"Dellissioso," I tell Thomaso.
"Close enough," Marcello nods and pulls me out of the restaurant.
I notice several waiters following us, carrying stacks of white boxes.
"Our dessert," Marcello says when he opens the door of the large SUV that pulls up from out of nowhere.
I slide in and notice Alejandro at the wheel. "Good evening."
"Good evening, Violet. I hope you had a pleasant dinner?"
"The best," I agree.
The large hatch closes, and Marcello steps into the car, sliding next to me.
"Buckle up." He instructs.
"Yes, sir," I snicker, noticing a flicker of desire in his gray eyes.
He puts the cane on the floor and scoots right next to me. So close, our legs brush.
"Where to?" Alejandro asks.
"To the penthouse, we still have to eat the dessert." Marcello orders.
I'm about to protest that I truly can't eat another bite when I realize that maybe I can. Whatever that Sambuca is, it has made room in my stomach and made my head a bit tipsy. My body is so wonderfully relaxed—more than it's been in a long time. It feels so good, letting go, giving up control, letting Marcello take the wheel.
His arm slides over my shoulder and pulls me closer to him. I can hear his deep breathing and the strong beat of his heart.
"You know you really shouldn't drink alcohol with all those pills." Some clear-headedness returns.
"It's a little bit late for that advice, isn't it, Nurse Violet?" He teases.
A blush creeps up on my face. He's right. "I should have?—"
He interrupts me, "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't taken the pills in a few days."
My head jerks up, "What?"
"You heard me. I figured a week was long enough."
"You can't just stop the pills. You have to finish the antibiotics and the steroids, you?—"
"Relax, babe," he gently pushes my head back against his chest. Did he just call mebabe?
I have the desserts brought up and placed on the kitchen island, then I dismiss everyone except the four guards, who are always stationed in the vestibule.
I have no idea how I held it together during the endless car ride, but my self-control is wearing thin, even more so now, as I watch her swinging hips and ass while she walks over to the large viewing window, taking in the fantastic show of New York at night.
"It's beautiful," I watch the mouth on her reflection move. Putting my arms around her waist, I pull her against my rock-hard cock, wanting her to know where this is going.
A small groan escapes her, but she doesn't try to move out of my grip. My right hand raises up to her shoulder, and I turn her around; fuck, she's beautiful. Her hazel eyes are luminescent, her lips are slightly parted and moist, and as she stares up at me, just like before, the thought that Brigitte Bardot had nothing on her crosses my mind. My self-control is all but gone. I let out a low growl and place my hand behind her head to push her up while I lean down to press my lips to hers. It's just a slight touch at first, but it feels like an explosion inside me. I thought I would make tender love to her, take my time and explore her body, but my dick has other ideas. It has been waiting too long to enter her warm pussy.
My tongue dives into her mouth, exploring her. She nips at my lower lip before her arms sling around my neck, and that's the last straw; I lift her off her feet. Her reaction is instantaneous; her long legs straddle me. Her hot core presses against my loins, cutting the last threads of keeping it together.
Mine!
That's the only thought running through my mind. She's mine.
