Page 22 of Sacred Blood

“So ready for me, bambina.”

I experienced a jolt of satisfaction with the upgrade in nicknames, from tiny, and little one, to baby, a term of endearment used to reference a beautiful young woman, but I wouldn’t let him see that satisfaction. I turned my upper body away from him and gazed out the front window doing my best imitation of a statue. I’d show him I could control my body and resist him.

But when he began circling my clit, all my willpower flew out said window. Sinking down in my seat, I spread my legs wider, no longer caring who saw me succumbing to Tano’s ministrations. When his speed and intensity didn’t increase, I attempted to urge him on by grinding against his hand.

He pulled away, holding up his glistening digit. “Open your mouth and taste yourself.”

Holy hotness. I loved how dirty this man could be. Parting my lips, I leaned toward him expectantly. Tano slid his finger into my mouth, and I sucked it with the same enthusiasm as I’d sucked his cock.

“Mamma mia,” he uttered, eyes fluttering shut.

Ha! Take that, Captain Controlling! Swirling my tongue around his finger and pulling it as deep as it would go, I watched Tano’s cock stiffen in his pants. Yeah, two could play this game.

My hand stroked his hardness through his pants and briefs. I gripped his girth through the material, watching his changing expression under the intermittent lights along the empty highway.

The stern, cold, almost cruel expression that had seemed permanently etched on his face was gone, and I saw what lay beneath the monstrous exterior of a man who felt things deeply. Maybe I wouldn’t be swimming with the fishes tonight, just maybe I would be held in a warm embrace where, for the first time, I could let go of all the pretense and just be me.

So focused on his pleasure, I nearly hit my head on the roof of the car when his driver announced we’d arrived at al mare viletta. From my vantage point, all I could see were tall cypress trees that blocked any view of the neighboring properties, assuming there were any.

Tano exchanged a few words with the driver and then opened my door and held out his hand. For a man who invested so much effort in appearing cruel and heartless, he sure had manners. When the driver left, his taillights exposed a long brick driveway that went on for several hundred feet and was reminiscent of my trip to Sicily as a teenager.

My gaze swung in the opposite direction to see a vast green lawn and at the end what looked like a floating walkway that led to water. Now the al mare made sense as his home, more like an estate, was situated at the edge of a bay.

“Are we in the Hamptons?”

He gave me an assessing glance and a faint smile “Your mind is always busy processing. Too busy. Yes, the Hamptons, and tomorrow I will take you on a tour of my property.”

“And tonight?”

His features never moved, but his eyes flashed with heat before he looked away. He took my hand instead. “Come. We will eat and have some wine on the deck before I take you upstairs.”

“Okay, Romeo, but you had me at eat and upstairs.”

At once, his grip tightened painfully and he came to an abrupt stop.

“What now?” I asked crossly, matching his cold stare with a hot one of my own.

“I’m not Romeo, that’s my brother. Don’t call me that again, Allegra.”

There it was. He was using my name against me, just as I’d known he would as soon as I let slip that I hated it. I couldn’t get upset about it, though. I’d obviously hit a nerve and unwittingly offended him. “I’m sorry, Tano. I meant Romeo as in the character. I thought your brother’s name was Giovanni.”

His hardness fled, replaced with a softening I was surprised to see again so quickly. I almost believed that what I’d seen in the vehicle was a trick of the intermittent lighting, and yet, here it was again. “I have six brothers,” he told me as he started walking again. “Romeo is the eldest, the head of our family.”

“You don’t sound like you like him much,” I observed.

He huffed out a short breath that could have been a laugh if he practiced more. “He’s my brother. I love him.”

“You can love someone and still not always like them,” I said, thinking of my mother.

I felt him glance at me. But I didn’t return the look, just as he didn’t reply to my sentiments.

After typing in a series of codes into the security screen, the front door opened. Once inside, I waited again while he punched more numbers into the security pad. My eyes drifted, taking in the foyer, and widened in surprise as my head tilted up to take in the vaulted ceiling which led to a glass roof.

The flooring was rustic planking that must have cost a small fortune. In the center of the room where most people would have a small statement piece, such as a table with a floral arrangement, Gaetano had a whole garden of ornamental shrubs–bamboo palms, peace lilies and lady-in-red sprouted along the ground, golden pothos and English ivy cascaded from the spandrels, and at the center of it all, grew a tall lemon cypress, shading the plants below it and filling the air with its sweet scent. The entire thing was breathtaking and prompted the question if this was his idea or if some smart decorators talked him into it.

He smirked at my look of utter shock. “It is the polmone. You know, the lungs,” he said, as if that explained the masterpiece that was his entryway.

“I know what polmone means, but what do you mean by calling this—” I swept my hand around the room. “—lungs?”