Page 33 of I Would Die For You

He lets me go so abruptly, I stagger and hold on to the wall next to the bed to prevent myself from falling. Pacing, he runs a hand through his hair, leaving the long locks all disheveled.

“You went to his house." He shakes his head, as if trying to get his mind around it. Then he stares hard at me. "You weren’t answering your phone!”

“I know, I didn't realize I left it charging."

“You need to keep it with you at all times. I was worried, Kaya!”

“Why? I’m here all the time, and Sandro is downstairs, not to mention the crew who meets here to play poker every week when the club is closed. What did you think could happen?”

He sighs. “Kaya, you don’t know what—”

The way he bites the words at the end sends my radar haywire.

“What are you not telling me?”

He exhales a long breath. “I’ve been doing everything to keep you safe.”

“From what?” An absurd thought crosses my mind. “From the Don?”

Something flickers over his face—the only light is coming from the lamp outside on the street, so I can’t catch the expression fully. But I can’t shake the notion he’s worried about something regarding Don Giacomo.

“Kaya, I can’t…” The breath heaves out of him so raggedly. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. I won’t.”

What does he mean by this? The vehemence in his tone, it almost sounded like desperation. But I could just be imagining this.

But I have no way of asking another question because he’s on me and his hands are clasping my face and his lips are claiming my mouth, his tongue slipping in to seek mine, to taste me like only he’s allowed to, to claim me the way only he can. The fire of his desire is like an inferno roaring onto the dry brush of my existence, lighting me with a single spark. I kiss him back, so hungry for him, overcome with the need to immerse myself in his fire and passion. It’s all the cue he needs.

His hands are removing my clothes, his fingers seeking my nipples, my core, his lips trailing down my neck through the valley of my breasts and across my belly. He pushes me flat on my back onto the bed and kneels between my legs, his mouth devouring my wet dripping sex, where he coaxes more moisture and tightening need from my very being.

I groan and thrash my head back and forth, grabbing his hair in my hands, desperate in my pleasure and need for him to push me over the edge.

But just as I’m about to come, he pulls away, flips me over onto my knees and presses my chest into the bed, with my arms sprawled out on either side of me. My thighs are splayed out so that my knees are the only things holding my hips up, displaying my dripping pussy in perfect eyeview.

I look back at him over my shoulder and watch as he grips his large steely cock, lines it up and shoves into me, pounding me over and over in a relentless rhythm that takes my breath away. I'm barely able to hang on to consciousness as he claims my body and mind with overwhelming force. Soon I'm screaming into the comforter under my head and just when I think I'm going to pass out, he rips an orgasm from me, and spills his cum inside my channel.

As I start to recover, close my legs, and feel his fluids coating my inner thighs, I can't help but feel bereft. Like my body is played like an instrument but my soul is left on the sidelines, the satisfaction only physical, a tension being released all while the knot inside my being tightens some more.

This, I think as I look over to see him lying on his back, his forearm slung across his eyes. There’s no gentle caress, no soft kiss, no smile or laughter. There’s no communion anymore, and it’s killing me.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper.

He doesn’t even hear me.

“Stefano?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m leaving.”

This seems to catch his attention, because he rears up and jumps from the bed. Why am I not surprised to find he’s still almost fully clothed? Used is what I’m feeling like, and it’s funny how I never felt this way when my job was literally to be used by men for sex. Because this isn’t a job. I thought it was more, but no. It wasn’t. I’m not even sure what it is anymore.

“You’re going back to the Don.” He stares at me with hard-appearing eyes.

“What?” I sit up and stare at him. “No!”

Is that a sigh of relief coming from his heaving chest?

“Then why, Kaya?”

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