Page 89 of Ravage God
Tonight, he wore a fitted black shirt that accentuated his bulky form, dark blue jeans, and his hair was up in its usual man bun, making his sharp, masculine jawline more prominent. I couldn’t see his eyes clearly, but I imagined the brown irises were twinkling mischievously at me based on his smile.
I didn’t think there would ever be a time when I wasn’t affected by his smile.
He motioned for me to come to him.
I ran.
He held out his arms for me like I knew he would, and I flew into them, feeling more settled than I have in days.
I used to think the safest place in the world for me was Valentino’s apartment. I was wrong. The safest place for me was in Elio’s arms. Here, I was safe. I was protected. And I was cherished. What more could I possibly ask for?
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. I was getting bold with him.
Or perhaps, I was just too addicted to his kiss to give my shyness any thought.
He kissed me back like I knew he would, and I deepened it, savoring the taste of him. I pulled away first.
“Hi,” I said, looking up into his eyes.
“Hi, baby. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I answered, trying not to show just how excited I was about going on another date with him. Being like this with him felt the way it did when I realized I liked him as a teenager.
It was intense and all-consuming, like most feelings I’d experienced as a teenager.
I hadn’t felt this level of intensity since I hit adulthood and realized what it actually meant to grow up in the Gambino household.
He made me feel like a teenager again.
Elio wrapped his arms around my waist and led me over to his car, a black compact that I didn’t know the make or model of.
“No truck tonight?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. I usually don’t like to drive the truck.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not as fast as my other cars. It carries too much weight.” He opened the door and gently pushed me inside. I lookedaround at the sleek, clean interior as Elio jumped into the driver’s seat.
And then we were off.
“Where are we going?” I asked once he pulled out of the neighborhood.
He glanced briefly at me. “Dancing.”
I couldn’t help the amusement in my voice when I repeated, “Dancing?”
Elio was a lot of things. Fiercely protective. Serious and thoughtful. Loyal and intelligent. And just about the sexiest man I had ever met. But a dancer?
“You find that funny?” he asked lightly.
“I just can’t imagine you dancing,” I said with a laugh. I tried to think of him doing the floss dance. I laughed harder at the image.
“Ha ha.” He poked my side before admitting, “I’m not much of a dancer. But I thought you might enjoy it.”
I flipped my hair to the side. “You’re in luck. I’m a fantastic dancer.”
He didn’t agree with me right away.
