Fatigue and sadness add a million pounds to each of my legs, but I put one foot in front of the other until I reach my apartment door.
Fear skitters down my spine as I sense eyes roaming over me. The hairs on my nape rise. I look up and down the hall, but it’s empty.
The last time Ermanno wasn’t by my side, two burly men grabbed me, so I’m probably just being jumpy.
I sigh and swipe my card over the reader.
It beeps red. I nearly knock my head on the door when it doesn’t open.
With a frustrated grunt, I check the keycard and roll my eyes at my stupidity.
The card to Ermanno’s apartment will never open my door no matter how many times I scan it. Embarrassment flows through me, but the flush on my cheek stems from the arousal simmering in my veins as I relish the memory of him giving me his keycard.
After parking near the door to my building, he grabbed me by the nape, pulled me over the center console, and kissed me senseless as he slipped the card against my palm. With a nip to my bottom lip and a sensual flick of his tongue along my jawline, he demanded I keep the key right next to mine until I move in with him.
Then he walked me into my building, patted my ass, and told me he’d be right up after making a few phone calls.
I open my purse and rifle through for my wallet, but the feeling of being watched never goes away, so I angle my back toward my door and search the hall. Nothing seems amiss, but as I open my wallet and pull out the proper keycard, the peephole on my sister’s door catches my attention.
I push away my angst, scan my card, and enter my apartment. The moment I close my door, my hackles lower. I take an unsteady breath and turn off my brain, letting my body carry me through the routine of coming home. I toss my purse, kick my shoes under the bench, and strip on my way to the punching bag, but when my gloves aren’t on the stand, I screech to a halt.
My brain does a comical double take.
Oh, right. Even as I was fantasizing about my new lover, I forgot a dangerous mafia man invaded every aspect of my life. My gloves still lay on the floor where I dropped them and rose to his challenge, resulting in the most epic sparring session of my life.
Wearing nothing but the braids he wove my hair into, I wander around my apartment naked and exhausted, cataloging every surface he pinned me against, and realize he transformed my apartment without a makeover.
Filled with beautifully erotic memories, my home no longer has one owner.
It has two.
Ermanno belongs here. I never want him to leave.
Emotions clog my throat, but no tears form in my eyes. I’m too tired, and there’s no use fighting the inevitable. When he realizes I killed my mother by trusting cops, he’ll pull away like the rest of my family.
My phone rings in the foyer. I ghost through my dark apartment and fish it out of my purse. Expecting it to be Ermanno, I sigh and answer before the call goes to voicemail.
As I confirm I’ll be back at work tomorrow, a knock sounds on the door. I make a note to get a key for Ermanno, check the camera, then open the door without thinking.
He growls and pushes his way inside as he wraps an arm around my back and plasters me against him.
It isn’t until a button on his shirt catches my sore nipple that I remember I’m naked. I hiss and fist the front of his shirt.
“Mio Dio, you’re gorgeous, but I don’t share, gattina. Don’t open the door naked again. Capisci?”
I nod as I skim my hands up his chest. He curses under his breath when I unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers.
When my core throbs, I bite my bottom lip to hide my grimace. Wetness coats my folds but pain pulses through me as my arousal builds.
Even after days of pushing my body to the limit and months of touch deprivation, I have never been this achy before.
He cups his massive hands around the back of my head, highlighting the pressure his chunky braid kept on my scalp all day, and pulls my face up to his for a kiss. My heart skips a beat as he controls the connection, beginning with gentle flicks of his tongue and gradually sinking deeper into my mouth until the heat swirling through me loosens my joints and muffles the pain.
He continues the kiss as he unbraids my hair with deft fingers. I part his unbuttoned shirt and push it off his shoulders, but he refuses to release my hair, so I memorize the feel of every inch of his chest. From jagged knife wounds to puckered bullet holes and surgical stitches to smooth skin, his flesh tells the story of a dark, dangerous life.
Gratefulness pours through me. I’m so glad he survived. I need him in my life.
My twin and I vowed to never fall back into the mafia lifestyle. I broke that vow, and after the whirlwind of today, I don’t regret it anymore. Only a pinch of guilt lingers in my soul for not keeping my promise to my sister, but my love for Ermanno deems it moot.
I wouldn’t change him barging into my life for anything. Now that he’s here, I’m not alone.
He massages my scalp. I groan into his mouth and unbuckle his belt. His tongue strokes against mine. I push his pants and underwear down in one motion. His hot, thick cock bobs against my stomach.
Without breaking our kiss, he grabs my ass with both hands and lifts me off the floor. I wrap my legs around him. He leans his shoulder against the wall and nips my bottom lip before diving back into my mouth as he toes off his shoes and kicks out of his clothes.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, tighten my legs around him, and tilt my hips, grinding my wet pussy against the underside of his trapped cock. He snarls and stalks through the apartment. When he pins me to the bed and peels my arms off his nape, I arch my back and gasp at the pleasure streaking through my nipples as they brush against his scars.
He pulls my wrists toward the headboard and grips them in one fist before wedging his hand between our bodies. When he strokes a callused fingertip directly over my clit without warning, I squeak and bite his tongue. He pulls back and aims dark grey orbs at me.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear. I’m sore. Like, really, really sore,” I rush to explain.
His expression softens and he releases my wrists to brace his arm beside my shoulder and cup the side of my face.
“It’s okay, gattina. For you, I can be gentle,” he murmurs against my lips.
He proves it. Over and over again. With teeth, tongue, fingers, and cock. With slow, drugging kisses. With mesmerizing, hungry eyes.
He builds me up, shatters me to smithereens, and pieces me back together into a new, stronger creature.
I fall asleep with his weight pinning me to the mattress and his cock lodged deep within my body.
My alarm wakes me. I huff in annoyance and pull my gigantic, hot, hard teddy bear tighter against me.
He shifts. I snarl and knock my phone out of his hand. When it skitters across the mattress and clatters to the floor, still vibrating, my teddy pinches my hip in playful warning. I jump and hiss at the slight sting before rolling out from underneath him and blindly fetching it from the floor.
“I have a surgery scheduled in an hour,” I grumble.
His stillness clears the last of my sleep from my mind. I roll and meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry. They called yesterday and requested my help with a difficult patient. It’s just one procedure. I’ll finish in three or four hours.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but the droop of his mouth makes him look disappointed instead of angry.
“That works. I have some things to take care of,” he says.
I blink, not expecting his quick acquiescence, but decide not to push my luck and give him a peck on the cheek before stumbling out of bed. After a quick shower and some instant oats—which I make two servings of and leave Ermanno’s covered on the counter—I pack my bag and check the time on my phone before heading to the foyer. I plop onto the bench, tug my shoes onto my feet, stand, and reach for the door.
Powerful arms wrap around me from behind.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The menace in his tone sends shivers down my spine. He chuckles, cups my breast, and thumbs my nipple through my shirt and bra as it stiffens.
“I’m going to work.”
“Not like that,” he snarls.
I look over my shoulder at him in confusion.
He picks me up, carries me to a barstool, and grabs the brush and spray bottle he brought from the bathroom.
Delight arrows straight to my core, but I cross my arms over my chest and wait like a petulant child as he braids my hair. When he ties the end and lifts me off the stool, I hook my knees around his hips and grab his nape. He sets me on my feet beside the front door, tucks my bag onto my shoulder, and steps back.
I hesitate, afraid of rejection and uncertain how to express the emotions jumbled up inside me, but I rise onto tiptoes and press my front against his.
He smirks and wraps his arms around me.
“There’s my good little gattina,” he murmurs before sealing our lips together in a searing kiss.
When he pulls back, I consider calling in to work, but the throbbing between my legs deems it an unwise idea, so I thank him with a quick, closed-mouth kiss on his collarbone before escaping out into the hall.
A door clicks. Expecting it to be my door closing, I startle when my sister steps out into the hall. I freeze as I glimpse a masculine shoulder in her foyer before her door shuts.
The guard’s crude comment about my sister bringing men home all the time echoes in my thoughts.
I turn my face toward the elevators, my insides going cold. If she thinks I saw too much and invaded her privacy, she’ll push me even further away.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
Chilled to the bone from her tone, I turn and meet her eyes. I can’t decipher the emotions I see there, so I lean into our bond.
I find nothing. Either she’s shielding me or I broke something. Both options hurt my heart.
“I’m going to work,” I answer.
“I thought everyone working during the shooting was on mandatory leave for the rest of the week,” she says.
The accusation in her tone makes it sound like it’s my fault no one informed me.
“No one told me. They called me in to help with your first patient of the day,” I say.
Her knuckles turn white on her bag strap. My heart quails, preparing for a verbal attack. She rarely gets this worked up, but when she does, it hurts.
“Maybe our coworkers wouldn’t leave you out if you weren’t so standoffish. Maybe if you tried to make friends, you wouldn’t be such an outcast,” she says as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“What? I’m not—”
“No one would care if you transferred, so if you’re still afraid the Russian guy is going to come back for you, then just leave.”
I blink at her, unable to breathe past the pain lancing through my heart.
“You’re nothing but a curse anyway,” she snarls before pushing past me and stomping down the hall.
The world stops spinning, launching me into outer space. There’s no oxygen, even though my lungs expand. No gravity despite my rubbery legs carrying me down the stairs. No sounds despite my voice telling Samantha I had an emergency and won’t be coming in today after all. No light even as I stumble into the brightly lit laundry room.
I float to the back row and pace back and forth a few times, waiting for something I can’t name. My brain refuses to process my sister’s words even though my soul agonizes over every syllable.
A boot scuffs against the linoleum. My senses slam into overdrive and my hackles rise as the same eerie sensation from last night in the hallway returns.
Someone is watching me.
Panic floods my brain and I snap into the present with painful clarity. I peek between the machines but see no one.
A shadow crosses over the end of the aisle, but when I turn, nothing seems out of the ordinary.
Massive arms close around my midsection, pinning my arms to my sides. I open my mouth to scream only for a hand to clamp over the bottom half of my face and pin the back of my head against a rock-solid chest.
I bring my knees up to my chest, forcing my attacker to accept my weight and adjust his balance, but before I can drop my legs and slam my heels back at his shins, he twists my neck and forces me to look up at his face.
His handsome, furious face.
Ermanno.
I sag in relief.
