When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(55)
I glance down at where my phone is lying on the desk behind Cleo. The screen shows Nero’s name.
Why the fuck is he calling me this late?
I don’t care. Whatever it is, he can deal with it. But it keeps fucking buzzing.
I tear my mouth away from Cleo with a groan. “Fuck. I have to take this.” I grab the device and bring it to my ear.
Cleo’s eyes widen. “Are you serio—”
“What is it?” My fingers are still inside my wife’s pulsating cunt. I nestle the phone between my shoulder and my ear and press a hand over Cleo’s mouth.
She shakes her head, bucking against me, but I pin her to the desk with my thigh.
“We need you at 37 Ringold. Caught another Bratva fucker sniffing around a construction site.”
I curl my fingers inside of Cleo, pressing against her G-spot, and she stops fighting. She makes a muffled moan against my hand.
“Who’s with you?” I remove my hand from her mouth, grab my phone, and mute it. “Are you going to come for me again, tesoro?”
Cleo’s green eyes flash with outrage, but there’s enough lust in her gaze to almost mask it.
“Jeremy and Vinny. We think this guy might be a higher-up. Someone might come looking for him soon.”
Irritation buzzes beneath my skin. I don’t want to go torture this fuck. I want to drive my cock inside my wife’s tight cunt and hear her moan my name. I want to make her mine. I unmute the phone and put my hand back over Cleo’s mouth. My fingers thrust in and out of her, hitting just the right spot. Her eyelashes flutter. She digs her nails into my biceps.
“Are you coming?” Nero asks.
“I was about to until you called,” I say under my breath. Cleo snorts against my palm.
“What’s that? Can’t hear you.”
Honestly, fuck my life.
“Yes. I’ll be there,” I snap. I’m a don, not a teenage boy. I can wait a bit longer.
I hang up the call and press my thumb against Cleo’s swollen clit. She grinds her hips against me, her body seeking its release. My hand moves from her mouth to tangle with her hair. “Come for me, tesoro,” I growl. “Let me see it.”
She sobs, her green eyes hooded. “Oh fuck.” And then she tosses her head back and rides her climax, wave after wave.
I stare at her, drinking it all in. The drama of her orgasm plays out across her pretty face, and I can’t look away.
Something warm spreads through my chest at how good it feels to please her. But it’s over all too soon.
I pull on her hair until our foreheads touch. “I have to go,” I say against her lips. “But when I get back, we’re going to finish what we started. This game is done. You’re mine, Cleo. Do you understand? You’re. Fucking. Mine.”
CHAPTER 26
CLEO
Rafaele doesn’t come back that night, and in the morning, I get a message from him saying he needs to go to Syracuse for some meetings.
I wonder if it’s hard for him to be away from me after what happened, the way it is for me. All morning, I amble around the house and pretend to be a functioning human being instead of a needy, lust-filled mess. A movie of what happened in my husband’s office won’t stop playing on repeat inside my head. I imagine what it looked like for him, to see me splayed on his desk with my pussy presented to him like it was dinner.
He ate me like a gourmet meal.
An insistent heat pulsates in the pit of my belly. I have to swap my underwear once or twice. I even consider texting Rafaele that to torture him a bit the way he’s torturing me, but something holds me back.
Something.
As if I don’t know exactly what it is. The bitter taste of my father’s offer is right there, lodged beneath my tongue.
If Rafaele hadn’t left right after he made me come, I would have let him take it all the way. I would have slept with the man my father wants to kill. The man my father wants me to help kill.
After lunch, I step out onto the terrace and brace my palms on the stone railing. A cool breeze brushes over my skin. At the edge of the property, tall pines sway in the wind and whisper secrets. I suck in a lungful of fresh air, expanding my chest until it’s full, and then slowly breathe it out.
It does nothing to calm my anxiety or my racing pulse.
This can’t go on. I can’t keep going to Loretta’s and doing inventory, spending my evenings buried in spreadsheets and ignoring this thing hanging over my head.
My mother asked me to come see her yesterday. I knew what it meant, and because I’m a coward, I didn’t go to my old home. Papà wants an answer. And I want…
I think I want Rafaele.
My eyes fall shut. I told myself I’d never surrender to him, but that was when surrender meant defeat.
It doesn’t now. The truth is, I don’t hate my husband anymore. There’s far more to him than meets the eye. He’s more than a don, more than a killer, more than my prison warden.
Rafaele works a lot. Unlike Papà, he doesn’t just sit in his office and expect his capos to bring him their reports. He goes to their territories, helps them with their problems, and he seems to genuinely give a shit about taking care of them.