“Did you know there’s a door from the kitchens that leads into the secret passage? The one that connects the cells with the study?”
“Yes. It was the first thing I checked. But it is locked, and the key lost for many years.”
“That’s what Wilson told me, too,” he says. “But—”
“Teddy,” I sigh. “If Wilson wanted to kill my father, he could have done it at any time during his employment here. He wouldn’t wait twenty-five years to do it.”
“I just thought…if someone had the key…”
“Go back to bed,” I murmur.
He gets on his knees in front of me, his hands on my thigh, looking up into my face. I can smell him, the clean, soapy scent of his recent shower.
“I thought you’d be happy,” he says. “About the dinner tonight.”
“You performed admirably.” I run a hand through his damp hair. His cheeks are still flushed from the warm water, or perhaps from something else. I think again of what I said to Jacopo—he is obsessed with me—and feel sick at the idea. I don’t deserve Teddy’s worship. “That’s the problem,” I mutter. “It was only a performance, and I…”
I break off. Whatever I was about to say is unsayable. I cannot possibly expect forgiveness from him for how I have treated him. And the reality is, I still have no idea how to resolve our situation.
“But Alessandro,” he murmurs, his hands sliding higher on my thigh, pushing my legs wider open. “I wasn’t performing.” He slides closer, between my thighs, and his hand makes its tentative way up to my waistband.
I stop him before he can do something he’ll regret. “No,” I say gently, taking his hand in mine. “I can’t have you on your knees for me. Not when…” I can’t even bring myself to say it.
“Please,” he whispers, laying his head against my thigh. “I keep thinking about last night—you made me feel so good—I want to make you feel good, too.”
I lift him up, meaning to push him away, but somehow he ends up curled in my lap, those sweet pink lips a tempting few inches from mine. “We can’t do this,” I tell him, even as my hands are roaming over him. “It’s a mistake.”
I am a bad man. I’ve always known this. I am no one’s hero, and I have done many despicable things in my life. There’s a part of me that believes Ideservedwhat happened to my face, a punishment for my pride, my vanity, my misdeeds over the years.
But as Teddy’s fingers run over my jaw and higher, I don’t flinch away from his touch. I’ve never let anyone touch my scar, not like this, an intimate, loving gesture of acceptance. His eyes follow the path of the scar from my eye to my mouth, and then, with his fingers still soft against my unfeeling skin, he presses his lips to mine.
It’s the sweetest kiss I have ever had, not just from Teddy, but from any man. Honest and pure and giving, his mouth moves on mine with increasing boldness as I fail to stop him. Stop him? I encourage him, encircling him with my arms, keeping him safe and near. And though my scar has never had any real feeling in it, the dead nerves still register his touch, the stroking of his fingers as he cups my face and dips his tongue into my mouth.
Through the slippery fabric of his pajamas I can feel his heart beating against my hand on his back, his breath ghosting faster over my lips as he lets out a whimper of need.
I want him. I want to pull him apart and see how he works, discover the secrets of his heart that he’s still keeping from me. I want him naked and on display for my enjoyment.
Minealone.
It has been a long time since I’ve had an inexperienced man, and never anyone so gentle and lovely as Teddy. I want to slow down time so that I can savor him—his mouth, the soft caress of his fingers, the feel of him in my lap. I slide a hand around his thigh, find him hard and warm for me.
“Alessandro.”
The way he gasps out my name wakens the beast in me. I’m hungry for him, forallof him. I shove my chair back and lift him onto the table, where he leans back on extended arms, looking up at me from beneath thick lashes. He’s panting and flushed, the pink tide running down his neck and further. After I open the buttons of his pajama shirt, I trace his blush as it runs down his chest, spreads out to his nipples, which stand out tight, begging for my touch.
I let my fingertips brush over them, and he gasps, stretches up toward me for more of my touch. “You are a tasty little treat,mio dolce. I want to eat you all up.”
“Please.” The word tears out of him as though he’s been waiting, hoping that I would ask. I open his shirt fully, take in the sight of his quick-moving chest, and watch his face as I pinch his nipples gently. His mouth opens, shiny and slick with my own spit, and his eyelids flutter shut as my fingers tighten on his tender flesh.
I push him back onto the table, gently, my hand over his heart, feeling it race for me. There are not many men in this city—in this world—who can hold my gaze with such fearlessness. I feel savage with desire, a predatory need building in me, and Teddy’s face responds, submissive and vulnerable as he stretches his arms over his head along the tabletop.
But his eyes never leave mine.
I lean in, settle my teeth around one hardened nipple, playing with it until he wraps his legs around my waist, wriggling up toward me. I move to the other bud, sucking at it, worrying it, until it’s as flushed and tender as its neighbor, but none of this is remotely enough to satisfy my hunger.
Or his.
His hair is disheveled as he writhes around under me, his cock pressing into my belly as I lean over him. I pull his pajama pants down, one rough yank that sets his dick waving for attention, glistening at the tip with his excitement. “Please,” he says again. “Please, Alessandro…I want you.”
