His tongue traces the seam of my lips as my fingers trace the line of his tattoos, and I open for him without thought. The sensation is euphoric, overwhelming, and intoxicating, and I can’t help but want more.
This feels like being consumed in all the right ways; it’s addictive. Basili makes a sound low in his throat, between a growl and a groan, and deepens the kiss further. His hand tightens on my waist, his broad fingers digging into my hip hard enough that I swear it will bruise.
My head spins, knees weak, and I find myself clinging to him like he is a lifeline. The cold of the night air is long forgotten by the fire suddenly ignited between us.
And then, just as suddenly as he started, he stops.
Pulling away, using his hand on my neck to create distance as he does so, not letting go of me entirely yet. His breathing is ragged, like mine, his eyes dark and dilated beneath the streetlights.
I can only stare at him with bewilderment.
“We should get some sleep,” he finally says, his voice rough despite the attempt at being dismissive.
Sleep. Right. That’s how this all started…
But instead of arguing, I swallow hard, nodding my head, not trusting my voice.
He studies my face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he releases me and steps back, creating distance between us before motioning inside.
“Come on.”
I follow him inside on shaky legs, my lips still tingling, my heart still attempting to find its rhythm. We both climb back into bed in silence, and I find myself thankful that Emmanuel didn’t wake in the middle of — well, whatever that was that had just happened between us.
I’m acutely aware of Basali’s presence, even more so than before, and I can’t stop replaying that kiss as I drift toward sleep, hating how badly I want more, even knowing that’s an absolutely terrible idea
This time, sleep eventually comes to me. My dreams are filled with dark blue eyes and the dangerous man who they belong to, and my growing desire to be utterly consumed by him despite reality.
Chapter Five
Basili
Movement beside me wakes me; slowly I reach for the gun beneath my pillow — an instinct ingrained in me over the past twenty years. But then my mind registers that the small weight on the bed is familiar. Emmanuel. And I relax.
Opening my eyes, I look at him, my son, my life, my treasure. The one person who keeps me going when things are truly terrible. He’s sitting up in the middle of the bed, his dark hair sticking out in all sorts of directions. Eyes still puffy from sleep, he rubs at them with the back of his hand.
“Buongiorno, figlio mio.”I push myself up to sit beside him, careful not to disturb Chloe on the other side of the bed.
His eyes find mine, and for a moment, he seems hesitant, like he’s not entirely sure I’m there. Or perhaps he is afraid. The idea that my son is afraid of me is a knife between my ribs.
“Hungry?” I ask, and his stomach growls in response. We both laugh softly as his hands fly to it, like the touch will silence its complaining. “That’s a yes. Go run a brush through your hair and brush your teeth; I put some items in the bathroom for you. I’ll get Omero to take you down for breakfast.”
He glances at Chloe with a worried look, his brows furrowing together in an expression that I recognize as one I myself wear often.
“I’ll wake Chloe soon, and we will come down and join you. I just don’t want you to have to wait on us when you’re obviously already hungry.” I make a gallant attempt at being reassuring, moving to knock on the wall that our room shares with my men’s.
“Omero,” I say loudly, just one command, nothing more, earning myself a disapproving look from my son as he points to Chloe’s still sleeping form and then puts his finger over his lips.
“I won’t wake her, I promise.” I chuckle slightly, proud to see the slight confidence renewed in the boy.He isn’t so afraid of me that I’m beyond reproach; that’s at least a good sign.
A soft knock sounds on the door a moment later, and I move to open it just enough to see Omero’s concerned face.
“Boss?”
“I want you to take Emmanuel down to breakfast. He’s brushing his hair and his teeth right now; give him a moment. I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
Omero’s eyes flicker past me to where Emmanuel appears from the bathroom, then back to me. “You sure?”
“I need to take care of something first.”
