Page 111 of Vicious Behaviors
“Only you, Marcello. Only with you. Forever you.”
He lets out a growl before gently pulling my head sideways to kiss me. And it’s with a kiss that I elaborate on my confession.
You’re the only one who makes me feel this way.
You’re the only one who will ever make me feel this way.
It will always be you.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he curses when he feels himself starting to unravel.
Marcello breaks our kiss, shoves me back down against the desk, and starts fucking me with abandon.
“Hold on tight,” he orders, and it takes me a second to realize he means the edge of the desk. I grab hold of it as he drives deep into me, carving his name in every cell in my body.
Unable to hold it in any longer, a high-pitched scream erupts from my throat, the world around me disappearing, leaving only me and Marcello to bask in the light. He comes with my name on his lips, as if it were the most precious word he’d ever uttered.
A lazy smile crests my lips as my body feels like it just went on the most majestic rollercoaster. I’m still lying on top of the desk, fully enjoying my afterglow after such a soul-shattering orgasm, when Marcello picks me up, sits at the desk, and gently plants me on his lap. He wipes the wet strands away from my face, kissing my temple, then my cheeks, and finally my mouth. When he pulls back, I’m still wearing an ear-to-ear smile.
“Bella,” he coos, rubbing my cheeks with the pads of his thumb
“Mmm,” I retort lazily, my head too heavy to keep up, preferring to rest on his shoulder.
“Did you mean what you said? Just now?”
His shy tone forces my eyes to flash open and look at him. “Yes,” I confess, running my finger over his lush lower lip. “Is that okay?”
He nods, staring back at me with his ocean eyes. If his gaze were a current, I’d let it pull me under until I forgot the surface even existed.
“Then there’s only one thing left to do.”
“What’s that?” I ask, still mesmerized by the look in his eyes.
“It’s time you met my mother.”
No matter how many orgasms Marcello gives me, the sweet euphoria is quickly tarnished by the sight of Hayne’s car in the empty mall parking lot.
“Here,” he says, throwing a manila envelope in my lap the second I get in. The asshole doesn’t even have the decency to say hello, too bent out of shape to offer me the courtesy.
“Is this Father Torres’s file?” I ask, opening the envelope and briefly glancing over the documents inside.
“It’s what you asked for,” Haynes barks, his gaze full of disdain. “There’s nothing there. Check it yourself, but the priest is not our guy.”
“Just because he doesn’t have a checkered past doesn’t mean he isn’t the man we’re looking for.”
“Are you hard of hearing as well as stupid?” he shouts. “I just said there is nothing there. Leave the fucking priest alone and get me fucking Romano!”
My eyes go wide at his manic outburst. Two months of working with Haynes has taught me he’s a real piece of work, but even with all his misogynistic crap he’s put me through, he’s never once lost his temper with me in such a way.
“I follow the leads that show up. We can’t make a case against the Outfit for Father McDonagh’s death if nothing ties them to it. I’m not sure what you want me to do. I can’t just make shit up!” I counter back.
Haynes’s manic glower pins me to the passenger seat, and something in his eyes tells me that leaving is the safest thing I can do right now. He must read the intention in my gaze because my hand has barely touched the door handle when the asshole grips my neck to keep me in place.
“Listen here, Graham. I will not let you fuck this case up. You either get me what I want, or you’ll be on the first plane back to D.C., where you should have never left.”
Haynes’s grip tightens around me as I maneuver my hand just enough to grab his gun from his holster. The second he hears the familiar click of the gun’s safety switch being flipped, he releases his fingers, loosening the grip around my throat.
“What do you intend to do? Kill your supervising officer with his own gun because you didn’t like the feedback?” he snorts.
