Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
She’s sweeter than Pignolata di Miele, more tantalizing than amphetamines. My consciousness dances like a prisoner freed after a life sentence. I slide my hands from her face, down her neck and lower, gipping her tiny waist, surging forward so there’s no space between us. She moans into my mouth, her hands fisting my sweater like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.
But I can’t. Threats from the devil himself couldn’t drag me from her. I could drown in her and die a happy man.
My conscience prickles—this is wrong, so wrong. I’m almost twice her age, but I’m used to pushing aside any desire to be a good man. The last time I saw her she was a little girl. I shouldn’t want her like this. But still, I kiss down her throat, across her collarbone, tasting her skin and the water coating us both, nipping her with my teeth, holding her still with the tight grip of my killer's hands.
Her hips flare wide, a woman’s hips. Her mouth is sweet but desperate with a woman’s desire. She moans softly; a woman’s need.
The water washes us both, but it’ll never rinse away the stain of my past. Hopelessness surges inside me, taking the strength from my knees.
What the fuck am I doing? This isn’t me? This isn’t who I am.
I drop down in front of Aemelia, pressing my face to her stomach, and wrapping my arms around her hips.
I have to stop this before it’s too late, but I can’t. Desire is a flood that’s impossible to outrun.
I kiss her stomach through the sheer fabric of her nightgown, fever tearing at me with flaming hands. I’m a bad man, through and through, and this girl is so sweet and pure. Touching her isn’t enough. I need to be inside her so her purity can wash me clean. But I won’t do that. Not just because Luca would skin me alive but because Aemelia deserves more than I can ever give her.
She deserves a good man who loves her, a wedding filled with white doves and classical music and a honeymoon of romance and soft touches. She deserves pure memories that will last a lifetime and color her family with joy.
But maybe there’s something else. Another way. I slide my hand from her knee to her thigh, pushing the soaked nightdress fabric higher. I wait for her to slap my hand away, but she doesn’t. Higher still, my fingers touch the edge of her panties. Still no resistance. I look up and find her staring down at me, eyes bright, hands pressed to the tiled wall. I hook my fingers and pull just a little, our eyes still locked. She’s breathing hard but there’s no fear in her expression, just a calm acceptance.
“What do you want from me, Aemelia?” My throat is nothing but gravel. It would be easy to take, but I want her to give it to me.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t know.”
“Tell me to stop.”
She shakes her head, so I continue, using both hands to ease her panties down her smooth thighs. I press my face lower, still over the fabric of her night dress, breathing her in.
“Wash me,” she whispers, but I shake my head, the scent of her driving me fucking crazy.
She’s so natural, so perfect, exactly how a woman should be. Soft dark curls at the apex of her thighs, sweet musky scent that makes me want to rut like a fucking animal. I caress over the seam of her sex, relishing the way her body shudders and her breath comes in soft pants, then I open her with my thumbs and press my lips to her clit.
I’m lost. Drunk. Stumbling in the dark. Wanting. Stealing. Craving.
Her knees tremble, and I wait, warming her flesh with my breath, letting her get accustomed to something she may not have ever done before, but mostly, I linger because I’m selfish. I want to burn this moment into my brain. I want my first taste of Aemelia’s sweetness to hit me like a drug. I touch her clit with the tip of my tongue, and her hands leave the wall to grip my head. It feels like she doesn’t know whether she wants to push me away or hold me against her. With slow teasing licks, I make her knees shake. I stare up at her over the perfect arc of her body, meeting her heavy-lidded eyes. As I lick her, I remember how she looked at the wedding, vibrant and beautiful, a rose among thorns. I recall the fire in her eyes, her chin held high, her regalness. She’s so young but so strong.
Even in a room with three dangerous men, she could hold her own.
Maybe she’d be strong enough to return to the life that she grew up in before her father destroyed it all. A mafia princess instead of a Maryland waitress. Maybe she could be mine, but would I even want that for her?