Page 42 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
When he doesn’t withdraw his hot breath from my skin, I turn my head. I need air. I need to cool down. I twirl a few strands of pink hair around a finger and say the boldest thing I can think of.
“Why do you want to drag me out of here anyway? It’s not like I’m marryingyou.”
His form solidifies, and heat radiates from him. “You may as well be.”
That knocks the wind out of me. My cheeks burn up.
His hand takes hold of my neck and grips it tightly. “You’re marrying a Di Santo. And not just any Di Santo.”
Irritation scratches at my patience. “If I have to hear one more time it’s because I’m marryingthe don...” I start, but then the feel of his lips dragging across the shell of my ear makes my stomach collapse.
“You’re marrying mybrother. My flesh and blood ...”
A shiver travels down my stomach and lands squarely between my legs.
“You will treat our name—myname—with respect.”
My vision narrows to the veins on the side of his neck. They’re corded and throbbing. And for a man whom I’ve yet to see break a real sweat, his skin sure is glistening with a damp sheen.
I feel a depraved urge to reach forward and lick a line from his collarbone to the soft skin beneath his ear. It’s not the first time I’ve thought about doing something so wholly inappropriate with this man, and these strange urges are making me feel untethered. I can only hope they disappear once I’ve grown used to him being around.
When I’m a part of his family.
I lean back so I can look him in the eye. His jaw is as firm as his grip.
“How many minutes do I have now?” I ask with half-lidded eyes.
His teeth grind slowly. “Five.”
“Are you going to let me go?”
He breathes deeply. “Go where?”
I dart my gaze to the dance floor. “I came here to dance, so if you don’t mind ...”
His grip loosens, but instead of withdrawing it completely, he lays it flat against my throat and strokes it down to my collarbone. It lingers there—only for a second, but it’s longenough to make me feel a chill when he removes it and pushes it deep into his pocket.
He steps aside and watches me as I strut past him to the edge of the dance floor. I don’t know anyone here except for Sandrine and her two friends, but I feel an unbridled need to let off some steam; rid myself of the tension that man coils inside of me.
As if by divine intervention, “Chandelier” by Sia kicks off, and I lose myself far more easily than I anticipated, with Cristiano’s gaze glued to my every move. I close my eyes and let my hips swing decadently. My legs part, and my skirt rises above the crease of my ass. The skin around my thighsburns, and I know he’s watching.
I’m instantly addicted. I have his undivided attention, and it feels dangerous. For someone who loathes violence in all its forms, I suddenly want to feel his anger—or whatever it is that makes him treat me this way—in whatever form I can get it.
A warmth envelops me from behind, but I’m too lost in the music to question it, surrounded by sweaty bodies grinding to the bass. Two hands rest on my hips, moving with me as I gyrate. My lids open a little, and I see Cristiano out of the corner of my eye still standing at the bar. His cheekbones look like razorblades from this angle, and his eyes seem darker. I let whoever owns the hands on my hips move closer until I feel something pressing into my lower back. It feels obscene and too intimate, but I’ve come this far ...
In what is quite possibly the most uncharacteristic thing I’ve ever done, I arch into it, relishing the sensation of one man’s arousal against my backside while I bask in another man’s thunderous glare.
The music is my excuse. I’m completely lost, living vicariously through it. My fingers interlace with those on my hips, and I rest my head back against a shoulder.
Short, sharp breaths stutter past my ear. “Fuck, you are so sexy.”
I quirk a lazy smile and look at Cristiano as I skim against the other man’s erection. I’m so lost in the moment my brain doesn’t catch up with what my eyes are seeing until it’s too late.
Screams break out in every direction as the hands on my hips disappear, unbalancing me.
I land hard on the floor and find myself staring up at the man who just had his hard-on practically between my ass cheeks. He’s holding his hands up in a kind of surrender. Then I pan to his face and see why.
He has the barrel of a gun pointed at his head.
