“Tell me what you want, Ballerina Girl.”
I gave him a devious look, licking my lips real slow, still tasting his mouth on mine. The pleasure of hearing his breath catch was mine, and I delighted in the curse that followed. His mouth parted and his hands twitched. “Dangerous,” I breathed out, closing my eyes, running my hands down my neck, over and under my breasts, further up, between my breastbone, to the spot he had marked aspericoloso,the part of me he would paint.
He snatched at my wrists so fast that I made a breathlessah!in surprise. The pressure was enough to keep me from squirming. He raised my hands above my head, putting his mouth where my hands had just been. His tongue left glistening trails, so cool against the heat of the night on my skin. Then his mouth was on mine, his fingers moving further south.
I mumbled against his mouth, and he broke off the kiss, an unforgiving madness in his eyes that I was sure measured up to the pressure that stormed inside of me. “Test me,” I begged. “Test my limits.”
“Here?” He almost smirked. It made him look just as wicked as he could be.
I wanted to love that look off of his face. “Here,now. Please.”
He looked to his left, to his right, and then his heated gaze found mine again. “Out in the open like this?”
“I don't care!” My breath hitched up and my breasts rose and fell in time to the pulse between my legs.
“Like this?” He fell to his knees, spreading the gown. A strangled moan echoed in the night when his tongue found my delicate flesh. I felt like a queen in an alley. Then he stopped, making me want to yank his hair from the roots. He stood at his full height, forcing me to look up at him. “Or this?” And he took a fistful ofmyhair and pulled my head back so that my throat was exposed to him. He bit a trail up to my mouth. “Do you want me to spank you here?”
“Y-yes,” I swallowed hard. “I do.”
The ass had the audacity to laugh at me! He was teasing me! I smacked him and he took a firmer hold on my hair, kissing me long and deep until all energy had been siphoned and I was so pliable he could have shaped me to his will. No doubt that was what he was doing.
God, oh, God, what was I thinking?Separating from him? How could I even go a day without this? Without him?
Before I could allow the regret to get carried away, his pants came down, he lifted me, my legs automatically going around him, and he entered me with such a quick and hard thrust that I saw stars and my head lolled back without my consent.
“You are dangerous to me,” he said, hardly able to take a breath. He pumped in and out of me, out of control with want. “All of you. So fucking dangerous.”
Then we were swallowed up, consumed, existing as one in that ephemeral but rapturous world that allows the merging of souls so that the brief touch lingers beyond forever.
We stood connected even after we came to each other, smiling against each other’s mouths, still touching, still needing and wanting.
Until the sound of a man and a woman locked into battle carried to us. Their voices echoed down the alley, suffused in a different kind of passion.
Dario and Carmen.
Brando rested his forehead against mine. “Don’t tell me. Not now. The entire world could be on fire and I wouldn’t want to know. I’d stay this way, buried deep inside of you, for eternity. When the wind took our ashes—”
“We’d dance in the breeze together.” I finished for him. “Pompeii fate.”
“Call it what you want, Ballerina Girl.” He placed a kiss on the edge of my nose. “As long as I’m with you.”
The battle moved on, followed by Dario’s hasty footsteps to keep up—Carmen was leaving and he was attempting to stop her. Not long after, Brando gently put me down and fixed the straps of my dress.
More footsteps were moving, but toward us this time.
I gulped air, almost choking on it. The four monsters spread on the stone and bled along the cobblestones in massive reflections.
“I know those shadows,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, taking the knife from the strap on his lower leg. “I guess they decided to do something about the situation after all.”
“Welcome home,” I said and braced myself.
* * *
The football player who had recognized the Fausti name in Ireland called Brando by his father’s name. Luca.
Brando faced three of the brutes, including Taylor and the mouthpiece of the bunch. The one who had always been silent faced me. I had my back to Brando’s. One of them against one of me seemed like good odds for them.
