hand have caught fire. Frances leans away, stretching out to his full height. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I see how it is. I’ve interrupted whatever you two got going on, like any good villain in a romance, glad I could play my part.” He sounds absolutely crazy. “You change your mind and want to really fuck around with a real man, come find me, love.” Frances gives me another wink before he’s disappearing and leaving me staring right at the man I least expected to follow me in here.
Because a part of me knew that nothing was going to really happen. There’d been too many Costa eyes on me, aware of what I was on my way to do. I knew Maximo would burst in here with Enzo on his heels.
Or so I thought.
I hadn’t counted on Vito being the one to follow me.
Or the red hot anger in his eyes.
A wave of excitement moves through me, my core tingling and I know it's wrong but I don’t care.
It’s something, and that's what I need right now, some sort of thrill, something to boost me.
Dead cousins don’t matter right now, or alive ones.
Vito takes another step into the room, kicking the door closed behind him.
The angry expression hasn’t changed a bit and when his body crowds mine, I can feel tension radiating from him. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” he asks.
I shrug, knowing I’m only digging myself further into a hole, but fuck it, go ahead and embarass me, because I’m not going to be docile tonight.
Docile isn’t going to get me anything.
“Figured since everyone seems to be able to do whatever the fuck they want to do, I can do the same,” I tell him.
“And that includes fooling around with Frances Greco?”
He’s not the one I should probably be aiming my sudden anger at, but he’s the one who gets it.
“To be clear, I wasn’t going to just fool around with him, I was going to fuck him,” I tell him, with another shrug, this one even more relaxed. His eyes brim with fire. “I mean, I’m on birth control and all, so I figured I was covered." I scrunch my nose. “And I’m probably as likely to get something from him as I am running around here allowing the rest of you to fuck me raw, yeah?”
I see the minute it happens, the second that Vito Bianchi’s control switch is flipped off. And I photograph it into my memory for forever.
“I haven’t fucked you raw, yet, Winter, but you can bet before we leave this damn room that I’m going to.”
His lips slam down onto mine, hungry and angry. There’s no technique to the kiss and I love it, allowing his tongue to push into my mouth. His hand wraps in my hair, pulling until there’s a burn across my scalp. His lips leave my mouth, trailing down my neck. When his teeth bite into my skin, it isn’t soft, and a long whimper leaves my throat.
The burn has barely gone away when his hands slide under my dress. His fingers glide across my covered pussy, yet it feels as if he’s touching me directly. “Wet,” he mutters before he pushes my panties to the side and plunges two fingers into me.
I grind down onto his hand, the sounds leaving my lips embarrassing but I don’t give two fucks.
“Fucking dripping,” he says and his voice is lower than usual. He pulls his fingers out of me and I let out a cry. “This better all be for me,” he says, holding up his glistening fingers, my arousal coating them. “Or else I’m going to drag Frances in here and start a whole fucking war over this pussy.”
“It is,” I whimper, wanting him back inside of me. “It’s for you.”
“It better be.” He forces his fingers up to my lips, gliding them inside. The salty taste explodes over my taste buds and there’s something so fucking erotic about knowing where those fingers just were. “Suck,” he orders.