Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I want to make love to you, Rosa,” he whispers. “My beautiful Rosa. A woman like you deserves a name so pretty.” Slowly, he drags his finger over my navel, where my bellybutton dips, then traces the swell of my hips. Unlike the times of before when he made me climax, I feel… different now.
Whereas before, I felt as if he lit my nerves on fire and I craved the release and intensity of orgasm, now… now I want something more. Deeper. I crave the intimacy of being with him.
We’ve been emotionally connected with each other for as long as I can remember, so it feels like the natural progression of things. And what if we have no more time with each other? What if this is it?
He bends and kisses the swell of my breast before he slowly releases the suction cup. I draw in a breath at the quick spike of pain before it melts into something warm and delicious. I sigh.
Next, he removes the second suction cup. I’m already aroused, already on edge, craving the mind-numbing release and connection with Santo. Our brief time here together, under the pretense of my protection, secured here in the room where no one can stop us, we can finally seek the intimacy we both crave.
“On your knees,” he whispers, gently pushing me onto my belly, then hiking up my knees so I offer myself to him. He presses my breasts to the bed, making my ass rise higher. “Jesus,” he mutters, and I half wonder if he’s praying. “Beautiful.”
With gentle hands and a firm touch, he touches the plug. I tighten, but his hand comes to my lower back to steady me. “Easy, baby,” he whispers. “Let go. Relax.”
I relax my muscles, and as he divests me of everything, I feel bared, my nerves electrified. I swallow hard and close my eyes, and relish the feel of his large, rough hands on my body.
“Good girl,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He kisses my lower back and I shiver, before he gently rolls me over.
“Let me undress you,” I ask gently, when he grasps my wrists and holds them down, those deep blue eyes capturing my attention and my heart. “Let me?”
His lips quirk up. “Go for it.”
My hands shake a little when he releases me, whether it’s nerves or tension, or the eagerness of a woman in love, I don’t know. Maybe all of the above. He kisses my cheek and brushes a finger across my lips. I kiss his fingers, and they linger.
Slowly, as if I’m unveiling a masterpiece, I remove his shirt. My hands move gently but purposefully over his body. Exploring. Wandering. Roving. An exploratory touch with love and purpose. He shifts his shoulders, his muscles bunching, when I lift his shirt over his head. Then he descends back to the bed, bracing himself on his palms before he traces a finger over mine.
I lick my lips when I reach for his belt and unfasten the sturdy metal buckle. I’ve watched him unfasten his belt a hundred times, and I never lose interest in the intimate movements of his hips and hands.
I tug his belt off, curl it into a loop, and lay it to the far end of the bed next to his shirt. I take a minute to admire him, the strength and vital force that’s all Santo—his curved biceps and toned abs, decorated in ink that makes my heart beat faster. Every tat has a story, every story part of what makes him who he is.
I lift his wrist and bring the rose tattoo to my eyes. No one else but me knows that along the edge of the rose in fine script lies my name.
Curl of an “r,” a loopy “o,” the swirl of an “s” and the hint of an “a.” I thought it risky when he got it, but no one knows it’s there. No one but me and Santo. As it should be.
I kiss the palm of his hand, the tendrils of letters on his rose tat, and remember the day he got it.
“I’m getting the rose tattoo today,” he said as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. We sat along the edge of The Castle wall, discreetly hand in hand.
“You’re being inducted, then.”
“Rosa, I’ve already taken vows to your brothers and your father.”
I nodded and gently leaned my head on his shoulder.
“There’s no going back then, is there?”
“Why would I?”
“Why would you what?”
“Ever go back?”
I shook my head. “It’s just so… irrevocable. So permanent. It’s like once you make the vows to the brotherhood, you’re… you’re never the same.”
“It’s not like that, Rosa. That’s exactly what it is.”
Later that night, we met in the war room. My father was in Italy and my mother had gone to bed, my brothers gone there themselves after celebrating Santo’s new ink in town. Romeo wasn’t around much, building real estate investments in Boston, and back then, when my father was out of town, we all eased up a bit.