Page 75 of Brutal Vows

He bites my exposed shoulder and tightens his arms around me.

Heat flares to life between my legs, highlighting the mess in my panties and on my thighs, and the fabric barring me from the hot, hard length of his cock becomes my sole enemy.

I grind my sopping pussy over his shaft, weave my fingers into his hair, and yank. He hisses and lifts his face from my shoulder.

“What are you doing,gattina?”

I sink my teeth into the side of his neck, biting him above his tattoos where everyone will see, and clamp down with all my fury.

His low groan and rough hands as he grabs my ass and pushes off the wall matches the need pounding through me.

I twist my fingers in his hair and snarl when he cups the back of my head, but the delicious glide of his cock over my clad pussy steals my attention as he stalks down the hall to the nearestroom, barking orders at his men and kicking the door closed behind him with his heel.

He pins me against the wall, keeping his hand around my head and his grip on my ass, and thrusts his hips.

I release my bite and groan.

“What happened?” he snarls.

“You left me,” I snarl right back.

“No I didn’t,gattina.”

“You did! You walked right through the door without even looking back while your father—”

My fury crumbles. I can’t breathe. The pain in my soul crushes me. Only Ermanno’s deep rumble stops me from imploding under the weight of my own emotions.

“You’re okay, Loretta. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I sink my nails into his nape, drop my forehead to his collarbone, and cling to him as a lifetime of trauma barrels through me.

“Pops is dead,” I rasp.

I can’t cry. The misery is too great.

“I know,gattina.”

“He died in my arms, just likemia mammadid,” I admit.

Ermanno stiffens and bands both arms around my back, securing me to him.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Loretta. I—”

“I killed her. I killed them both,” I choke out.

“No you didn’t. My father jumped in front of those bullets to save you,” he says.

I shake my head, pressing my forehead into his chest.

“Neither of them would’ve been in danger if it wasn’t for me. I opened the door and let them in. I—”

“Loretta, stop. What door?”

“The front door to my house.”

“How old were you when your mother died?”

“Eight.”

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