Femme Fatale Loved (Pericolo #3) (3 page)

I lean forward, leering at this man. “You should be well versed as an ex-employee of my father’s. I’m not his princess anymore, hence why I’m here serving your alcoholic-ass whiskey.”

“Ah, Amelia, you always did have a way with words,” he quips, drunkenly chortling. “You should go back. Being a normal civilian is wearing you down, princess. Apparently, the lack of money and no killer motives doesn’t bode well for you.” He stands up, swaying on the spot. “I could strike a bargain right now. Get me ten grand and I’ll never speak a word.”

I laugh. “You’ll never speak a word anyway. You might not work for him, but my father will always control you.” I cross my hands over my chest and watch the man try to get where I’m going with this. “You’re never going to be free again.”

“Then you’ll never be free,” he says, lunging at me across the bar. He doesn’t make it far; his alcohol-fueled senses don’t offer much in the way of coordination. “I wonder what I’d get if I took you back to daddy dearest! Maybe the Dio Lavoro will hire me back, maybe life can resume.”

“Fat fucking chance,” I spit at him. “Enzo, Zane!” I call out. “Fancy helping a girl take the trash out?”

It doesn’t take them more than two seconds to react. Both move quickly to stand on either side of the man. They hook their hands on his biceps and lift him off the floor a little. They half drag him out, all the while reading him two forms of the riot act.

And I can’t help but smile.

Forever my bodyguards.

***

By the time my shift ends, I’m more than happy to be home. Although climbing the stairs to our apartment felt like a mission in itself, I keep myself going with the mere thought of a meal and a sinful dessert – aka Zane.

As I slide my key into the door, I welcome the scent of a cooking meal and the low sound of music. A small, grateful smile draws on my lips, and I linger tiresomely in the doorway. When will this get old? Ever since we started a normal life with one another, we’ve had our troubles, but coming home to one another makes all my worries disappear.

Entering, I notice Zane sitting on the couch reading his fitness magazine. However, when I shut the door softly behind me, he lowers it as I walk inside, dropping my bag and mentally retiring for the day.

“You look exhausted,” I say as he stands and advances toward me.

“No,” he admonishes. “You look exhausted; I look horny.”

I laugh as he leads my sluggish body into the living room. I follow knowing I can soon kick off my shoes and curl up against him. As he approaches the main sitting area, he releases my hand and drops on the couch. He pats the seat beside him, and I graciously start to turn.

"I think I'd prefer working in a bar if I owned it," I say, musing as I fall beside Zane.

He chuckles as he lifts his arm to wrap around my shoulder. "You're such a bossy bitch."

"I don't see you complaining," I reply, removing myself from his easy embrace in order to reposition myself. I might be tired, but I want my man, and I want to be exhausted for all the right reasons. "You're never telling me to stop when I do this," I say, and as if to put my words into action, I clamber into his lap and rest my legs on either side of his. Watching him, I flick my hair to the side; throwing it over one shoulder and tilting my head to look at him sideways, I'm prepared for this. Ever since our good-bye kiss, I've wanted to be in our home, alone, and naked. "Or when I do this," I continue to utter, in probing a few of his top buttons. "Or this," I whisper as I lean forward to plant my lips on his warm skin, kissing his clavicle, my lips dragging across it in small, sensual dots before trailing up his neck, against his throbbing jugular and along his strong jawline ready to reach his lips. "Or when I greet you like this," I utter before my lips land square onto his, my hands drawn immediately to his hair so I can hold on and deepen the kiss.

Zane's hands cup my ass, his fingers gripping tight as he does so, pulling me against his body as he does nothing to decline my blatant sexual advances.

I find myself flung onto my back, laying against the couch cushions and forced to look at my beautiful man as he now towers over me, leering down at me with that cheeky grin that makes me a complete fucking sweet mess.

"And you never complain when I take control back and do this," he announces, reiterating my actions at me. He leans down, now kissing my jawline as he unbuttons my white shirt, but he quickly tires and yanks the material apart; buttons fly off haphazardly as Zane's lustful greed takes over. "I love doing this," he speaks, his words pressing into my skin with every breath. "I love not worrying about when this will end. I love claiming you after a hard day’s work. I love being here, living this moment with you. I love everything about where we've ended up." He pulls back, looking me straight in the eyes. "I love that I finally have what I was searching for, Amelia."

My hand comes up to caress his hands, my eyes watering.

"I love that you fought for us to get here," I reply, my own smile watery with emotions. "I love you for still being here, loving me." I then frown, furrowing my brow together. "But what I don't love is that I want you buried deep in me, and neither one of us is naked yet."

Zane chuckles heartily, shaking his head in dismay. "As I said, you're a bossy bitch, sweetheart."

I start to laugh, but I stop the moment his lips press against my pulsating jugular, forcing my head back as he runs kiss after kiss along my warm skin, my body awakening to the sensuality. I absentmindedly feel his hands start to play with the button of my jeans, undoing them and forcing them down with my panties, all the while his lips never lose contact.

I shimmy my hips, shaking them to help remove my skinny jeans. I use my feet to free myself of my clothes, and Zane takes a moment to unzip his own jeans and rid himself of them. As I lay, anticipation making my blood boil, the afternoon heat only raising in degrees with our lust, I wait for him to strike.

With a wicked smirk, Zane positions himself between my legs, and I look down enough to see his erect penis and bite my lip. I start to pant as my eagerness begins to burst into a kaleidoscope of lustful desire and greed.

I feel Zane’s fingers dig into my hips as he lifts me slightly, but it’s all forgotten when he pounds into me with one hard thrust. The first penetration causes my hips to buck while my head moves backward, causing me to arch my back. It doesn’t take him two seconds to withdraw his cock from within me to force the entire length back in, causing me to gasp. He never fails to make me feel full, and he treats every time as if it’s the first time he’s made love to me.

Falling down upon me, he covers my body with his, moving his hips to continually attack my g-spot, only this time, he starts to dot kisses upon me again, his hand trailing down my begging body. It isn’t until his fingertips hit my clit that I realize he’s out to kill me.

“Oh God,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “Zane.”

“That’s it, sweetheart, you feel every inch of me,” he utters, continuing to feel me with his entire length, and I know I’m near; I can’t hold on any longer.

I feel my body beginning to set alight, flames engulfing me. As my blood boils, I feel the blaze, and I love every delicious flick and lick of the red-hot flames.

“Z-Zane,” I manage before I fall victim to my orgasm.

Even as I feel myself convulse, my body rocked as my orgasm reaps ecstasy through me, he continues to thrust until he reaches his own heavenly height. As he explodes within me, I gasp and reach up to his frame his face.

He kisses my hand before speaking.

“You’re my heaven on earth,” he whispers, breathless from the comedown. “That’s all I know you as.”

He seems to forget he was that for me first.

***

“You look beautiful tonight,” Zane whispers.

I blush, smile coyly, and begin to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. We’re standing in Central Park on a date night. We make sure we get one a week, never fail, and always end the night on a high. It never gets old, but this one is extra special.

It’s just started to rain, but neither of us seems bothered at all. We just stand among the trees, under the rainy night sky and enjoy our night. Zane pulls me close, dropping his head down to lock his lips with mine. Even as the rain pours down, we just continue to kiss; I love these raw, romantic moments. Those clichés that make your heart beat faster and your body feel at its liveliest.

As we pull apart, we linger, watching one another, but I grab the lapels of his jacket and pull back further, tilting my head as I prepare to lead the evening a little.

“Let’s take this home,” I muse, hoping the intent in my voice gives him enough information.

“Sounds good, sweetheart.” He agrees, turning me to put a hand around my shoulder and start guiding us back toward the subway.

A loud resounding bang resonates through the park, but I barely notice anything else as Zane’s body protects mine. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a gunshot, but I will never forget the way it slices the air, splitting it with violent intent. We stand, bent over, Zane still shielding me before we even begin to breathe equally. Slowly, we stand upright; Zane takes one look at me, smiling as he notices how I’m perfectly fine, unharmed, and alive.

“Thank God,” he whispers, his hands coming up to line my jaw as he looks me over.

I smile too, realizing that the gunshot we heard wasn’t meant for us. My heart hammers on, but my mind rationalizes better than ever that we’re both perfectly fine.

However, it’s short-lived.

Zane’s face loses all ease, all signs of the smile disperses, and he looks at me wide-eyed and surprised.

“Zane?” I quiz, wondering what the hell’s wrong with him.

I get no reply.

He just merely drops; I struggle to catch his entire body weight as he does so. As I crumple beside his motionless body, I notice the blood begin to spread across the crisp white shirt he’s wearing. I whisper his name, a liturgy for him to stay with me as I try to stem the bleed, but it’s no use. I’m failing. I can’t control the bleeding, and as much as I try, it only seems to worsen.

“Amelia,” Zane struggles to say.

“No, don’t talk,” I sob, my hands pressing harder than ever. “Keep your energy for me. Don’t speak.”

“I love you,” he whispers, uttering the words as blood begins to line his lips. Rain continues to pour, but he looks at me through the pouring droplets. “Only you.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice practically lost through my tears.

“Don-don’t,” he utters, struggling with his words. “Don’t forget.”

He finishes his request by closing his eyes, and I begin to cry out. Without much thought, I start to scream his name, the word suffocating me. No one around me takes any notice as my cry for his name becomes louder and more haunting.

The man I love just died in my arms.

I awake, Zane’s name straining my throat as the bloodcurdling scream echoes around the room. I barely notice he’s awake as I dissolve into a fit of hysterics, my hands coming to cover my face, my cold sweat smothering my palms.

“Amelia.” Zane’s voice breaks through my cries as his arms encircle my jolting body. “It was a dream, sweetheart. It was another dream. It wasn’t real.”

I strive to find calm, to remind myself it was another nightmare, but the realism is these night terrors seem to stay with me long after I’m awake. I suppress my sobs, hiccupping upon them as I tell myself over and over that Zane is alive.

“It was all a dream,” Zane coos, rocking me soothingly. “We’re safe, Amelia. We got out. You survived it. It was just a dream.”

The more he repeats that one comment, the more I feel my heart settle; the vise around my chest releases, and I finally feel like I can breathe. Gone are the suffocating grief and aftermath of the nightmare.

Yet I continue to cling to Zane as if letting him g will cause him to disappear like a delicate puff of smoke.

“Lay down with me,” Zane commands gently, not releasing his grip from me.

I listen, and as he gently starts to lie back down, I allow his hold to guide me back down to the mattress. Once we’re lying down, I curl into him, just staying off. Neither of us says anything; we just remain still in the dark bedroom, holding on to one another.

“Sorry,” I finally whisper, moving my hand up to wipe my tears away.

“You never apologize,” Zane disregards, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You hear me?”

“I wake you up most nights now,” I say softly, sniffling as I look up at him. “You never get a full night’s sleep.”

“It’s not every night,” he admonishes. “And I’d rather it were me waking you from them and soothing you than you dealing with them on your own. You’re getting better, though. You wake from them easier, and you calm a lot easier than you used to.” I nod, knowing he’s right. Time will make it better. “Want to talk about what happened in this one?”

I stare at him, deliberately keeping silent as I find the courage. I bite my lip and look down, gazing at the tattoos painted across his skin. I raise my hand, allowing my fingertips to dance over the artwork.

“We were on a date,” I begin, my voice nothing but a whisper. “We were in Central Park. It was raining, and it was perfect.” I stop my fingers above his heart, feeling it pump beneath my fingertips. “There was a gunshot, and you shielded me. We thought it was nothing; we thought we were fine. Then you dropped,” I say, raising my eyes back up to his. In the darkness, I can make out his face, his eyes glistening in the moonlight shrouding the room. “I tried to stop the bleeding, but it just kept on getting worse. You told me …” I pause, unable to continue as if the memory doesn’t blacken my heart. “You told me you loved me, that it’s only me you love.” I close my eyes, remembering his difficult pleas. “You told me not to forget that. Then you died, Zane. You were gone.”