Page 73 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
“How ... um ... how long did it go on for?” I watch my forefinger trace a circle on his left pectoral muscle before realizing too late what I’m doing. Then I curl it into my palm.
“It was going on for about five minutes before I came in here. You calmed down not long after I picked you up.”
“So it was just once?”
“Yeah. Just once.”
I don’t let him see my widened eyes. I usually wake up screaming several times in the night. It’s no wonder I feel rested.
The breeze from an open window somewhere in his apartment makes the door to the bedroom sway, and my focus narrows on it.
“What happened to the door?” There’s a shoulder-shaped dent in the side, and its handle is falling off.
He doesn’t turn his head to look, and his voice is firm. “You locked it when I told you not to.”
I repeat. “So what happened to the door?”
“I put a bullet through the lock. Well, three, to be precise.”
I lift my gaze to his and force myself to keep it there. It’s frightening, because the longer I look at him, the harder I fall into those Barolo-drenched depths.
My eyes narrow. “You shoot a lot of things when I’m around.”
He cups my chin between his thumb and his forefinger, and the urge to lean into him is excruciating.
“I would shoot a fuck of a lot more if I didn’t think it would make you run a mile.”
I wet my lips, and he watches as if he’s starving. Then I reluctantly pull away from his chest. I haven’t moved off his lap, and it’s been several minutes. I should probably show willing.
“At least there’s one thing to be thankful for.” I try to make light of the situation.
His tone is bland. “What’s that?”
“We didn’t have sex.” I shoot him a shy smile and hope it comes off as relief. It only makes his eyes darken.
“Oh, Castellano. If we’d had sex, you’d know about it.”
The breath whooshes out of my chest, and my body seems unfeasibly heavy as I try to move myself off his thighs. He said that with suchpromise.
“How so?” I sound breathless.
He waits until my stilted journey onto the comforter is complete, then he swiftly stands and brings his half-naked body close to mine. His fingertips trail down the side of my face, which mainlines fire straight to my clit.
There’s a smile teasing the edge of his words. “Because you’d still be feeling me in your stomach, little one.”
His fingers drop, and I follow them to where there’s an obvious—enormous—erection inside his shorts. Then he turns and is gone, leaving me short of breath and so utterly frustrated I want to cry.
When I emerge from my room showered, dressed, and slightly lessbotheredthan I was in the bedroom, Cristiano is suited and booted and spooning cereal into his mouth while scrolling through messages on his phone.
I hover by the kitchen island, unsure of where to put myself.
He doesn’t look up, which makes me question everything I’ve heard and felt since I woke up. “Sav will be here in one hour,” he says.
My stomach drops.
He gestures to some bread and cereal boxes laid out on the counter. “You want some breakfast?”
I stare at him.
