“Fuck yes.” I grabbed the side of his neck and pulled him to me. As he settled his weight over me, the tip of his cock rubbed over my sensitive clit, and I gasped. I wanted more. Then he pushed inside, and I could barely see straight from how right it felt.
My heart pounded, and I tried to get my breathing under control as I clenched around his hard cock. He thrust deeply, increasing his pace, and I wrapped my legs around his hips, wanting everything he was giving me and more.
Pleasure built inside me. Everything he did was so incredibly hot. The faster he went, the closer to the edge I came until I arched against him, my mouth opening with a scream he swallowed with a kiss. As I quivered beneath him, he chased my orgasm with one of his own before collapsing on top of me. My arms shifted, and I ran my hands along his back as we worked to regulate our breathing. He grinned at me with a sexy smile then moved to his side, pulling me with him. I eagerly rolled with him, rested my head on his chest, and then tangled my legs with his.
After we got cleaned up, he trailed slow circles on my back with his fingers, lulling me to sleep. In his arms, I relaxed. It wouldn’t be long before I fell asleep. My only wish was that he would still be there when I woke. He wouldn’t be. Someday soon, that needed to change.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARISSA
I’d been up since four. Something had woken me, but there had been no alerts from the guards, so I assumed it wasn’t anything other than my restless tossing and turning. I’d been dreaming of working on my canvas, blending shades of blue to finish the Adriatic Sea that surrounded Venice.
It was quiet, and with finals and my wedding to Tony approaching, I wanted to spend every moment I could in the present. I didn’t have much to look forward to, so I sought what pleased me with a single-minded focus.
Too often, I felt like I was splitting apart. Strong emotions shot the shattered pieces of me in different directions—fear of how evil my father was and annoyance about how I had to act a certain way to shield my emotions from his view. Gut-wrenching grief for the death of my mother and our brother Alfonso, who had been gunned down in a park when he was just a little kid. The uncertainty of Camila’s fate because our father had ruthlessly married her off to Vic Pavlov, a member of the Bratva.
I swiped at a tear that rolled down my cheek. Paint covered my hands, but I didn’t care if my face was an extension of my canvas. I could use a little color in my world—and my art helped to glue all those scattered pieces of my soul back together, at least temporarily. I stared unseeingly at the painting I was working on for my final exam. The sense of peace wouldn’t last. When I laid my brush and palette down, dark thoughts would consume me. They were always close, and there was little I could do to quiet them.
I couldn’t fix anything for my mother or brother. But Camila… if I could talk with Ivan, maybe I could find out what her life was like, assuming she was still alive. A dull ache pierced my thoughts, and I glanced at the slight bruise that encircled my wrist. Tony had become possessive since our engagement. A jolt of anger flared inside me. I would have to be careful about approaching Ivan. Stefano said he would talk to the Russian, but I would have an opportunity, as he was on campus.
It was just a matter of finding the right time to approach him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOFIA
Aswirl of crimson silk flared as my fingers trailed over my fashion model’s finished slip dress. It was perfect. The color conveyed power, the lines elegance, and the way the silky fabric hugged every curve and valley, shifting seductively around her legs as she moved, was pure sex appeal.
I couldn’t stop grinning as the last model took the catwalk to the roar of applause from a celebrity-filled venue, wearing my final design for New York’s Fashion Week. A sense of satisfaction and immense relief at being done with the line swelled within me as a buzzing sounded. I turned my head, trying to locate its source. As it grew louder, the room lost its sharpness. A strange hazy darkness crept around the edges of my vision until there was nothing left of the catwalk or venue.
Dammit. My alarm. I was at college, not at New York’s Fashion Week as a headlining debut designer. I knew it was too good to be true. A hard shove on my shoulder pulled me further from the dream’s hold, and I blinked slowly to find Lil’s light-blue eyes inches from mine. Her hair fell forward, draping around us like a silvery-blond curtain.
When she saw that I was awake, she eased back. I groaned and shoved a tangled mass of dark hair from my forehead and half of my face. A dull ache made its presence known in my neck from the weird angle I’d fallen asleep in last night on the living room couch. Soft laughter spilled from her lips as she helped to untangle me from the red silk dress, which I’d been dreaming about and had finished several hours past midnight, draped over my lap.
“Time to get up, Miss Fashionista.” Lil’s eyes sparkled as she pulled me to a sitting position.
The sizzle of bacon and the rich aroma of coffee permeated the air, and I inhaled deeply, realizing how hungry I was and wondering when I’d last eaten. I lost all track of time when I was creating.
Lil moved a bolt of black fabric before plopping down on the couch next to me. Then she bent forward, grabbed a mug from the coffee table, and handed it to me.
I curled my fingers around the steaming cup and inhaled before taking the first sip. Creamy goodness flooded my mouth and sparked my pile-of-mush brain. “You’re a goddess,” I croaked between sips. “Is Em cooking?”
Lil laughed. “No, but her brother is.”
“Enzo’s here?”Has he seen me yet?My hand went to my hair, and I tried to smooth it. I probably looked terrible.
She plucked a long red thread from my hair before dropping it onto a pile of scraps on the table. “How did it go last night?”
Her gaze darted around the room, and I followed its path. There was fabric everywhere, half-finished and completed pieces. My sewing machine was on the table, and I’d even dragged my adjustable and dress-form mannequins into the living room. I’d completely hijacked the space.
“I’m close to being done.” I snuck a peek into the kitchen, unable to stop myself. Enzo was so beautiful that it hurt. He stood over the stove with a spatula, his gunmetal-gray Henley stretched taut over his broad shoulders and drool-worthy biceps. Whiskey-colored eyes mischievously sparkled when he caught me staring at him, and my cheeks heated.
“Why are you here?” Busted, I had to say something. He flashed a crooked grin, and I sighed.
“We decided to make you all breakfast, since you’re drowning in finals,” Enzo said.
“We?” I glanced at Lil for clarification. The front door opened, and I shivered as cold air raced through the room.