“You didn’t, though,” I check, squinting.
“Just the one.”
“Okay.”
Then he looks up, a glint in his eye. “Dance with me.”
I blush furiously as if everyone in the room heard his command. He stands and extends his arm, and there’s something almost old-fashioned about the gesture.
For all his hurt and brutality and darkness, Fiero loves with a softness I need.
The room seems to waltz around us as he leads me onto the dance floor. His palm settles against my waist and every part of me stills instinctively beneath the weight of it.
It’s not fear that makes me still, though. It’s trust.
After all the pain and destruction and all the ways we nearly ruined each other, I trust him.
Fiero studies my face carefully. “Are you okay? What is it?”
I smile up at him. “Nothing.”
“Why do you stare at me?” he says, smiling.
“Because I like when you stare back.”
He doesn’t take another breath before he comes down on my lips and kisses me fully, in front of the Bellucci’s, the Di Santos’s and every other mobster worth his salt.
I love this man.
I still think he’s beautiful. Not in the polished way male models are beautiful, but the kind of beautiful that feels dangerous to stare at fortoolong. With his sharp suits, dark eyes and permanently sinful mouth.
When he detaches his lips he lifts his lashes. “Are you happy?” he asks suddenly.
The question catches me off guard because there’s vulnerability underneath it.
I slide my hand up the back of his neck. “Yes,” I whisper honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”
That night,he touches me like he’s still afraid I’ll disappear.
Moonlight spills through the bedroom windows while Manhattan glows gold beneath us. We’re naked between cool sheets—a relief after the blistering Long Island sunshine.
Leaning on one arm, his other hand moves slowly to my waist—still the only place he’s touched. Tonight, I want to feel his handseverywhere. He presses his weight into me, his fingers digging lightly into my skin.
His forehead presses against mine as his cock rubs me between my legs working me up into a heated state.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
The fact he still asks me, every single time, makes my throat swell with emotion.
I look up into his eyes and nod. “Yes, Fiero. I’m more than fine. I want you to touch me.”
He taps my waist. “Here, right?” Just to be sure.
I reach down for his hand and draw it up my body, then I lower it to my breast.
His throat bobs in a deep swallow.
“You’re sure?” he asks in a raspy voice.
