Page 85 of Vicious Behaviors
“I made the mistake of letting the real world rear its ugly head again,” I admit.
His frown deepens. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I shake my head fast. “I’m not ready for reality. I want to stay here—in our little cocoon, our bubble—a little longer. If you want to, I mean. I know Sundays are important to you.” I bite the inside of my cheek the second the words leave my mouth.
Shit. Why did I say that? Now he’s going to ask how I know that piece of information. What am I supposed to tell him? That I’ve seen him go to the old Salvatore mansion every Sunday for the past month or so. That I know his whole family gathers there like clockwork for quality family time?
To my surprise… he doesn’t ask.
“I don’t want this to end, either,” he says, voice firm, resolved, like he means it.
“Okay,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Then how about that bath?”
He glances up at the ceiling, then back at me with a smirk. “I’m thinking lunch first.”
“Okay,” I laugh since it’s half past three already. Lunchtime has come and passed without either one of us noticing it. “Do you want me to order some takeout? Italian? Chinese, maybe?”
A glimmer in Marcello’s eyes sparks to life as he slides down my body, placing a trail of kisses along my skin.
“Hmm,” he coos, nibbling on the skin next to my belly button. “Not exactly what I’m in the mood for.”
“Oh?” I chew my bottom lip as his kisses go further south. “And just whatareyou in the mood for?”
“Best if I show you.” He winks before prying my legs apart, his head disappearing between my thighs in seconds.
So, I guess my bath will have to wait, too.
But honestly? I couldn’t care less.
I’m exactly where I want to be.
Chapter 19
Marcello
I’m not me, and you’re not you.
That’s been my mantra ever since I broke into her house last Friday and slipped into her bed. It’s the only phrase that makes sense for both of us. The only words that grant us permission to act on our impulses without worrying about the fallout.
I’ve never been an impulsive person. I’ve always tried to maintain control, especially since the momenthecame into my life.
However, he’s been silent this past weekend. Silent but not dead. No. His silence was more than deafening at times. I felt his anger every time Izzie looked at me with tenderness in her eyes. I felt his wrath clawing under my skin every time she panted out my name in ecstasy. I felt his depraved hunger whenever I drove myself deeper inside her. While I wanted to own her body, he wanted to ruin it. While I wanted to reach the edges of her heart, he wanted to consume it. And while a part of me unwillingly let her carve her name into my soul this weekend, he thought of only corrupting and devouring hers.
The monster inside me is livid that I’ve found a moment’s peace without him. I don’t harbor any illusions that this fragile peace that I have enjoyed is only because he allowed it. In my impulse to have her, he took the reins from my grip, holding it like a leash around my neck, threatening to pull back when he’s had enough of me being happy. Fuck, for a moment there, I really was happy. So fucking happy I thought I’d suffocate in its glory.
Is this how everyone feels every day? Walking around like your heart may burst? Like you could die that very minute and not care? As long as she batted her lashes at me, stared at me with longing in her golden-brown eyes, it was all worth it.
I’m not me, and you’re not you.
Every time I repeated this mantra to Izzie, what I really meant was that I wouldn’t seek her destruction for as long as the devil lay dormant within me. That I would worship at her altar for as long as it let me. Still, I doubt Izzie understood the true meaning of my words. They could only make sense to her in a parallel universe where I wasn’t the heir to the most notorious crime syndicate on the East Coast, and she wasn’t the federal agent sent to take me down.
This could be a trap of her making. She could have fucked me as a means to later destroy me. But that’s not what it feels like when she touches me. That’s not what I hear when she moans my name and begs for more. This—whatever this is—feels real, even if we both know it can’t survive beyond the four walls of her apartment. But for now, it’s enough. It’s more than I deserve.
I run my fingers through her hair as she sleeps beside me, her head lying on my chest. I’ve studied her closely this past month to know all her tells and practiced mannerisms. I’ve studied her so well that there is no doubt in my mind, she’s just as surprised as I am that we’ve found ourselves here.
This was never part of her plan. None of what we shared was an act. Yet, she didn’t hesitate to follow my lead, grateful for the truce I offered. She gladly accepted that, in this moment, she wasn’t Isobel, and I wasn’t a Romano. She was simply herself, and I was just what remained of me… what was left ofme.
I keep staring at the woman who has tilted my world on its axis, breathing her in while lightly running my fingers up and down her spine. Just touching her skin feels like I’m stepping onto the edge of a precipice. The strangest part of all this is… I almost believe that if I jumped, I’d grow wings and fly. All because of the last two majestic days she gave me.
