Page 27 of Tormented Diamonds
“That's some serious high school mentality.”
A slow, lethal smile curves his lips. “Some people never evolved. Not all of us are highly educated doctors with incredibly luscious … brains.”
I roll my eyes, fighting my smile and losing miserably. “You entertain yourself, don’t you?”
“I have to.” Lowering his mouth, he traces the tip of his tongue along my carotid artery. “After eight weeks of battling my intellectual and infuriatingly sexy psychiatrist across a coffee table, nothing else seems to measure up.”
“You’re trying to distract me again.”
“Is it working?”
Yes, for a moment I forget about pinging phones, questionable underbosses, and pushy mob princesses who don’t understand boundaries. I let myself disappear in the scent of his skin and the feel of his mouth. But all too soon, Anton’s words from the car ride home seep inside my bubble and destroy it.
“Gianni?”
“Hmmm?”
“What made you become Torch?” His lips still, the muscles in his back pulling taut. A sizzle of warning tears through me, but fuck it. I’ve already thrown a rock at a hungry bear. Picking it up won’t make the attack any less gentle. So, I hurl another. “What happened in your past that made you so obsessed with fire?”
“This is New Jersey, not Providence, Dr. Brennan.The psychoanalysis is over.”
“I’m not asking as your psychiatrist.”
“Then who’s asking?”
“Your wife. The one who gave up everything for you—my job, my life, my identity. The least you could do is share pieces of your past with me.”
His eyebrows knit together, confliction clouding his eyes. For half a heartbeat, I think he might cave, then his walls slam down. “Maybe later,” he says, sliding his hands from my hips to my legs. One moment I’m standing in confrontation, and the next, I’m airborne with my legs curled around his waist.
“What are you doing?”
He gives me a wicked smile. “Make-up sex.” He meets my eyes before claiming my mouth in a kiss that burns hotter than the fire he covets.
Our tongues duel as he walks up the stairs and carries me into our bedroom. However, instead of tumbling onto the mattress, he continues into the bathroom. The moment we cross the threshold, he lowers me to my feet, stepping away just long enough to turn the water on in the shower. Within seconds, steam swallows the room, leaving only the hazy image of his outline. But I don’t need to see him to understand him. If anything, the obscurity adds another layer to the battle for control that lies at the cornerstone of who we are.
He slips my glasses from my face, and I hear the soft clink of them being placed on the sink behind me before feeling his hands at my back. “How much do you like this dress?”
“I hate it.”
“Good answer.” Bunching the fabric in each hand, he pulls, ripping the zipper open. The material slips off my shoulders and pools at my feet. I’ve been with this man long enough to know his kinks, so I wait for him to rip off my panties. Instead, he steps back into a cloud of steam, leaving me withonly the sound of dangling buckles and pinging buttons before returning with his hard, firm, and very naked body on full display. Diving a hand in my hair, he walks me backward toward the shower.
It only takes a couple steps for my body to become completely soaked by the huge rainfall showerhead embedded in the ceiling. As my feet shuffle, I glance down at my panties. “Gianni, you forgot something…” I lift my chin only to be met with a diabolical grin.
“No, I didn’t.” He crushes his mouth onto mine for a hard, devouring kiss, and then the hand in my hair drops to my neck, taking a punishing grip before spinning me around and shoving me against the tile. “You like teasing me, Doc?”
My heart leaps into my throat. “What?”
“I came home to find you all but on another man’s lap,” he murmurs hotly against my ear. “Are you trying to make me jealous, Mrs. Marchesi? Perhaps trying to provoke a reaction?”
Again, what?
I was doing no such thing. Owen was barely touching my wrist. We were talking about him, for God’s sake. Why would his mood flip such a complete one-eighty after…
Oh.
My adrenaline spikes as I realize what he’s doing has nothing to do with reality. Gianni needs an outlet from the chaos of the day, as well as the lingering guilt about Henry. A violent man only knows absolution through violence but needs a consensual, safe outlet. With role-play, he can do it without fear of going over the line.
He needs this, and it emboldens me knowing I’m the only one who can give it to him.
