Now

Evan

SLIPPING INTO THE BACK of the church is easier than I thought—almost too easy. I wait longer than I normally would in the confessional to make sure no one surprises us. Tonight is the perfect night to approach Paola. The priest is away, so there’s no chance of him interrupting us, although someone else could.

Cautiously stepping out of the confession booth, I see Paola is two pews over, praying. Not wanting to frighten her, I make sure she sees me approaching. Watchfully, she slides back onto the bench, hands clasped in her lap.

“I knew you’d come.” Her words are a whisper, but her gaze is assertive. “We can’t be seen together. Let’s go in there.” She points to the confessional I just vacated.

Once safely hidden in the booth, I open the partition so we can talk.

“I suppose you want to know everything,” she says.

“That would be a good start.” While I don’t care to hear it all, I want a read on this woman, and the more she tells me, the better.

“My daughter was naïve and easily swept away. From what I’m told, your father was a charmer, good-looking, much like you are.”

Her words stab at me, wounding. She has no clue, but being compared to my father is the last thing I want to hear. No longer wanting to talk about this or hear any more about my father, another course of action is required.

“Paola, why should I trust you?”

“What do you mean?”

Even though her letter checked out, I’m not taking any chances. Knowing who her husband is, this could all be a ploy. For all I know, he knows about me. He’s figured out I’m the Monk and he’s seeking revenge. Although it’s highly unlikely that he’d use his wife to do his bidding, I can’t rule it out.

“You risked a lot to give me that letter. My guess is if your husband knew you’d spoken with me, he’d make you pay, so why should I trust you?”

“Contrary to how it looks, I love my granddaughter. I’ve had to stay away for her own good. My husband will not have me speak of her, but he’s very aware of her. He has her followed.”

“I know. What do you want me to do? How do you expect me to save Anna?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is soft and bleak. “You’re my last hope. We managed to buy twenty-four years of her life by having my sister raise her, but now, she doesn’t have long to live. While she’s left everything to Anna, my husband could stop that.” A light laugh, void of emotion, passes her lips. “He will stop it. Anna will have nothing and will be at his mercy. I don’t know what they are, but he’s making plans for her. My guess is he’ll have her marry someone in la famiglia.”

“And why would that be so bad? You did.” I’m playing devil’s advocate. I have no plans to let my sister stay in that world, but she doesn’t have to know that. I’m testing her, looking for any lies or red flags.

“Yes, I did, but it was different. I grew up in the family and have strong ties, and for what little it’s worth, I come from a respected family. Anna’s never been part of this world, and while Franco won’t speak of her, those in power know he doesn’t care for her. She’s in a precarious position. I think he has plans to marry her to a bad man, a ruthless man who will destroy her.”

“Who is it?”

Staring at me through the intricate lattice dividing our small spaces, her eyes are dark, lips pinched as a frown slowly forms.

“Angelo Gatti.”

My breath is trapped in my throat. The name should be inconsequential—one made man is as bad as another—but Angelo carries a whole other meaning. Angelo was to marry Renata and my father fucked up his destiny. The man is old enough to be Anna’s father, and even with the age difference aside, I’d bet my life that he carries deep hatred toward both Ciaran and Renata.

With the little I know of him, he’d relish the opportunity to get revenge through their daughter, a living child, the very thing that prevented him from having closer ties to the Don all those years ago. Being connected to the boss’s consigliere carries a lot of clout and opportunity, if played right. My father and, indirectly, Anna, took that all away from him.

“Fuck,” I say and Paola gasps, quickly making the sign of the cross at my profanity. “Sorry.”

“Please help.” Paola’s concern is evident, even in the dim light and with obscured vision.

“I’ll do what I can.”

I want to promise I’ll get her out of there. With all that I am, I want to save her from a fate that’s not hers. The sins of her father have been thrust upon her and if Gatti gets his hands on her, she’ll pay dearly.

On my way home, I call Ry to fill him in and tell him that my next step is making contact with Anna.

“You okay?” he asks through the Bluetooth.

“Yeah, just fucking pissed off, but what else is new. What did you do tonight?” I ask, wanting to change the subject, tired of having to repeatedly relive the wrongdoings of my father.

“We had Carys over for dinner. She broke up with Greg and while she’s okay with that, she’s ticked that he won’t come get his things.”

“She broke up with Greg?”

“Yeah, but Van, she needs time. She’s at the bar tonight, trying to focus on something other than you or Greg.”

“Yeah, okay,” I respond absentmindedly, already changing my course and heading to The Waters. “Ry, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

I end the call before he can stop me—he knows exactly where I’m going. I wait outside until the bar closes. It’s long and torturous, but I want her alone. I wait until every damn one of her staff leaves.

Entering the bar, I see the lights are dim, and even though I’m quiet, the door creaks. Carys swivels to see who has come in despite the locked door, and our gazes collide.

She gasps, eyes wide, her cheeks reddening by the second.

A lopsided grin stretches across my lips—I love how responsive she is to me.

As I near her, my pulse beats erratically. I’m getting closer to the one thing I want the most—her. I can’t fuck this up.

Knowing Greg’s no longer in the picture changes everything. I was trying to be patient until she kicked him to the curb. I hoped my presence would prompt her to do so because I saw some of her failed attempts to break things off.

I did question how much one guy could take, how long Greg was going to hold fast to the idea that she’d come around.

Sure, I understood why he never left, even though he was a fucking nuisance. I wouldn’t have let her walk away from me either, but I never understood why she let him stay. Fuck, I’m not going to care about why. He’s gone.

She moistens her lips, stepping out from behind the bar. My mouth dries at seeing her in a silky, cream-colored dress with a simple black ribbon around her waist. It falls to just above her knees and she’s sweet and demure, yet completely fuckable.

With a hooded gaze, I prowl toward her. My throbbing cock is dying to sink deep inside her, but this isn’t about me. It’s about her, but I’ll definitely gain from this, too.

I finally get to taste her, take back what’s mine. It’s been too long and I’ve wasted too much fucking time.

“Sweetness,” I rasp, my voice low and gravelly, as my hands forcefully grip her waist, lifting her onto the bar.

“Evan.” Her breathy voice matches her shaky hands as she latches onto my shoulders, not in objection, but in acceptance.

“Open your legs and lift your skirt,” I demand.

My order burns bright in her wide eyes. She likes it. Without protest or admonishment, she lifts the fabric and spreads her legs. She places her feet flat on the bar, knees pointed to the ceiling, pale pink panties wet where it counts. That’s my girl.

Wrapping my hand around one ankle, I shift her foot a little farther out, then do the same with the other. She’s spread wide open for me. My fingers itch to rip away the scrap of fabric, to see her glistening pussy, begging for me.

We don’t need to talk. We both know what this is and her wide eyes, open like her pretty pink mouth and drenched sex, are all the conversation I need.

With her elbows propped on the bar, she stares at me, expectant and eager for my next command. My eyes darken with need. I want her, all of her, now.

I clasp her nape and my mouth descends on the smooth column of her neck. With warm, delicious strokes, my tongue laps at her skin. She tastes like sugar, pure and sweet.

Traveling up from there to her mouth, I take her, taste her. She arches her back, her soft chest meeting mine as my mouth trails down her neck again.

Her lips are slightly parted, her tongue darting out to wet them, and I’m tempted to taste again. Crushing my lips to hers, my kiss is wild and hungry, plundering her mouth with raw pent-up need, as she holds on to me as if I’m essential to her survival.

Lifting my head, my gaze leisurely skims over her sexy body. I need to take my fill of her. Her pert breasts rise and fall with each pant and the shape of her hard peaks teases me as they poke through the fabric. I sweep my thumbs over her nipples and a tiny, helpless sigh of pleasure slips through her full, enticing lips.

I love the carnal effect I’m having on her. Her hair hangs in messy strands, her cheeks rosy, lips swollen and eyes aglow. Her breasts are eager and her pussy is wet for me. Fuck, I can’t tear my eyes away. I must taste her.

When I glide my hands up her smooth, pale thighs, she shivers, fingers curling into the wood of the bar, her knuckles stark white, taut. Following my every move, she fervently waits, holding her breath, as she wills me to lead her to the brink of bliss.

“Sweetness, I want to go slow, to savor this, but I don’t know if I can,” my lips mumble against hers.

She moans, nodding, agreeing to whatever I want. Slow, fast, gentle, hard—we both want it.

§

Carys

HE FISTS HIS HAND in the fabric of my panties and his fingers twist and yank. With one smooth move and a slight pinch, my underwear is ripped away from me, the tattered fabric discarded on the bar top, and I’m bare to him.

I hiss as the cool air hits my wet sex. Quivering, my womb clenches and heat builds between my thighs. An ache unlike I’ve ever felt before grows within me.

I desperately want him. His mouth, hands, tongue, cock—all of him. My intense longing makes me lightheaded and dizzy with want.

“So fucking beautiful.” His voice is raw and rough.

With his eyes intent on my pussy, he moves a bar stool directly in between my legs and sits. As he bends his head until he’s level with my sex, a slow, sly grin forms.

“So pretty and pink, so wet.” His husky tone only serves to turn up the heat within me. “And all for me. I gotta taste you, Sweetness.”

One lick of his tongue through my folds suspends my breathing and curls my toes.

“Oh, my God.” Tilting my head back, my eyes take in everything upside down, which is just how my insides feel, and my eyes flutter closed at the intensity of it all.

My fingers try to break through the impenetrable wood surface of the bar to ground me. With his tongue flat, he swipes from my opening to my clit, over and over again.

I’m losing myself to his divine ministrations, each lick as electrifying as the one before, building wave upon wave of ecstasy. My nerve endings are on fire, sensitive, pulsing, and alive. My fingertips are digging, sore, digits tight, but I don’t care.

“Yes, Evan, oh, Evan,” I moan, my hips jerking in response to his teeth nipping before his lips suck on my swollen clit.

With his face buried in my pussy, he murmurs in desperation, “So fucking sweet.” His hot breath glides over my folds. “Waited too long. Never again.”

He moves in closer, tenderly placing my legs over each shoulder. He nips at my inner thigh before his mouth goes back to devouring me.

His tongue showers me with languid licks and open-mouth kisses on my lower lips. As I buck and wiggle, my bare butt rubs harshly against what I thought was a smooth bar top. I might have to check for splinters later.

He splays his hand on my stomach, firmly pressing down to stop me from moving. I want his cock in me. It’s been too long.

“I need you,” I beg.

As he sucks on my clit, there’s a slow yet formidable swell building within my body. He thrusts one, then two fingers into me, pumping in and out as the growing pressure and raw carnality bowls me over. His firm, deliberate tongue flicks, back and forth, torturing me.

Just when I can’t take it anymore, when I’m going to combust, his lips suck my engorged bundle of nerves and my gratification multiplies. His fingers keep a demanding but steady pace as my legs tremble and my insides spasm. My pleasure is climbing, soaring until the intense violence of my orgasm tears through me.

Waves of pleasure flow over me as I come down, shuddering, my mind senseless from my orgasm.

“I think we passed slow.” He chuckles into my core. “I can’t do slow with you.”

He stands, observing my every move. His dark eyes are pools of desire and his well-fitted jeans are now tighter, straining where his considerable bulge is evident and inviting.

Going for the waist of his pants, I push up to sitting. My dress partially falls to cover me as my finger hooks his belt loop. He brushes away a few stray strands of my hair with one of his hands and the fingers of the other curl around my wrist to stop me. My urgent need to satisfy him, to bring him pleasure, slams into me as I try again.

“No, not tonight. This isn’t about me. Only you.”

“But I want to,” I say, somewhat confused.

“And I want you to, but another time.”

Before I can say more, his finger sprinkles my skin with goosebumps as he makes his way to the apex of my thighs. Ever so lightly, his finger swipes through my slick folds before pushing inside me. A gasp bursts from me at the unexpected yet welcomed intrusion.

Just as quickly, he removes his finger and smears my arousal over my lips before placing his fingers in his mouth. Wrapping his lips around his digits, he sucks long and hard as his amber eyes darken and smolder. He’s tantalizingly scandalous.

My tongue darts out of my mouth of its own accord, flicking at my upper lip, eager to taste myself. Before my tongue is even back in my mouth, his lips crash onto mine. His kiss consumes me. The unique tang of me on his tongue, in my mouth, on my lips, is provoking and dirty, but I love it. I can’t get enough.

Curling my fingers into his biceps, I pull him flush against me. His large body folding over mine is both domineering and comforting, the impulse to devour him more pressing and vital than the beating of my heart. Eventually, Evan breaks our kiss.

“Sweet, the only sweetness in my goddamn life.” His tone is as savage and raw as I feel.

“Evan, that was…” I’m at a loss for words. It was out-of-this-world amazing, but also confusing.

He came charging in here like a man on a mission, no discussion, no indication. He was pure desire, wanting and taking, and I let him, but what’s changed? Up to this point, I’ve been keeping him at a close but safe distance.

“What was that?”

With his usual fierce confidence, the corner of his mouth quirks up as he leans in to lightly kiss me. It’s chaste with closed lips, quick but sweet and sexy.

“That was you and me picking up where we left off.”

“What?” I scrunch my nose in bewilderment.

“You broke up with what’s-his-face. We can focus on us now.”

“Excuse me?” My tone rises as I abruptly pull down my skirt and attempt to hop off the bar.

Fortunately, he helps me down and we’re now standing chest to chest. His dimples pop with his brilliant smile and there’s a playful glint in his eyes. I have no clue what he’s smiling about. I’m smiling thanks to the mind-blowing orgasm, but him? I’m not so sure.

Not one to waste time or mess around with useless words, he dives right in.

“I’m sorry.” His tone is full of remorse.

“Did you ever miss me? At any point in time, did you ever regret your decision and ever realize that our love is enough? That we can face anything together?”

Those questions have been nagging at me for so long that I can no longer silence them. Based on all he’s said and done since coming back, I’d say his response will be yes, but my gut feeling isn’t enough for me. A small but persistent part of me needs more, needs to hear him say it.

“Every. Fucking. Day.”

His three words are little but weighty, the blueprint for our love, like lines etching the heart, the foundation of a home. His admission is at the core, the pulse and breath of our immutable love.

No matter what happened in the past, neither distance nor regret can alter or weaken our faith, love, and devotion to each other. It’s in this moment that I know he feels it, too. He, too, believes in our steadfast love, our deep and impenetrable connection.

As we study each other, eyes locked, our union strengthens without the utterance of a word.

“I forgive you.” I say the words as much for him as for myself. It’s what I’ve wanted to say for some time now, since that night in my office. What his father did bears no weight on who he is and how much I love him. Releasing the past and admitting I hold no blame is liberating.

Sure, I wish he had turned to me before leaving, but that’s something we’ll work on. I can’t turn my back on him, not when it would be like denying a core part of myself.

His lips land on mine. It’s a kiss of desperation, forgiveness, and hope, both of us accepting our complicated but never-ending love, leaving behind what happened in the past and paving our future, together.

“No matter where I go, how long I’m gone, or what I do, everything comes back to you. It’s always you. I was trying to protect you. I’ll never leave you again, I promise.”

Tears brim in my eyes, and my lips quiver as they curve into a smile. “I love you,” I whisper with a delicate kiss.

Evan’s tone is intense and raw as he says, “I love you, too.”