But Tristano is like a guardian angel.
Who fucks like the devil.
I sigh again, unable to stop mentally replaying what happened between us last night. Even though I’ve only had sex a handful of times in my life, I have to admit that it was the best so far. But it can’t happen again unless I figure out what his intentions are. As before, I don’t expect him to declare his undying love and marry me, yet there are some things I do require in a relationship, even if he’s my first…boyfriend? Tristano is too mature and authoritative for such a term.
Lover and protector suit him perfectly.
Whatever he is to me, Tristano can’t treat me like a drug to get his sexual fix and then hide me away because he’s ashamed of his addiction. I know I’m not. He is still who and what I want, but he has to respect me or I’ll move on.
After watching my parent’s marriage, I’d rather be single for the rest of my life, than end up miserable like my mother.
I cautiously make my way downstairs and the entire time my stomach flutters with nerves. Seeing Tristano and acting as though nothing is going on will be extremely challenging, and I’m as prepared for that as I’m ever going to be. But I cannot, under any circumstances, end up alone with him. If I do, all the carefully constructed walls I’ve built around my heart will come tumbling down, leaving me defenseless against him.
The sounds of voices and the clinking of silverware and china reach me before I turn the corner. The informal dining area is less extravagant than the one located at the front of the mansion, but no less luxurious. A beautifully crafted, circular wooden table that seats eight is decorated with fresh blooms in crystal vases atop a linen tablecloth that’s been pressed and pleated. The side table is filled with a variety of breakfast foods and the delicious aromas from them permeate the air, giving it a welcoming atmosphere.
However, a quick sweep of the room has my heart leaping into my throat.
The places at the table have been set and the five individuals present have already claimed their spots, leaving me to sit next to Tristano. He flicks his gaze to me and there’s a challenge in it, one that has me lifting my chin and walking across the room as if he’s not there. I don’t know if he purposefully set this up, but I wouldn’t put it past him.
Carina waves at me from her chair next to Rafael and her smile is brighter than the rays of sunshine streaming through the floor-length windows. “Violetta, good morning.” She rises and then beckons me with an outstretched arm. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Emilia Silvestri.”
The introductions between myself, Emilia, and her husband, Maximus, are brief yet smooth. All the while I study the interactions and body language of the couple, noting how they act with each other and toward my sister. Emilia genuinely cares about Carina, endearing the stranger to me already. Not that she didn’t already have a place of honor in my mind. Anyone who’d sacrifice themself for my sister is someone I respect and admire without question.
And then there’s Maximus, who’s extremely devoted to his wife. Every time Emilia’s mouth lifts in a smile his gaze softens with adoration, but there’s always an air of protection about him in the way he stands next to her, as though ready to shield her with his body at a moment’s notice.
Rafael gives off the same type of energy around my sister and I wonder if this is just the way the Silvestri men are with the women they love. Because they do love them, passionately, completely, and irrevocably. That much is clear and indisputable.
Would Tristano be the same with whomever he gave his heart to?
Such a dream is nothing more than a mirage to me, leaving me wanting something that’s not reality.
After the introductions are finished, Carina takes my hand and leads me to the array of breakfast food. She mothers me, as she’s always done, and assists me in selecting my meal. Although we are only three years apart, my sister has always taken responsibility for me, even if I didn’t need it. Tristano reminds me of Carina in that way and I think it’s why I find him comforting to be around. Well, I used to. He’s taken an attitude of obligation and turned it into one of ownership.
Tristano may possess my heart, but he doesn’t own me.
No man ever will.
I lower myself into the empty seat next to him and immediately regret coming downstairs to eat. Tristano’s cologne wafts under my nose and I greedily inhale the clean scents of after-shave and spice. Then he leans over and says, “Good morning,” his deep baritone throaty and full, and his breath skimming the shell of my ear. It’s the same tone he uses whenever he’s stroking me and coaxing my body to orgasm. Immediately my skin heats with an artificial fever and I curse it for reacting to him.
I should’ve just starved myself. Who needs food anyway?
“Good morning,” I say, keeping my tone placid and cool with the hope he’ll get the hint I’m not in the mood to speak to him.
There’s no such luck.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Just fine.”
The conversation around us, mostly facilitated and carried out by Rafael, covers Tristano’s response. “I didn’t. And do you know why,ribelle?” he murmurs silkily.
Unwilling to take the bait and engage him in conversation, I reach for the wine glass filled with orange juice and take a sip. It turns out to be a mimosa, which is even better considering my nerves are frayed and I haven’t even started eating yet.
If I could request hard liquor without raising suspicion I would. Because that’s what it’d take to fortify me enough to get through this meal.
Tristano leans closer to me. “I wasn’t able to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to be inside you, to drive my cock into that tight, wet pussy of yours over and over until I came so fucking hard I nearly passed out.”
I down the entire mimosa.
