With her hand over mine, I stroke my hand down my cock and then up again with a twist. A soft groan escapes my throat. I’m always horny around Lucy. “You can’t fucking talk.”
Lucy laughs softly. She strokes my cock with me, our hands moving slowly, our breathing synchronizing as a tight, pleasurable ache spreads through my lower belly. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer to me.
I’m not having sex with Lucy, I tell myself. She just happens to be here while I’m getting closer and closer to bursting all over her.
“Damiano,” she pants. “Kiss me.”
Her lips are mine to claim. I vividly remember how good it feels to kiss Lucy. When I’m not having nightmares about fire, it’s all I dream about. The way she tastes. The desperate relief and hunger.
When I make you mine, it won’t be in hiding like this.
My whole body tenses and cold sweat breaks out on my back. We promised to be careful. To be patient, to find a way to be together properly. And here I am, less than twelve hours later, about to throw it all away.
Is this how little she means to me, that I would risk her safety and happiness for the sake of getting off?
“Hey, come back to me,” Lucy says, touching my face.
I release her and roll onto my back, grinding the heels of my hands against my eyes. I’m crazy if I think I can sneak around this house with Lucy without our parents finding out. Dad has eyes and ears everywhere, and if he finds out the brother and sister he adopted are screwing each other and have been lying to him, he will… God, I don’t know what he’d do, and that’s what scares me.
“Lucy—” I start to say, and she must hear the refusal in my voice, because she speaks over me.
“I hope my boyfriend doesn’t find out about this. He’ll be so jealous.”
My eyes snap open, and I glare at her. Lucy is casually examining her manicure.
“Boyfriend?” I ask.
She frowns in puzzlement. “Yes, my boyfriend. I told you about him.”
I sit up on my elbow. “No, you didn’t. What boyfriend? Who is he?”
She shrugs. “You must have forgotten about him because of all the Jessicas and Faiths you’re screwing. You go on dates just about every weekend. Do you think I’ve been a nun all this time?”
“I go on dates for the sake of appearances. Do you know how strange it would seem if I didn’t?”
I know she’s provoking me on purpose, but knowing that doesn’t stop me from being incandescently jealous that someone else might be enjoying what I can’t have. Last night she killed for me. She kissed me like I was her whole world. She promised to wait for me.
And now she’s talking about another man?
She tries to get out of my bed, but I grab her and pull her back. She again tries to leave, so I roll on top of her and trap herin my bed with my hands either side of her head. My still hard cock is pressed against her bare inner thigh.
“Admit that you’re pretending about the boyfriend, and I’ll let you up.”
She smooths her hands up my biceps and gently drags her nails across my shoulder muscles. It feels so incredible I have to stifle a groan.
“Why would I pretend about having a boyfriend?”
Damn it, what if she’s not pretending? She’s beautiful, she’s twenty, and even though we made a pact last night, I haven’t claimed her. Maybe she thinks our promises mean nothing. “Who is he? The son of one of the capos? It had better not be Antonio or Giovanni. I’ll murder them.”
A smile lingers on those perfect lips of hers. “Please don’t be jealous, Damiano. I worry about his safety if you notice the hickies he’s left all over my body.”
I breathe hard through my nose, glaring at her. She is. She’s trying to wind me up. Testing me. The trouble is, it’s working. The T-shirt she’s wearing covers her upper arms and down to her thighs. There are no marks on her forearms or legs. I grasp her jaw and turn her head this way and that, examining her throat. “I don’t see any hickies.”
“Thank goodness you haven’t looked very hard,” she says in mock relief. “It would make you so angry to see them.”
She tries to get out of my bed again, but I put my hand on her shoulder and push her back down. “You’re not going anywhere until I find out if you’re making this up.”
I grasp her T-shirt—my T-shirt, because she’s always stealing them—and slowly pull it up. She’s wearing tiny white briefs, and I swallow hard at the sight of them, and admire the luscious curves of her hips.
