“Your scars aren’t new, shadow.” He softens momentarily at the nickname. “They’re old. You can lie and say they’re from you being a Made Man but these scars you bear hold a different story. They hold a greater pain.”
His eyes cast to the side. Distancing himself once more. “Scars are only scars. None greater. None lesser.”
“You and I both know that isn’t true,” I argue softly. “I know the world may see you as cold and unfeeling. I know you wear this mask to protect yourself when you’re in crowded rooms and in front of others. You think no one can understand you but I do. I’m here telling you that I understand you.”
When he looks at me his eyes are filled with torment. He even takes a step back. It feels like a physical blow. “Imogen, I’ve told you. Don’t.”
My stubbornness won’t allow me to. And so I charge forward, determined for him to see the inevitability of us like a raging bull. “There’s whispers of you, you know. Whispers of the Grim Reaper who collects the souls of traitors and enemies to bring upon The Devil of the East Coast’s feet. Every single soul you’ve taken has been for him. So take one for yourself. Claim a soul as yours and never release it.”
“What are you asking of me?”
Swallowing, I take a step forward. The tips of his shoes brushes the bare of my feet. A parallel to how we were weeks ago. And when I look at him I know he’ll be able to see everything. I’ve always been labeled an open book but I will never be as vulnerable as I am at this moment.
“Take my soul. Collect it. Keep it. I was damned the moment your lips first spoke my name.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His voice takes on a gravelly tone as doubt seeps in his words.
“Think what you may but I am in sound mind and body. I know what I want. I know who I want. You’re my sweetest consequence, Rico. I know what choosing you will bring me. Yet despite everything I can’t turn you away. End this, Rico. Rid yourself of these metaphorical chains that bind you and come to me.”
“I can’t quite figure you out, Imogen.” I’ve never seen him so troubled. His perfectly crafted world has become a means of chaos. “And yet you’re the only person who has cracked open parts of me I never thought were humanly possible.”
Daringly, I smooth his furrowed brows. He doesn’t just allow the touch, he welcomes it. My heart flips.
“What have you done to me?” He breathes.
“I set you free.”
A strangled noise emits from the back of his throat. One of pain. Of want. Of need. Before I can decipher this newfound hunger in his eyes he engulfs me in his arms and slams his lips on mine.
He kisses me with a fevered passion. His tongue demands entry and I’m all too eager to oblige to his command. I open my mouth and his tongue strokes against mine.
His kiss is deep, consuming. Mind bending and leg weakening. Rico isn’t a man who kisses with only his mouth, he kisses with his whole body.
No part of me is left untouched by his eager hands. They palm my ass, run up my side to squeeze my breast, cup my chin to plunge in his tongue deeper and land tangled in my hair to leave a pleasurable ache to my scalp.
I’m burning up. Ready to combust at what they call second base. A make out session has never left me this breathless and wanton before.
When his lips leave mine I all but ache to feel them once more. Then, ever so gently the pad of his finger traces the features of my face. It’s as if he’s drawing me to memorize for the day I won’t be by his side. The corner of his mouth lifts to present a barely there smile.
“Your beauty is unmatched, la mia gazzella,” he says in reverence. My heart soars from hearing my special nickname. I can’t believe I ever hated it. Nothing sounds sweeter from hislips. “Your skin flush. Lips red and swollen. I’ve never had a favorable color before but I think it may be red.” He twirls a piece of my copper hair in his finger. After winding it he releases it and places it behind my ear. His finger lingers on my lobe before he tips my chin up and plants another kiss on my wanting and swollen lips.
My hand clamps on the back of his neck as I hike my leg around his waist. I feel the evidence of his arousal hard and heavy against my core.
I moan into his mouth and he swallows the sound. With a slight bend of his knee he hooks his hand under my knee and picks me up effortlessly. I wrap my legs around him as he drives us backwards. My back softly hits the mirrored wall.
“Touch me,” I beg in between kisses. He slides his hand up the inside of my shirt and cups my bare breast. “Rico, please.” I need more stimulation. Anything to bring me closer to pinnacle bliss.
“Please what, gazzella?” He nips at my jawline.
“Take me.”
“Right here?” He breathes.
“Yes,” I moan. I shift my hips against him and his cock twitches.
A strangled noise emits from the back of his throat. Showing the restraint of a saint he pulls back and I whimper. “You want your first time to be against the wall?”
My heart gallops in my throat. How will he take this? Most Made Men are promised virgins. It’s archaic and barbaric. They can sleep with whoever they desire but we are meant to keep ourselves pure. Hypocrisy at its finest.
