Page 62 of Caruso
He speaks with a confidence that makes me smile, and I gasp, “You’re probably right about that.”
His touch is sending bolts of electricity through my entire body, shocking it into life, commanding my attention.
“Matteo gives you reassurance, comfort and pleasure. He nurtures, protects and offers sweet loving. I offer none of the above.”
His lips grasp mine and he bites down hard, my blood dripping into my mouth as he whispers against the broken skin, “I purge, destroy and corrupt. I am your conscience, the brutality hidden within your soul, and I unleash the darker side of you as we play in your downfall. I am the part of you that you fear the most and will drag out your demons and set them on fire with no respect foryour humanity. Can you cope with that, angel, or do you fear the crazy?”
“I want the madness, Giorgio, but tell me, what are you hiding from me? All of you are hiding something, and if I understand what that is, I may be able to help.”
His eyes burn with a fury that warns me never to speak to him again, and yet there is deep pain rooted there that catches my breath.
“I am hiding the horrors of hell from you, angel, and for your sanity, I will not drag you there with me. None of us will, but if you are still curious, the only man who has the right to tell you is Tommaso, and just so you know, it will be a dark day in hell before he ever revisits that part of his soul.”
He shakes his head as if to shake a memory and then, without warning, plunges his cock hard inside my wet heat, causing me to scream as he rips my next sentence to shreds. I am powerless against him, trussed up and contained as he rips through my body like a cyclone destroying everything in its path. Ruining me, claiming me, owning me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Giorgio
Taylor is asking for the impossible. She wants answers, but she won’t get any from me.
Nobody dances inside the ruin that once contained my heart. Not even her. It’s boarded up and derelict, and only the demons call it home now. Matteo will never speak of it. Tommaso will never think of it, and Taylor will always be left wondering why.
When I finish with her, I pull out, gazing down at the woman who has crawled inside our world and would be advised to get out while she still can. She is flushed, her breathing shallow and fast, her entire body shivering, red in places from my rough, brutal attention.
A ruined goddess, my queen and as I unbind her from the silk bonds around her wrists, she smiles softly.
“Thank you.”
“Any time, angel.” I wink as I offer her my hand.
“As enticing as it is to keep you tied upall night, we must eat. First, we clean up and then I’m taking you to a place I love where the food is out of this world.”
Her eyes light up with excitement.
“We’re going out?”
“Of course. Matteo is your man for fine intimate dining. I prefer the noise, crowds and company of the masses.”
I help her up, noting her grimace as she attempts to walk, and I hide my smile. Good. I want her to ache knowing I’m the one who caused it. My cum dripping from inside her long after she thought it had all been washed away. I am an intense lover and an intense psychopath, and dining out with my woman is something I never believed would happen.
We shower together, my hands rough as they explore her body in a more leisurely way. Rubbing in the soap, ensuring I don’t leave a trace of blood or sweat, cum or depravity on her perfectly soft skin.
Taylor’s body could grace a centerfold, and if I had my way, I would handcuff her to my side, naked for all the world to admire her beauty. I would parade her around Vegas with pride that I have such a goddess as mine.
However, even I am not that deranged, and so I slap her ass and say roughly, “Go and change. Wear whatever the fuck you like, I’m wearing jeans.”
I wink as I head to my room to change, a self-satisfied smile on my face. I feel good. Way too good, and it’s all because I get off on mutilation, fighting and fucking like the degenerative beast thatI am.
Taylor meets me in the living area, and I swear my mouth dries as I feast my eyes on a woman who has dressed like every fantasy I ever had.
She is wearing a short leather mini skirt with boots up to her thighs. That’s where the danger ends because she is wearing a soft, floaty top that disguises her curves, giving her the appearance of a respectable angel.
Her hair is dancing down her back; her makeup is natural and not extreme. She is wearing a delicate silver bracelet on her wrist and a pendant with a heart around her neck. She is two halves. One decadent, one almost virginal, and I love it.
Her smoky eyes drag against my body that I contained in a tight t-shirt with the words ACDC across my chest. My black leather jeans are held in place by a brown leather belt, our company insignia engraved on the silver buckle. Unlike my brothers, I shun business suits and smart casual. I love the darkness, and that is reflected in my wardrobe. When I’m working with them, I wear the customary black tailored suit and black silk shirt. However, when I’m out on my own, I blend in with the crowd, occupying the shadows, disguising the monster who walks among them.
“You look nice.”
