Emma
Calisto’s hand snagged Emma’s wrist the moment she stepped into the bedroom. Emma didn’t even get the chance to turn around and face him before he pulled her into his chest, drove his hand down her stomach, and yanked the towel away.
Emma sagged into Calisto’s arms when his hand slipped between her legs. He didn’t say a thing, not one word. His other hand palmed her ass while he started kissing her skin everywhere he could kiss.
Air cut through Emma’s teeth in a hiss as he stroked her bare sex with two fingers. She knew what his hands could do to her, but she wanted to feel something thicker, longer, and harder fucking her.
“Just tonight,” Calisto rumbled from behind her.
Emma nodded. “Yeah.”
“Fuck it out.”
She laughed, breathless and unsure. Her body was already singing, wanting this man.
“It’s stupid, I know,” Emma mumbled, tilting her head back to rest on Calisto’s shoulder.
“It is.”
Emma was pushed away from Calisto before she could say another thing. Confused, she spun on her heel to face him, only to find he was pulling at the buttons of his dress shirt, and working the zipper of his pants at the same time. Calisto kicked off his pants, keeping his gaze on Emma all the while.
Something dark was in his eyes.
Something hungry—starved.
Emma knew the feeling. She hoped that this one night with Calisto would serve to get rid of whatever craziness was wrong with her. She needed it to go away.
They couldn’t be.
Calisto’s shirt hit the floor. “You’re fucking beautiful, Emmy.”
Her mouth went dry when he shoved his pants down. His erection strained against his boxer-briefs, thick and heavy.
“Am I?” she asked.
“You won’t be told nearly enough by him, I know it. I just wanted to let you know.”
Emma wet her lips, her heart thundering loudly. She was naked standing there in front of him, but she didn’t have the slightest urge to cover up her body or the imperfections he might be able to see. Why should she, when he called her beautiful, and sounded so entirely sincere that it almost hurt to hear it?
“Don’t make this sweet,” Emma told him.
Calisto met her gaze, his eyes a wild-black and burning. “I don’t want to use you, Emmy.”
“I don’t need or want sweet, Cal. I don’t want it to linger like it would if it was like that. Don’t do that tonight.”
“Okay.”
Calisto shoved his boxer-briefs down, and his cock was freed to his hand. He fisted his length with quick, firm tugs, drawing Emma’s stare down to his dick. Her stomach clenched with need. She watched as he bent down and pulled a foil packet from his discarded pants pocket. Quickly, he opened the condom and rolled it down his length without hesitation. He took two long strides, let go of his cock at the same time, and grabbed her face in his hands.
Emma took a single breath before his mouth was crushing down on hers. His teeth nipped against her lips, making her skin sting. His fingers bit into her skin, promising and wicked. She let him own her with his kiss, feeling his tongue dance with hers, taking away her air while he sought more of her heat.
“I bet you’re wet for me,” he mumbled against her mouth. “You’re shaking already.”
The huskiness of his voice was a drug.
So damned addictive.
“Fuck me,” Emma demanded.
Just once.
It would all go away then.
Her feelings.
The craziness.
Her confusion.
It would go away.
Right?
Emma’s thought process dropped off when she found herself spun around and shoved forward. Her knees hit the bed, and then Calisto was behind her. His hand buried into her hair and pulled with just enough force for it to hurt. His palms snapped against her inner thighs, forcing her legs wider.
It felt like fucking heaven.
“This is what you want?” Calisto asked. “Mi vuoi?”
She shivered. “Sì.”
“It doesn’t have to be—”
“It does,” Emma interjected quickly.
She needed it like this.
Hard.
Fast.
Even painful.
Making this into something different might make them into something different. Emma didn’t need that, and neither did Calisto.
“Just fucking take me,” Emma said, feeling his hands run over her ass.
Emma found herself flipped over in an instant. She barely had time to clear her vision and see Calisto above her before he fitted himself between her thighs. His cock was sliding through the lips of her pussy, and he flexed forward. She was wet enough that his cock found no resistance when he took her deep.
Her broken cry echoed.
Good God.
He filled her full, stretched her open, and it ached in the best way. He didn’t give her time to adjust to his thick length before he was pulling out and thrusting right back in again. Emma’s hands found his chest, her fingernails digging into his skin as she tried to find purchase.
She needed to settle, to breathe.
“Cazzo Cristo,” Calisto cursed.
Calisto grabbed her waist and pulled her into him harder, reaching deeper. He didn’t give her time to think. Not about what they were doing, the mistakes they were making, or what might come of it.
No, he just fucked her.
Skin on skin.
Teeth biting into her jaw.
Her fingers buried into his hair.
It was relief, sweet agony, and the desire for more, all rolled into one.
And it was perfect.
Emma wished it hadn’t been.
Emma shivered as a fingertip traced lazy, loopy pathways across her naked shoulders. Following behind the soft touch was the press of lips and the pulse of breath washing over her skin. She nibbled on her bottom lip, trying to stay quiet and still as Calisto continued his silent exploration of her body.
Maybe he thought she was sleeping.
His touch, his kiss, was fucking exquisite.
It made her feel alive, but suspended in time. The simple stroke of his fingers and the whisper of his lips, were laced with his care and desire. It wasn’t simply playing with her body, or enjoying the woman sharing a bed with him.
No.
His attention to her was worshipping.
Each caress. Every tiny breath.
His tongue lapping at her shoulder blade. His fingers raking over her skin.
Emma’s body betrayed her when she let out a shaky sigh filled with the sound of her pleasure and need for more. Calisto shifted closer to her under the sheets, close enough that his chest melded against her back as his hand roved over her side to her stomach. The long, thick length of his cock rested heavily along the swell of her ass.
“Do you know how soft you are?” she heard him ask.
Emma swallowed hard, her words lost when his hand snaked between her thighs. She couldn’t think of how to respond when his fingers began to explore under the sheets.
Gentle swipes of his digits circled her clit again and again. His cock grinded into her backside, and by the way it felt, she suspected he already had a condom on. She could feel her slick arousal smear to her thighs when his hand cupped her sex as he pulled her into his groin. Then, his attention was back on her clit, rubbing, pressing, and promising release. She shook in the bed, knowing her tenderness was a result of the fast, hard fucking from the night before.
This was nothing like that.
It was sweet.
It was blissful.
It wasn’t rushed, demanding, or broken. She could breathe this time, feel everything he did, and it was enough to make tears gather in her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to have him like this, soft, sweet, and attentive. It wouldn’t make things any easier when it came to an end, but Emma couldn’t make herself tell Calisto to stop.
Not when she felt like this.
She was hot, wet, and so damned sensitive.
Her clit throbbed from the attention.
“So soft,” Calisto murmured into the crook of her neck. “All over, Emma. It’s fucking addictive. I want to keep touching just to see if there’s a single part of you that doesn’t feel like silk underneath my hands. What the fuck did you do to me?”
Nothing, she wanted to say. What could she do to a man like him? She was just a woman. One that didn’t belong to him.
Emma whined low when Calisto’s fingers pushed into her sex as deep as he could get them. Widening her legs just a little bit allowed his palm to rub along her clit as he thrust into her pussy over and over.
“Oh, my God,” Emma whispered. She twisted in his hold, feeling him move with her. The sensations running through her nervous system, the orgasm that was all too cloying but just out of reach, was teasing her. It was too much. It wasn’t nearly enough. “Please don’t stop … please.”
“And this,” Calisto ground out behind her. “This, Emma, cazzo Dio. All your little noises, and your trembling. You’re doing this for me and I shouldn’t like it at all but I goddamn well do.”
Emma sucked in a sharp breath when his teeth buried into her shoulder. She squirmed in his hold again, seeking to find more of his body on hers and rolling her hips into every plunge of his fingers.
Calisto’s mouth found her skin with kisses that burned her from the inside out. His free hand drove into her hair and held tight as his lips kissed a path over her cheek, jaw, neck, and her shoulders. She could feel his tongue strike against her skin, tasting her, while his fingers just kept fucking her to a racing orgasm.
“You didn’t want sweet last night, Emmy, but you said nothing about this morning.”
She couldn’t stop moving, turning in his hands, pressing back into his cock and his mouth.
More.
She needed more.
“God, Calisto.”
Breathless, spun, and high.
That’s what Emma was.
Somehow, Emma found herself on her knees. Calisto was still wrapped around her with his fingers tied up in her hair, his kisses painting her skin with his private worship, and his fingers working her pussy harder than ever. She was slick, tender to the touch, and raving fucking mad with the stinging bliss just beyond her reach.
He made her crazy.
Why did he have to be the one to do that?
Emma cried out when she felt the loss of Calisto’s fingers from between her thighs. Her desperation quickly melted into a low moan when his cock slid between the wet, fleshy lips of her pussy and filled her full with one smooth push.
“Jesus,” Calisto breathed into her neck. “You’re so good under me, mia dolcezza. So good.”
Tears dampened Emma’s lashes all over again.
He felt so much better than good.
Insane, even.
Deep in her soul, it hurt, too.
Emma shuddered, and fisted the bedsheets. “Why does it have to be like this?”
Calisto’s body moved in slow, unhurried strokes. His fingers dragged down her skin, lighting her body up with sparks of pleasure. “I don’t know.”
“It shouldn’t be this good,” she mumbled.
“It shouldn’t,” he agreed, his tone husky and dark in her ear. “Just let me make you come, Emma. Just a little more, okay? One more time. Let me do that. I want it.”
She needed it.
“Please,” she said, backing into his next thrust.
Calisto groaned heavily. His hand found the back of her neck, holding her down. Emma let him use her, fuck her harder until her throat was dry and she couldn’t do anything but simply feel.
It was wonderful.
Messy, stupid, and beautiful.
She came hard, shouting his name, and hurting on the inside. His come painted her back not five seconds later.
Apparently, she had been wrong. He wasn’t wearing a condom. Through her panting and lost senses, Emma didn’t care. Calisto mumble words that made no sense. She tried to focus on what he was saying, but his voice was muffled into her neck.
“I would if you were mine,” she heard.
Barely.
Emma blinked, feeling tears slip from her eyes. “Would what?”
Calisto’s hand tightened in her hair. His tugged her head sideways, giving him access to her cheek and mouth. His kisses peppered her face, taking away the fresh tears and the new ache with every press of his lips. When he found her mouth with his own, Emma felt owned by the possessive swipes of his lips and the demanding strikes of his tongue against hers.
“Keep you,” he said against her mouth. “If you could be mine, Emma. I think I would keep you.”
But she wasn’t.
So he couldn’t.
Emma said nothing.
Five minutes later, when Calisto rolled her over to her back and spread her legs wide, Emma let him fuck her again. She sucked his fingers clean while he grabbed her jaw, forced her to watch him above her, and fucked her until she was raw all over.
One more time, he said, like he had earlier. Just a little more.
One more time should have been enough.
It wasn’t.
“Miss Sorrento?”
Emma glanced up at the unfamiliar voice, only to find a man around her age waiting with keys in his hand.
“That’s me,” Emma replied.
She looked behind her, wondering where Calisto had gone to. Despite sitting beside one another on the plane, he had gotten lost in the flood of people as they began to exit at the terminal.
Where was he?
“I’m Carter,” the man said, bringing Emma’s attention back to him.
“Nice to meet you.”
But what did it matter?
“Affonso sent me to pick you up,” Carter said, shrugging. “He figured I could explain it to you as well as he can. I’m your bodyguard, your driver, and whatever else the boss needs me to be for you. We can grab your bags and head out. There’s a dinner at the Donati family home, and you don’t want to be late.”
Emma frowned. “Who is driving Calisto?”
“Cal left his car at the airport when he flew out to Vegas. I imagine that’s what he’s taking back to his place.”
His place.
A coldness settled over Emma’s heart, layering it in ice.
They had happened.
They were done.
Her and Calisto, it was what it was.
New York was the line, she realized.
Calisto had drawn it.
“I didn’t know Affonso was having a dinner,” Emma said, wanting to get away from her thoughts. “He didn’t mention anything about one.”
“Last minute thing. His daughters got in from boarding school a day earlier than expected. The weather cleared up. What he wants, the boss gets. You ready?”
No.
She would never be.
“Sure,” Emma said.
“New York isn’t Vegas, so you might want to put on your coat.”
Emma didn’t bother listening.
She couldn’t get any fucking colder than she already was. The ice in her veins was cold enough to freeze hell.
Carter started walking away and Emma followed behind him without saying a word. Out of the corner of her eye, a familiar form caught her attention.
Calisto leaned against a wall with his suit jacket dangling from his fingertips. He watched her, unashamed but as impassive and aloof as he had been that very first day.
Masks were meant to be worn.
His was like stone.
Raising his hand from his side, Calisto waved two fingers in Emma’s direction before he dropped it back in place.
Like it hadn’t even happened.
Like they hadn’t happened.
Emma wished it were true, but she couldn’t forget. The familiar glint in Calisto’s eye, taking her in and looking her over from afar, said that he couldn’t forget, either.
New York should be their line.
Emma didn’t think it would be.
Affonso’s daughters were beautiful creatures with eyes made of fire. When their father wasn’t looking, they glared across the table at Emma like she was the worst thing to grace their presence.
Michelle, the youngest, barely spoke two words when she had been introduced to Emma earlier. The oldest, Cynthia, sneered her hello and then walked on past her soon-to-be step-mother with the disinterest of most teenagers.
Out of all the things that Emma knew would be difficult when she became the wife of Affonso Donati, his children’s rejection was the hardest. They had grown up with another woman as their mother, someone they loved and adored.
It was not Emma.
She couldn’t fill whatever holes they had.
“Where is Calisto?” Cynthia asked her father.
Affonso stopped eating at his spot from the head of the table. Peering down the way at his oldest daughter, Affonso shrugged like he didn’t give a damn. “The flight probably tired him out. I’m sure he’ll be around to take you out for dinner at that place you like so much.”
Strangely, Emma’s heart warmed at the knowledge that Calisto was mindful to spend time with his cousins. He certainly didn’t have to, but it was nice to know that he did.
“He promised,” Michelle said, a whine in her tone.
Affonso cocked a brow at his youngest daughter, silencing whatever else she might say in an instant. The rest of the table quieted as well.
Emma had been quick to notice how the men surrounding Affonso at his dinner table weren’t all that different from the men who surrounded her uncle and father at their dinners. The Don was the most important man in the room. His voice was the only one that needed to be heard when he was speaking. Attention was mostly focused on him unless he directed it elsewhere.
Affonso was a king to them.
He wasn’t Emma’s king.
Her introduction earlier as she joined the dinner had been to the point, and over before she realized it. A setting was already placed for her at the table, along with a chair for her to sit at Affonso’s side. Her things were upstairs, waiting for her to unpack.
She hadn’t even explored the house yet.
Leaning over, Affonso said quietly, “You have your own room, for now. That’s where I had your things put.”
Emma nodded, thankful for the space. “Thank you.”
“After the wedding, you’ll move into my room.”
Anxiety thrummed deep in Emma’s chest. She managed to keep it hidden.
“Yes, Affonso.”
No one seemed to notice their exchange.
“Daddy?” Michelle asked.
Affonso gave his daughter a passing glance. “What, Michelle?”
“We don’t have to call her mom, right?”
The entire table quieted of chatter almost immediately. A few utensils dropped from the hands of the guests, clattering on the table. A throat cleared down the way, but Emma couldn’t gain the courage to see who it was. She didn’t know who most of the people were, anyway.
Embarrassment settled in Emma’s stomach, and a pain followed right behind. The girls looked at her like she wasn’t meant to be sitting where she was. Their mother had probably owned the spot before Emma had taken her place there.
I’m sorry, she wanted to tell them.
The girls wouldn’t understand.
She didn’t want to take their mother’s place. She hadn’t asked for any of this. The marriage, the wedding, and her spot as their step-mother was not of her choosing.
Emma didn’t want to hurt them.
Affonso sighed. “Michelle, now is not the right time to be asking that sort of thing. You know better, hmm?”
“But it’s important,” Michelle argued in all of her fourteen-year glory.
“Michelle—”
“I won’t call her mom,” the girl interrupted fiercely.
Cynthia snickered at her sister’s side, but kept her gaze down on her plate. At sixteen, Emma expected more issues from Cynthia than Michelle. She was closer to Emma’s age, after all. Apparently, Michelle had other plans.
Affonso waved his fork at his youngest daughter. “Go.”
Emma straightened in her chair, confused.
Michelle’s face fell, crestfallen. “But, Daddy—”
“Go, I said,” Affonso muttered. “Do not make me repeat myself, ragazza. You are crossing the line tonight with your attitude. I won’t have you disrespect the woman I am marrying. Take your plate and eat in your room. Tomorrow, we’ll see if you have changed your opinions at all.”
“Affonso,” Emma said quietly. “It’s okay.”
She ignored the way everyone turned to look at her, including Affonso’s two daughters.
“She’s just a girl,” Emma added. “She doesn’t understand, and she doesn’t mean anything. She’s just trying to make sense of how she feels.”
Emma knew it was the truth.
“It does matter,” Affonso replied in the most uncaring way Emma had ever heard. “And I won’t stand for it.”
Turning back to his daughter, Affonso waved his fork again.
“Go, Michelle,” he told her.
Huffing, the girl stood from her chair, slammed it into the table with a bang, tossed Emma a glare, and stormed off. Emma held her breath, hurting for Michelle. She didn’t deserve to be reprimanded and shamed in front of her father’s people and her family, simply because she was a child who didn’t understand what was happening.
“I apologize,” Affonso said.
Emma shook her head. “Don’t. As I said, it’s okay.”
But it wasn’t.
Michelle had every reason to dislike the woman who would take her mother’s place in her life. And for that matter, Emma was not the perfect little queen that Affonso was trying to hold her up to be for these people.
He wanted Emma to be unsullied in their eyes. The perfect wife, his mob wife.
No shame.
She was dirty, more than Affonso could know. She had already broken the vows she had yet to speak when she laid down in a bed with his nephew. And then again when she fucked Calisto twice the morning after.
Emma was not good at all.
She wasn’t made for this.
“Sorry I’m late,” came a voice from the other side of the room.
Emma’s heart dropped and her blood heated at the same fucking time. She forced herself not to look in the direction of Calisto’s laughter as he greeted a man at the other end of the table. A chair scraped against tile as it was pulled out.
Apparently, he had come after all.
“Smile,” Affonso demanded at her side.
Emma slid on her mask. All someone would need to do was look close enough to see what was really beneath the sheer falseness of her smile.
At the other end of the table, Emma found her lies staring her right in the face.
He smirked.
And winked.
Calisto Donati was her worst mistake, her greatest shame, and the one thing she still wanted more than anything. Emma could still feel him all over her, long after his touch and kiss was gone. In thirty days, her entire world had changed—he had changed her.
Emma had a feeling that if she played another game with Calisto, she would surely lose.
She had already lost once.
Wasn’t it enough?
“Calisto,” Affonso called out. “Where did you stay when the flight was canceled? You said the reservations for your room was over.”
“I got another room for the night,” Calisto said.
Lie.
“You didn’t answer my calls after we first chatted.”
“I was tired and fell asleep early.”
More lies.
“You should have called me back,” Affonso muttered.
Emma swallowed back her panic.
“I slept in and forgot about it,” Calisto said simply, brushing Affonso off. “Then the airport notified me about the flight to New York and we rushed to catch it in time.”
Another lie.
Calisto’s falsehoods would be easy to unravel if Affonso looked into anything his nephew said. Thin lies were the easiest to see through.
Emma met Calisto’s gaze again. The chatter at the table continued like nothing was amiss. Emma supposed to these people, nothing really was.
Calisto gave her another one of his sexy, knowing smiles. She didn’t look away.
She couldn’t.