Page 52 of Good Girl Gone Bad

Chapter Seventeen

I love you.

Her words almost pulled him from his foggy, aroused state. She moved swiftly, thrusting herself onto his dick, swaying her hips in a sensual dance he couldn’t deny.

Maybe she didn’t mean it and had said she loved him in the heat of the moment. Even though he didn’t completely convince himself, he used the possibility to enjoy the sex without thinking.

He thrust his cock upward, and she took him, using her inner muscles to clench him. An insane throb dominated his body, knotting his whole being into one pulse. He had to close his eyes and will himself to wait to come.

Eager for more, he lifted his hands and cupped her tits. She threw her head back for a moment, and he touched her breasts, encircling the nipples with his fingers. She gazed at him, her eyes challenging him to respond to her spontaneous declaration of love.

He searched for undercurrents of fear or uncertainty or frustration but only found clarity in the depths of her green irises. His heart drummed in his chest, and he didn’t know how to react. Luckily, his own body responded for him. As if entranced, he shifted his position so he sat on the mattress, legs crossed around her, without disengaging from her. Lily was still on top of him but much closer, his arms wrapped around her, bringing her to him.

That’s when he knew. Fuck. She loved him.

He should call it quits immediately, leave the bed, and get her on the first flight back to the United States. But as she moved, each time undulating her hips so he’d hit a deeper part of her, he wanted to stay with her more than anything.

Groaning, he thrust into her, provoking a series of moans from her sinful lips. He upped his game, plummeting hard then retreating enough to make her squirm.

“Yes,” she hissed out, her long eyelashes sweeping over her lids. “Yes. I love you. Oh, Marco… How I love you,” she said.

Air rushed from his lungs. He only rammed her with more strength, unsure if he wished her words were truth or lies. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and then she kissed him in such a passionate way, for an instant he didn’t remember where they were.

He matched her intensity, shoving his fingers into her hair and massaging her scalp, hoping to give her the same kind of short circuit he experienced whenever she touched him. She tightened her wet walls around his rod, and this time, he felt the building pressure in his core, his balls heavy and throbbing.

“Yes,” she said when he momentarily came up for air. She bucked into him, hinting she was close. Without letting go of her hair, he used his free hand to slide down and flick her clit, working it relentlessly.

She shuddered, the vein on her neck pulsating and warning him she was coming. Responding to his own urges, he plunged one last time, unable to wait. His body contracted, then released, and he spilled his load inside her welcoming pussy. Fireworks exploded through him, the glorious sensation making waves until it had ridden his entire being, and his breathing became labored.

He kissed her forehead and eased her onto the mattress, when a sharp knock on the door made him extract himself from her and jump from the bed.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Let me find out,” he said, pulling on his pants. Quickly, he fetched his shirt from the floor, putting it on before opening the door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need to talk,” his father said on the other side of the threshold.

He swallowed razors in his throat. Seeing his father this late at night meant something had gone wrong. “Wait,” he ordered, then closed the door quickly to tell Lily, “I’ll be right back.” She nodded at him, her face confused, but he took advantage of her post-bliss state and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

He buttoned his shirt, walking alongside his father in the hall. Then his father came to a halt and told him, “Your grandmother has passed.”

Marco froze, pinned to the spot, even though his knees threatened to buckle under his weight. Sadness welled up inside him, constricting his throat. Until now, he’d dealt with Nonna’s weak heart as a fact, a certainty, and used a measure of practicality to cope. He looked at his father’s expression—neutral as always, but his eyes seemed almost kind for a moment. Kind? Marco mocked inwardly. Why didn’t his brother or Arietta break the news to him?

Tears he wouldn’t have normally allowed fogged his field of vision. Marco wiped them with the back of his hand in a rough manner, but others replaced the ones dampening his skin. He remembered his grandmother’s love for him, the sweet way she called his name, her genuine, positive outlook on life.

“I’m sorry,” his father said, and planted a hand on his shoulder. Marco almost jerked away, driven by instinct, but his father pressed his palm into his shirt.

“Why did you come to tell me? Why not Nico?” Marco asked.

His father drew in a breath and then nodded to himself, as if realizing Marco’s question made complete sense. Maybe Nico was calling the doctors, or making arrangements, and, out of convenience, someone had asked Calogero to notify Marco. Simple as that.

Calogero loosened his hold on him until he slid his hand off Marco completely. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Marco looked into his father’s dark eyes and found an emotion he had never seen before. A lump of frustration lodged in his throat.

“Because I’m sorry,” his father said, his voice wavering.

His father opened his arms and hugged him, and Marco swallowed hard. He didn’t want to believe his father, wasn’t willing to forgive him so quickly. Yet, as Calogero kept clumsily embracing him, Marco tapped his back then slowly embraced him in return. Sorry wasn’t enough, but it would do for now.

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