Trying to peel off a wet bathing suit in a hurry never goes well.
It's an undisputed fact of life, one that has never particularly annoyed me as much as it does in this moment. I could positively explode in impatience as Santo rips my bathing suit down my body, trying to get it off without letting our lips disconnect.
The very first time we kissed, I was the one to initiate it. And now, at what I know is a turning point for both of us—I'm the one bursting into his room and practically throwing myself at him. It's not lost on me, how he's let me choose him. And he's there, a second later, meeting me with his lips and his tongue and those hands, showing me that he chooses me too.
Need sweeps through me so violently that I nearly buckle as he grips the fleshy part of my thighs, lifting me and wrapping them around his waist. His hands are frantic and never still, clutching at my thighs one second and skating up my back to my neck the next, like my skin is on fire and he can't stay in one place too long without being burned.
"Get it the fuck off already," I yank my face back from his, scowling. How the hell is he taking so long undressing me? What are all those muscles for?
He scowls right back. "I'm trying, woman. Will you stop fucking moving?"
My lips ache from his bruising kiss, along with every other part of me that he's not touching. I wriggle a little in immediate disobedience, shifting my ass against the distinct hardness I can feel pressing up into me. His eyes flare as I gasp at the sensation, needing him inside me fucking yesterday.
Is it normal, this desperation? I've never felt anything close to it before.
"That's it," he snaps, striding towards his bed. Wind rushes around me and I'm airborne for a moment before the softness of his sheets envelopes my body. He really just threw me. I'm about to make a smart ass comment, but a second later, he's parting my legs and sliding his powerful body between my thighs, and I'm incapable.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Il mio tesoro." He tenderly moves my hair from my face at the same time that his hot breath sends shivers down my spine, erupting in a distinct slickness in between my legs as he grazes his teeth over my earlobe.
"What does that mean?" I gasp out, and he stops touching me, making me want to sob in protest. "You speak Italian to me often, and I never know what you're saying. I figure the one time I should know what you're saying is when you're about to... you know," I ramble, and amusement slowly bleeds into his features.
"About to what, baby?"
Baby. This man is about to end me.
"About to fuck me," I snap, frustrated. If he doesn't answer me and get back to touching me in negative three seconds, I might just kill him.
A languid chuckle leaks from his mouth, all taunting and stupidly attractive. He lifts my hips with one palm and in one violent jerk, rips my bathing suit the rest of the way down my body. The noise that leaves him is pure animal as he kisses and bites his way down my torso, and when he gets one look at me laid out before him, he grips my hips so tightly I know I'll bruise.
My vision goes black as he lowers his face to the pulsing spot between my legs. "My treasure," he murmurs into my femininity, his tongue and teeth and words drawing a dazed moan from me. "That's what il mio tesoro means. My fucking treasure."
And the way he licks into me, moaning after his first full taste and holding me impossibly tighter and closer, like he's never tasted anything better, proves it. That I'm the most precious treasure he'd want on his lips right now.
I'm not sure how loud I'm being, or what my body is doing. All I know, all I feel, is that delicious but painful throbbing soothed and simultaneously ignited as Santo's tongue delves into me, his lips closing around the most delicate part of me and sending glorious shockwaves throughout my body. I clench around his tongue and he groans again as I bury my hands in his hair, pressing him closer, feeling the scratch of his stubble against my inner thighs.
My hips move of their own volition to increase the friction, seeking out my orgasm against his eager lips. The pressure is unbearable, pulsing to a breaking point the moment he stops fucking me with his tongue and sucks hard at my clit. I come apart, anchored to the bed by those monstrous hands that grasp my hips.
He brings me to him closer, desperately, like I'm his first meal in a decade. His arms, so large and blackened by tattoos, look lethal compared to the smooth, creamy skin of my thighs. I'm still gasping for breath when he kisses up my body, stopping at my lips. His are glistening and slick with a smirk, and his chin shows evidence of my pleasure.
The sight makes me flush. It's dirty and I thought I'd be embarrassed but I'm not. Because he's looking at me like he wants more, like what just happened is the very beginning.
"You're so fucking angelic when you come," he murmurs, and I wrap my arms around his neck, so he'll kiss me again. My body still shakes from my orgasm, limbs loose. I know I've never come that quickly and I have a horrible but beautiful feeling that nobody else will be able to bring my body to a breaking point so quickly. Nobody else could learn and master my body like him.
Santo is far from done. His eyes flicker with promise but he pulls back a few inches, making me reach for him again.
"You don't need to do this if you don't want to," he begins, and I'm immediately confused. "I'm assuming you've never been touched by... someone you wanted," he says with difficulty. "If you're not ready, there are plenty of other ways to—"
"No, I want you to fuck me," I interrupt, and he gets a pained look on his face.
"You may not be thinking clearly after what we just did. Take a second to—"
"Santo," I snap, grasping his hands and tugging him back on top of me. He huffs out a grunt as his body presses into mine, the bulge in his pants positioned over my naked body in a way that makes us both shudder. "If you respect me enough to ask for my consent, you need to respect me enough to trust my answer when I say yes. And it's definitely yes. I want this."
His eyes blaze, and he's pulling back again but this time to rip off the remainder of his clothes. Rolling on a condom with impressive speed. Then he's back and he positions himself at my entrance, teasing the tip of his dick through the evidence of my first orgasm, his arms bulging as he holds his lethal body over mine.
"You can't leave after this. Once I'm inside you, mondo mia, you're mine and you have to fucking act like it." My eyes nearly slip shut at the intense vision of him above me, his possessive words.
"Okay, yes," I murmur, answering the question burning in the air between us. He's giving me one last out, and fuck knows I'm not going to take it. I cry out as he presses into me, searingly slow, unable to wait another second, my fingers digging into his back.
"Tell me. Tell me you're mine," he grinds out, and I'm repeating the words back to him with reckless abandon. He draws the truth from me, and there's nothing I can do to staunch the words from flowing.
"That's right, baby. Mine." His truth rings out in each smooth thrust of his hips, and God, I've never believed the words coming from another's mouth like I do these.
I feel him so deep, reaching parts of me I didn't even know existed. I whimper, grabbing onto him wherever I can reach. Wanting him to be the one who grounds me, even when he's the one setting me adrift in his tumultuous sea.
"Fuck. Just as perfect as I imagined. Such a good girl," he groans, his voice a low baritone, and I grasp onto it desperately to ground me. He's vocal and it's just what I need.
He's also large, and it's way too much. He fills me until I think I'll crack right open and I know the second he pulls out I'll feel completely empty. His thrusts are deep but not too sharp, and I know he's holding back for my sake, kissing softly down my neck as he lets me adjust to him.
"Good, amati?" His arms tremble by my head. I want to tell him to stop holding back, but I'm not sure I'd be able to handle it.
And I don't say it, but he senses it. That I want to know every single word he says to me when we're like this.
"Beloved," he says on the tail end of a moan, his face pinching with the pleasure I give him as I grip him hotly.
His movements become sharper, I can feel him pulsing inside me and the sensation is otherworldly. I answer in a breathless moan, my neck twisting on the pillow, eyes drifting shut, unable to look at him or stay still for all I'm feeling.
"Don't fucking look away or I'll stop."
I gasp as the searing pressure burning through me comes to a screeching halt. He's stopped all his movements. I grasp at his hips, whimpering and trying to get him to continue, and he frames my cheek softly with one palm, letting his eyes drift across my face.
"There you are. You look so pretty when you're a mess for me," he says under a layer of rasp, and I keep my eyes fixed on him, on the furrow of his brows and the pulse of his jaw, the beautiful and volatile evidence of pleasure all over his features.
He moves above me like liquid, unstopping and persistent, and before long, I feel the pleasure tightening in my stomach. The feeling of the muscles in Santo's back coiled impossibly tight and the stuttered rasp of the deep breaths that he pushes into the space between my shoulder and neck are the only signs that he's still holding back, and my body already feels fucking ruined.
He doesn't stop until my body is shuddering in another orgasm, my legs wrapped tightly around his muscular waist to welcome him in as far as he can go. Then he shakes against me, and I feel the deep shudder that passes through his entire body, his teeth sinking into the flesh over my collarbone as he reaches his own end, a deep moan bleeding from his chest.
Our breaths even out slowly, and he doesn't get off me right away. I need this closeness, I need it more than anything, and I feel the haze clearing from my body and mind as he stays pressed to me like he needs it just as much.
A question still burns in his gaze, and I bite back a smile.
"You came to my room with the intention of leaving me."
Okay, not a question, but an accusing statement.
I look down my body at where we are still connected, the poise of his powerful physique over mine bringing me a sense of indisputable comfort. Santo has given me something, a sense of peace I've never felt before and didn't realize was missing. I can feel it beginning to creep in, settle in my bones.
I hadn't realized that the idea of my uncle living peacefully somewhere, undisturbed by what he'd done while I was suffering the consequences of it every day, was weighing me down.
I feel free now. Free knowing he's gone, free knowing the man inside me owns me not because he stole me, but because he let me choose him.
Santo's eyes are glinting when I look at him, like he can read my thoughts. I feel a fierce thankfulness bubbling up inside me, a long-forgotten part of me finally quenched of its desperate thirst. I have never had anyone on my side, anyone to avenge me. The relief is nearly crippling, knowing that this man wants to avenge me. That he'll destroy anyone I tell him to. And maybe it makes me insane, maybe a little fucked up, maybe a little bit like him. But I feel safe. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone in my corner.
I can't stop my laugh, and flames ignite in his eyes.
"You would be best advised to tell me your answer now, mia cara," he glares.
"Relax. I said I'm yours, and I am. I'm staying; I always wanted to stay."
He becomes so still above me that I wonder if he's even breathing. Slowly, gradually, something incredible happens.
A smile, a real smile. It creates a small indent in his left cheek, and that dimple feels like a secret. My secret, because something tells me nobody else gets to see this smile. It's glorious, the way his eyes crinkle. He looks happy.
My heart sings, and I kiss him again, nipping on his bottom lip.
He groans, and I feel him hardening inside me again, but he pulls out of me slowly, kissing my wince away. Then he gathers me in his arms, because there's no way I can stand, and it's not because of my ankle this time.
"Was that okay?" I don't realize I asked the question until he's set me down and is frowning in my face again. He looks appalled, and actually a little offended.
"You were holding back," I say, a little embarrassed. "I mean, maybe it was okay for you but not good, because—"
"Don't finish that," he interrupts softly, and my heart is bottoming out at the warmth that has taken over his face. With just that look, he calms my insecurities. Why did I open my mouth again?
"Anything with you feels different for me than it ever has before. Don't concern yourself with me, Nina. Or anything besides what feels right for you. That's what I'm concerned with." He softly tucks a wild lock of hair behind my ear, and then some of his natural cockiness comes back. "You're small, and I don't want to break you. Not yet, at least."
"Okay, hotshot," I mutter, cheeks warm. "Someone honestly needs to take you down a few pegs."
"If anyone will, it'll be you," he smirks, eyes alight.
Santo washes me gently in the shower and I'm in awe at how gentle he is as he rubs the loofah in light circles over my stomach. Once I'm clean, I return the favor, and I take my time, wanting to drink in the sight of his body, so large and sleek under the water.
He has a calculating look on his face when I come around to do his front, and I frown. "What?"
He tilts his head a little, intensely watching me spread suds over his abdomen. "Nothing. I just like that." His hand anchors me, not even giving me a chance to wobble on my weak ankle, and warmth surges through my chest at the look on his face.
I wonder if he knows how vulnerable he looks right now, how open, as he lets me take care of him.
I stop the loofah at his chest. "What's that?"
If he was open a second ago, now he's a locked vault. Every single one of his muscles tenses as I lightly trace over the thick scar, shaped like a jagged half circle, right over his heart.
"It's nothing," he says harshly, and I back up from him in surprise.
He rakes his wet hair back from his face, pulling me back to him with a frown. His message is clear, so I continue washing him in silence. The scar doesn't look like nothing, but now is not the time to push.
"Hey." He tilts my head up to his with a finger under my chin. "Okay?"
I search his dark eyes for a moment, letting a small smile push at my lips. "Yeah."
We spend too much time in the shower, reveling in the peace of the moment with the heavy rush of the water surrounding us. By the time we get out, my heart is ridiculously light and I feel practically weightless with a terrifying kind of happiness.
+
I try and enter the kitchen inconspicuously the next morning, like if I keep my head down nobody will be able to tell that Santo spent the night with his face buried between my legs. But the devilish smirk Tommaso greets me with tells me everything I need to know.
"How's your ankle?" He asks as I go about making myself a cup of coffee. I still find the ease with which I go about my daily life in this house a bit odd.
"It's getting better." Other parts of me, however, are sore. Very sore.
"Is that because you fuc—"
Santo enters the room with a jarring slam of the door. He's dressed in workout clothes, having just come back from his run. I woke up in his giant bed alone, the glow from last night's activities bringing a lazy smile to my face. After our shower, I'd started gathering my things to go back to my room, but Santo had stopped me with a glare that could melt stone. That was how I found myself sleeping in his bed, surrounded by the comfort of his scent, his warmth, and the feeling of his breaths on the back of my neck.
I'd never pegged him as someone who'd want to be pressed up against me all night. But I figured it was just as well, after he'd thoroughly ravaged me.
He still has that glare on his face that seems to be his default as he crosses the kitchen, greeting me with a firm tug on my waist that turns me around so he can press a sound kiss to my lips.
Tommaso's eyes are wide when he pulls away. I go back to making my coffee, and the younger Romano brother leaves the kitchen muttering as if he's just seen a ghost.
Santo leans against the counter, and I have a hard time not looking at the long, powerful stretch of his body.
"You sleep okay?" he inquires casually.
"Really well, yeah," I flush, thinking of the reason why.
"How's your ankle? Did we injure it more last night?"
"No, no. It's fine. I can walk much better now."
He assesses me closely. "I don't want you resuming your exercising and training until we're sure it's healed properly."
"I know."
He frowns, taking a step closer. "Are you okay?"
I nod, trying not to lean into the hand he uses to cup my face.
"You are not regretting your decision?" Rare emotion flits across his face.
I cover his hand with mine, trying to reassure him. "No, I'm not. I'm just..."
"You're just?" He raises a brow.
"I'm just thinking," I muse, and his eyes widen. I almost burst out laughing. "No, not like that. I just mean, last night was all very..." I wave my hands around.
His expression is unreadable. "All very... what?"
"All very heavy. It wasn't very much like a one night stan—"
"You'd better not finish that," he interrupts, face suddenly tight. "I was clear about my intentions, was I not?" He leans forward, bumping the tips of our noses together. "You," he presses a small kiss to my lips, "are," he goes back for a longer suck, tongue swiping over my teeth, "mine," he finishes with a bite to my bottom lip and it stings enough to make me gasp.
"I know," I melt, my bones like liquid, and he's alight with satisfaction. I don't have the heart to even try and clarify what I was saying, mostly because I have no idea what it was.
"I didn't realize," Santo breathes against my lips, "that as soon as I stopped trying to figure out what the hell to do with you, I would know. I've never had someone like you in my life, but it fits. We fit. So don't give me that 'what are we' shit when you know full well, okay?"
I absorb his vulnerability, wanting to be careful with it. "You've never..."
"Never been involved with a woman beyond casual sex, yes."
"Then how do you know you want to be involved with me past that?"
"I just know."
I roll my eyes. "Groundbreaking answer. How am I supposed to know that I want to be involved with you instead of all the other hot, murdery men I know?"
He tugs on a strand of my hair, his jaw suddenly clenched tight. "The thought of you with anyone else makes me want to invert that person's spine. And I've never felt jealous before, Nina. Especially not over an imaginary person," he rasps, tugging my hair again until I tilt my head up to receive another kiss. "So there's your answer."
This is it. I think I'm dying.
Just as the heat is spreading from his lips and down, down, down—he pulls away, smirking like he knows exactly what he's doing to me.
"That good with you, baby?"
"What good with me?" I mutter dazedly.
"You being mine," he says, "to fuck. Kiss. To talk to when we both can't sleep. To fuck. And me... being yours to come to when you hear a noise late at night or when someone fucks with you."
My mind is reeling and my heart is mush. The way he's simplified our relationship strikes me as innocent in a sweet, heart-rending way. "You know, you're a surprisingly good communicator when you're not hating me."
"I didn't hate you," he murmurs, brows pulling together, "but I hated how confused you made me feel."
I hum, tangling my fingers into his hair, and he lets me tug his head closer to mine. "And now?"
"I feel like this is the first thing I don't need to think about. That I don't need to... talk to death with Simo to figure out how it fits into our lives and the wellbeing of the family."
"I'm happy I can give that to you," I say, and his shoulders relax. He sighs a soft, relieved sound. "I've never felt quite so safe before. And that has to mean something."
His eyes flutter as my words scratch some itch neither of us knew he had.
"Samuel is married," he says suddenly. "I'm going to tell him to bring his wife over this afternoon. You'll like her."
"Wha—"
"You are free to do whatever you want, Nina. Go wherever you please. You must bring someone with you, of course, so I know you'll be safe, but I want you to be happy here. Have friends, people to talk to," he says gruffly, all traces of his earlier softness gone.
His glare is back but softened, and I smile, touched by his thoughtfulness. How so very himself he is, whether soft or hard. "Thank you."
"Good. Anything you want, you ask for. And I'll get it for you, okay?"
That afternoon finds me relaxed in the hot tub with Leah, Samuel's wife. She's a few years older than me, and to my delight, we immediately get along. I've never had close girl friends before, and I feel giddy with the prospect of a new friend.
We sip wine and talk about our men.
"I mean, we haven't really talked about any labels," I speak over the jets, a light buzz making my limbs and head feel weightless. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"
Leah scoffs. "Defining the relationship? Girl, with these men, you don't get much of a choice. They'll let you know what they want and it's up to you to put a stop to it if you're not okay with it."
My thoughts flit back to the night before, at the way Santo was willing to give me a choice no matter how much it hurt him. "Santo gives me a choice. He's definitely... domineering, but he lets me know I have the choice."
Leah raises a brow. "Really? You'd think he'd be the worst of them, with those dark eyes." She shivers.
I smile softly down at my glass. I know all too well how dark Santo comes across. And while they're less common, I know all the times he's soft, too. "How do you deal with Samuel's job? Does it make you nervous?"
"Oh, all the time." She tops off her wine glass, and mine too. "You get what you sign up for, though. And what we signed up for is not knowing how many people our men are brutally murdering every time they leave the house."
I choke on my sip, and we both giggle.
"God, I didn't realize how much I missed a female presence around here," I sigh. "There's so much testosterone."
We keep talking—and drinking—and before much longer, I'm significantly tipsy. We are a mess of giggles as we stumble out of the hot tub, trying to dry off but still managing to trail water into the kitchen as we rummage around for a snack.
I'm trying to open a bag of pretzels when Santo, Massimo, and Samuel enter. They've been talking business in the Capo's office.
Santo's eyes immediately narrow on me and my clumsy movement, and he's at my side a second later.
"You're enjoying yourself?" he presses a kiss to my temple.
"I really need you to open these pretzels," I beg with wide eyes.
My heart practically stops beating when his face breaks out in a small smile, and a chuckle escapes his lips. He's shaking his head at me as he pops open the bag and I just stand there dumbly.
Samuel has an arm wrapped around his wife, and she gives me a dramatic wave as he starts leading her out of the kitchen. I crunch on my pretzels happily. I feel lighter than I have in forever, I think.
"That's because you're drunk," Santo admonishes, and I realize I said that out loud. But I still see the tiny smile on those sinful lips of his, and I hope I remember how it looks once I'm sober.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" He raises a brow.
I stumble and his arm shoots out to catch me. "I'm not drunk," I protest weakly.
He's scowling now. "Come here. I don't want you slipping and breaking your fucking neck this time."
I relax against him before I become aware of the look on his face. I narrow my eyes. He looks vaguely unsettled. Intense beyond his normal levels.
"Something happened with Luciano," I guess, recalling the similar stiffness to Samuel and Massimo's faces. It's the look they all get when they've spent hours talking about business.
Business I still know nothing about. Thankfully.
"It's fine. We're handling it," he assures me, and I have no choice but to believe him.
---
Some long-awaited smut and fluff, yay! I don't know if I'm satisfied with it but just gonna throw it out there. This was almost 5k words but they deserve to be happy for a little bit!
Don't forget to vote and tell me what you think about this story (:
- G