Page 96 of Thorns of Death
I stopped myself, images from last night bouncing through my mind and making my pussy clench. Lovely. I had turned into a sex maniac.
Then as if he thought the same, his free hand came up to my ass and he rubbed it gently. Affectionately.
“I already told you,dolcezza, I love your ass.”
The palpitations of my heart caught me by surprise. The smart part of me knew he was saying he loved my ass and probably wanted to fuck it, but the romantic side of me took it to mean “he lovesme.”
At this rate, I’d need a head doctor by the end of the week. I lifted my head and caught a glimpse of us in the mirror. Me, butt naked and disheveled. Him, suited up and looking every bit the hot Italian mobster I was learning he was.
He gently lowered me, letting me slide down his body, the friction of his clothes against my bare skin making me come alive. His dark, shimmering gaze found mine and held on for seconds that seemed to stretch into hours. He watched me with unnerving silence—desire and need reflecting my own in his obsidian depths. But there was something else there.
Worry.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
“Is everything okay?” I heard myself ask. “Are your kids okay?”
“Yes, our boys are okay.”
It was terrifying how effortlessly he pulled me into his life and included me as if I was always meant to be. I liked Enzo and Amadeo, but to think of them as our kids… Yeah, it was a bit of a stretch. They were, like, a decade younger than me.
Before I could say something, he sidestepped me and turned on the shower.
“We’re leaving soon. Get ready.”
He turned to leave but I caught his sleeve, gripping it tightly and refusing to let him go.
“Where are we going?” He didn’t move or say anything, almost like he was debating whether or not to tell me anything. “Enrico, if you keep me in the dark, I swear to you I’ll set your entire world on fire.”
He raised a brow, then brought his other hand to his sleeve and slowly peeled my gripping fingers from his expensive suit, studying me intently as if determining whether I was sane.
Too late, stud, I thought to myself.
Then, he surprised me. “If that will make you happy, Isla, I’ll let you burn down my entire world. But you’ll still remain my wife. I refuse to let you go.”
His words sent an unfamiliar tingle down my spine. It wasn’t arousal or lust. It was something else, but I couldn’t quite figure out what.
“Are you always this possessive?” I muttered, although there was no bite to my words.
“No.”
I didn’t believe him. The man was a control freak. Ruthless. I was fairly sure it was his savage and obsessive ways that captivated me. Maybe there was darkness inside me, just like my father. Just like my brother. Then I remembered Tatiana, and shame filled me.
“Have you heard anything from my brother about Tatiana?” Something flickered in his eyes and I zeroed in on it. That was it. It was that look that I wasn't able to pinpoint. Dread filled me. “Oh my gosh, something happened. Didn’t it?” Slowly, panic bubbled inside me, rising to the surface. I took Enrico’s hand into mine and squeezed. “Something happened. I can see it in your eyes.” He reached a hand to my face and I stiffened. “D-did he die?” He shook his head. “Did she?”
My voice cracked. I hadn’t known Tatiana for long, but I knew if something happened to her, it’d destroy my brother. Despite learning Illias killed my mother, I wouldn’t wish that upon him. I was mad, but I didn’t hate him.
“She’s alive.” The breath I’d been holding swooshed out of my lungs. “But she’s in the hospital.” Before I could open my mouth and demand he take me to her, he said, “We’re going to Russia so you can be there for your brother and her.”
Tears burned in the back of my eyes. “We?”
My lip trembled and my heart squeezed. I didn’t expect him to want to go and make sure my brother and his wife were okay. I didn’t think he cared, even though he clearly knew my brother.
“Yes,we, Isla.” He cupped my cheek, something feral and possessive in his gaze. “Wherever you go, I go. Wherever I go, you go. We are one now. If you cry, I cry. If you smile, I smile. If you rage, I rage.”
There it was again. The palpitations of my heart.
“Why Russia? She was just here in Paris with me.”
