“Toads are not slimy. Their skin is dry. Frogs look slimy because of the secretions on their skin but they are not slimy to the touch . . . You really should tell me to shut up once in a while. Like right now.”
“Shut up,” he said gently, grinned, and kissed my hair.
He had taken care of most of his family’s debt. About seventeen million dollars was still outstanding. A huge sum, but a fraction of what was once owed. He had tried to buy that debt using a loan Connor offered him. The creditor refused to sell. We had to settle for knowing that his mother and two sisters were taken care of. Alessandro sent them money every month on top of the nest egg he’d already built for them.
I shifted in his hold slightly. He leaned forward and kissed the bend of my neck. Mmmm . . .
“I’d like to meet the harpy,” he said.
“You’ve already met her.”
“But that was in the pool, in a public place.” His lips traced a hot line along my skin. “I’d like to meet her here, in our bed.”
“Why?”
“I need to know how much she loves me.” He nipped my neck lightly.
A shiver dashed from the base of my neck all the way to my toes. Mine. Mine, mine, mine . . .
His arms were around me, carved muscle hard under the golden skin.
“You said I was her favorite.” His voice was an open invitation. It caressed, it enticed, and I had no defenses against it.
“Yes.”
I felt her rising in me, demanding, violent, and completely obsessed. He was the glowing core of her world. My world. She and I were one being and there was no holding myself back.
I pushed away from him and turned so I could see him. His face was uncompromising, his eyes hungry. I would’ve drowned the whole world just to have him look at me like that.
“Show me,” he said.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whispered.
He leaned closer, his face an inch away. “I want it. All of it. Everything.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do. That’s why I am asking for it.”
I smelled the light scent of citrus and sandalwood on his skin. He was so close. I knew every line of his face. His molten eyes, his harsh cheekbones, his strong nose, his sensual mouth, his chiseled jaw, and yet I stared as if we had just met, stunned and longing. Wanting something, needing something I couldn’t explain. It was more than lust, more than sex, and it ate at me as if a gaping hole had opened in my psyche, and only he could make me whole.
My mind was full of dark feathers. They fluttered in my soul.
He leaned forward, close enough to touch. The space between us was so small, his voice was a breath on my lips. “Love me, my beautiful harpy.”
I launched myself at him. He wasn’t expecting it and I knocked him off the bed. Somehow, he sprung to his feet on the floor, taking me with him. My nails dug into the skin on his back, like talons. I locked my legs around him and kissed him, insatiable, furious that someone had hurt him and nearly insane with love and lust. I drank him in, swearing to love him forever, him and only him. He kissed me back, taking over, and thrust his tongue into my mouth, turning my assault into a pledge. It wasn’t a kiss, it was an oath. And then I bit his lip and tasted blood to seal it.
There were brakes screeching in my brain, logic and reason, warning that I was teetering on the edge of a cliff. I shoved them aside, took a running start, and jumped, falling into the bottomless chasm. My black wings snapped open, their tips glowing with red, and I soared.
Alessandro stared at me for a shocked moment. I cupped his face between my hands and kissed him again. My wings beat around us. If they’d had substance, I would have pulled him off his feet into the air.
His hand gripped my butt, his fingers scalding hot on my skin. He grabbed my panties and tore them off. I spun off him onto the bed. He barely had a chance to pull his pants off, and then I pulled him down, onto his back, and perched on top of him. His shaft was rock-hard under me. I yanked my shirt off.
He reached for me. I pinned his arms down and thrust myself against him. He slid inside me in a shocking burst of pleasure. It reverberated through me and erupted into a shout. The sound that left my lips was half song, half wretched cry, and the magic it summoned spun around us, conjuring distant echoes of salt spray and rough rock. He was the sailor I had stolen from the world and no force on Earth could compel me to give him back.
I leaned back and rode him, faster and faster, my black wings spread above us. His hands caressed my breasts and gripped my hips, pulling me harder onto him with every thrust. His magic whipped around us, a convulsing serpent of orange sparks. He arched his hips, matching my rhythm, his stomach flat and hard, the muscles on his chest tight with tension. There was so much power in him, in that strong body, in his eyes, in his magic. And in this moment, it was all mine.
Tension built in me, a storm on the verge of breaking. I wanted more, I wanted it harder. It whipped me into a frenzied rush.
He growled, his voice raw with need.
The storm inside my body shattered into ecstasy. Its waves crashed into me, so potent they almost pulled me under. I leaned forward and gripped his shoulders. His eyes were open, and I stared into them, mesmerized. He was so beautiful, and he was locked on me.
I would never let anyone hurt him again.
We hurtled into our own private typhoon. There was nothing hesitant or tender about it. It was a mad hymn, a violent coupling, and every moment of it would be seared into me forever.
Another orgasm gripped me, reverberating through me in an intoxicating rush. I arched my back, melting into it. My wings snapped wide as if catching a storm gust, and I sang out, a long wordless note that was less sound and more magic.
He strained beneath me, his body hard as a rock, his hands grasping me, and came. I licked the blood off my lips, feeling him shudder once under me, and collapsed next to him, spent.
Chapter 15
I brushed my teeth and spat into the sink. It was morning. I had expected an attack in the middle of the night, but it never came. I got a blissful eight hours of sleep and now I was starving.
He should’ve attacked us. Why hadn’t he?
“This is screwed up,” I told Alessandro as we both pulled on clothes in the closet.
“What is?”
“I’m stressed out because he didn’t try to kill us last night.”
“He’ll come at us in the next twenty-four hours,” Alessandro said. “And he’ll throw everything he has into it.”
Keeping track of who Arkan had left was making my head hurt.
Our phones rang simultaneously. Argh. I stumbled back into the bathroom, grabbed my cell off the sink, and answered it, putting it on speaker. “Yes?”
“Christina Almeida is here,” Patricia reported.
“Perfect. Just what we need.”
“She’s waiting for you. Leon is with her.”
“You let her into the Compound? Why?”
“Because she brought a hostage,” Patricia said.
“Who?” he asked.
“Countess Sagredo.”
Cou—who?
“Where?” Alessandro squeezed through his teeth.
“I put them on the patio by the main house,” Patricia said. “Mrs. Baylor has a clear shot of Christina’s head, in case any issues arise. Please hurry.”
Countess Sagredo sat on a stone bench under a Mexican plum tree, an untouched glass of iced tea in front of her on a little table. This patio was the place we held family gatherings when the weather was good, and the heat was down. It was a beautiful, comfortable space, and Alessandro’s mother sat as if the floor was lava, and her bench would sink into it at any moment. Two men flanked her. Both had the look of seasoned veterans, the kind who do bad things with professional efficiency and are not squeamish about it.