“Ugh.” I thumped my forehead against the table, letting it happen—letting my body take this pleasure and make it its own, and damn the consequences.
The second climax was just as earth-shattering as the first, making my teeth chatter as it blew through my nervous system. When he withdrew from me, I could barely keep myself upright.
I wobbled up after a few moments, examining my surroundings through a haze.
“Fuck.” He chuckled low, patting his pocket for his cigarette pack. “I hope your spine is better than your resolve because it took me five seconds flat to break you and make you come. How easy.” He shook his head, lighting himself a cigarette with a derisive smile.
I watched him amble toward the open doors of the balcony without a care in the world and realized belatedly that the windows were also open. People could’ve seen us. I was being sloppy, providing him no challenge. I just let him bulldoze in and prove to me that he’d managed to do what no other man could before him.
“Don’t look so smug,” I answered. “Your father will probably kill you when you get back.”
“Oh, you’re not that important.” He settled on a chair in the sun, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. “But desperation looks good on you, Piccola Fiamma.”
____________
Something was off, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
I crawled to the shower, flicking it on and turning the water to extra hot. I stood under the spray for a full ten minutes before it came to me.
Reaching between my legs, I patted my carefully trimmed slit, then slipped a cautious finger, checking my sore insides. My suspicion was confirmed.
Achilles hadn’t climaxed.
He gave me my pleasure—the two orgasms that were robbed from me in both our sexual encounters—and he left unsatisfied.
It was the first time a man had given me something instead of taking something away from me.
And it made me want to claw myself to shreds.
Chapter Eleven
Achilles
“Yo, Scarface.”Jeremie fell into the seat next to mine.
“Sup, Vodka Breath,” I replied.
“It’s your father again.” He slid my vibrating phone across the table.
Not a shocking development. He would call, wouldn’t he? I’d killed two of Stefano’s soldiers, ran off with his bride, and was currently restructuring every single border he and Sangue Blu had agreed upon in their meeting, breaking all of our clans’ promises. I’d barged into Sangue Blu neighborhoods, taken over the areas his dealers worked, and threatened every motherfucker in my territory who dared pay Stefano protection money at gunpoint.
I spent the past twenty-four hours reminding the Camorra that the Ferrantes ruled all of Naples. No exceptions. I was making healthy progress setting things back in order here, but my mind wasn’t in the game. Not fully, anyway. Instead it was affixed to a long-legged redhead with emerald eyes and a husky voice who had managed to burn through sixty thousand euros on my credit card in less than twelve hours.
Tierney was revenge-spending, while I was out here tempting fate and starting wars for her freedom. Last night she made ashow of slathering the 3K-La Prairie eye cream she’d purchased all over her feet, explaining that walking all over me had given her blisters.
She didn’t let our weekend arrangement douse her flame—on the contrary, after our exchange at the cliff, she was extra sassy, extra poisonous, and I’d even let her steal one of my guns without saying anything.
I trusted her with a pistol more than I did all my soldiers combined, anyway.
I made sure to visit her every three hours on the dot wherever she was—a mall, a restaurant, our hotel—to fuck her. I wasn’t missing out on any of my hard-earned pussy, especially when it was this fucking good. I even woke her up in the middle of the night every three hours for a feeding. Sleep was for the weak and could wait until I returned to New York.
The first two times since getting to the hotel, I didn’t even bother with my climax. I was so fucking laser-focused on making it good for her that I forgot all about myself. Only my shitty lies afterward made me claim some of my pride back. Hopefully, she didn’t notice I didn’t finish.
What was I supposed to say?Hey, Tierney, sorry I couldn’t make you come. Next time I’ll try not to cream my pants the minute you look my way?
So, yeah. The first couple times, I used her degradation kink as an excuse for my poor bedroom skills. Guilty as charged.
Now, I made her come plenty. Never went as far as going down on her again—she wasn’t going to see me on my knees on a regular basis—but I did make sure she was purring like a cat, humming with a satisfied smile before I found my release.
