"Come for me,amore mio." Rodrigo shifted the angle of his fingers slightly, pressing deeper, hitting a spot that made her vision whiten.
Her back rose off the wall, a raw, guttural cry tearing from her throat as waves of pure, blinding pleasure crashed over her. Her inner muscles locked, convulsing around his fingers, her nails biting into his scalp.
Rodrigo held her through it, his arm like an iron band around her waist, his mouth capturing her cries, swallowing them whole.
He didn't stop. He kept moving his fingers, gentler now, prolonging the aftershocks until she was a trembling, boneless heap against him, her forehead pressed to his shoulder. He slowly withdrew his fingers, the slick sound obscenely loud in the quiet studio.
Giana kept her face buried against the soft wool of his sweater. She forced herself to lift her head, pushing weakly against his chest. He loosened his hold immediately, allowing her to slide down the wall until her feet touched the floor, though her legs felt like water. She leaned back against the cool plaster,trying to summon the rage that had sustained her for so long, only to find it missing.
"Knowing you can do that… I think I hate you more now," she stated and meant it.
Rodrigo didn't flinch at her words. He lifted his hand that glistened with her release. His eyes never left hers as he brought his fingers to his lips.
He licked them clean, slowly, thoroughly, the tip of his tongue tracing the length of each digit with a deliberation that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to her core. A low hum of satisfaction rumbled in his chest.
Giana's traitorous body reacted instantly, a fresh pulse of slick heat between her thighs betraying her.
Rodrigo lowered his hand, a dark, knowing smile touching the corners of his mouth.
"Your hatred has always tasted sweeter than any love I have ever known," he murmured, his voice like rough velvet.
The words slammed into her, stealing the air from her lungs.
Rodrigo took a step closer, invading her space again, his heat radiating against her flushed skin. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine despite the residual heat flooding her body.
"The next time you want to prove how much you hate me,amore," he whispered, the endearment a dark caress. "I will use my tongue instead of my fingers, and you'll scream twice as loud."
It was a threat wrapped in silk and darkness that had her knees threatening to buckle all over again.
Rodrigo pulled back slightly, his eyes sweeping over her face, lingering on her parted lips, the flush staining her neck. He didn't kiss her again. He didn't touch her. He simply turned and walked toward the studio door, the latch clicking as he closed it behind him.
"Holy shit," Giana whispered, sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the rug-covered floor. She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, trying to contain the tremors still racking her body.
Rodrigo Colleoni just got you off.She bit back an inappropriate laugh. It was hard to have any regret when her body was still thrumming with endorphins.
She couldn't sit on the floor all day. She was working on something on her laptop, an idea to get back at Vincenzo in her own unique way. She didn't want to tell Rodrigo or anyone about it until she was sure she could pull it off. It would have helped if Rodrigo hadn't scrambled her brain, not just with the orgasm but by giving her a beautiful space that was hers alone. Again, she found she had no regrets.
Giana lifted her eyes to the massive oak worktable, the pristine canvases leaning against the wall, the rows of pigments and paints neatly arranged on the shelves.
The raw, screaming edge of her emotions softened and was suddenly replaced by a deep, humming stillness. The chaotic whirlwind in her mind quieted, funneling down into a single potent point of focus.
Giana pushed herself up and walked toward the shelves, her feet silent on the thick rugs. She stopped before the paints, her fingers closing around a tube of Titanium White. Pure, blank potential.
She turned the image blooming in her mind's eye, fully formed, visceral. Something that built on the sketch she had begun on her computer. A portrait of Rodrigo caught between shadow and light, his eyes holding the tempest and the terrifying vulnerability of the calm after.Il Mostroand the man who had just gifted her this sanctuary and then shattered her against its wall.
The creative urge, dormant for so long, roared back to life with the force of a flash flood. She wanted to cry because, of course, Rodrigo had to be her muse as well.
It didn't stop her from feeling like she needed to capture it.Now. Before the fragile, terrifying truth of what had just happened between them could fade. Before the storm within her shifted again.
Giana tore the cap off the tube of white paint, the strong smell cutting through the lingering scent of Rodrigo. She squeezed a thick dollop onto the smooth, scarred surface of the oak table. She didn't reach for a brush. Not yet. She dipped her index finger into the cool, viscous paint.
The studio door was locked. The villa was on high alert. War was brewing with Sicily, but in a sanctuary built by the monster who craved her, Giana finally picked up a brush and got to work.
30
The smell of paint clinging to Rodrigo, layered over the musk of Giana's arousal, was going to drive him crazy all day. He could still taste her and wanted to go back and follow through on his promise to use his tongue next time.
Walk it off. Give her space. Focus on keeping her safe.
