Corey

“Why don’t you just move in here?” Stefano asks me a few weeks later. We’ve been seeing each other most every day, either at work or when he takes me off the schedule and brings me out on the town with him instead. Thanks to his continued interest in showing me what’s possible, I won ten thousand dollars last week playing poker.

This morning, I’m leaving his suite to go home for the day and he’s grumpy about it. I spend the night in his suite three or four nights a week, but he’s starting to put the pressure on.

“What’s in your shitty little apartment that you don’t have here?”

“Don’t be a dick,” I mutter, hopping to put on my high heels from last night.

“No really.” He knots his tie, completing the male model look and nearly drawing a sigh from me. “What is it? I want to know.”

“Well, a fully stocked kitchen for one.”

His face clears. “You like to cook?” He looks so happy, I almost blush.

“Yeah. I like to know exactly what I’m putting in my mouth.”

He smirks. “Ah. I get it. You need to control what you eat.”

I pick up one of his balled up socks from the floor and throw it at his head.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Shut up.”

He grins. “So you want a kitchen. We’ll kick Leo and Tony out of the top floor and move back into my place up there. Then would you stay?”

I flush some more. I’m still not ready to make that kind of move with Stefano. This is too intense. Too fast. I’m not someone who’s quick to trust and I definitely don’t give my heart away easy. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever given it up. I probably have my dad to thank for that, too.

Stefano’s smile fades. “Pack your shit, you’re moving.” His voice turned into Demanding Asshole Boss tones.

“You ordering it doesn’t make it happen,” I snip back.

“Cuore mio.” He walks toward me, his voice soft and dangerous, his tread like a panther’s. He picks me up by the waist and sits my ass on the desk. “It’s going to happen.” He pushes my thighs open and brings his thumb to my clit through my jeans. “The less resistance you provide, the greater the reward.” He pinches one nipple through my shirt and bra. His teeth graze my shoulder. “You give me trouble? There’s going to be punishment. The clock starts now. You have forty-eight hours to get your shit packed and ready. Every hour you delay after that? I’m going to make you pay.” He nibbles my earlobe. “Think about it, amore.” He cups my chin and kisses me, hard. “You need help packing, I’ll send some guys over. Just say the word. But this is happening.”

I blink up at him. Part of me wants to give in. What’s holding me back, anyway? But getting tangled up with Stefano feels way too scary. What happens when things go south? I won’t have my own place to live in. I’ll be out of a job.

He rubs my clit and tugs my nipple in time together and I spread my knees wider, needing more now. I reach for the bulge in his pants and squeeze.

Stefano works the button of my jeans open and pulls me off the desk to shimmy my jeans and panties down below my butt. He presses a finger inside me, then a second. I squirm as he resumes his torture of my nipple, thrusting his digits at the same time. When he brings his thumb to my clit, I clutch his hand, trying to shove his fingers deeper.

He withdraws them and puts them in his mouth, tasting me.

I wait, panting. I’m sure he’s going to fuck me now. Pull his cock out and give it to me rough and hard, like he always does, but instead he gives my pussy a slap. “No orgasm for you, and don’t you dare try to give yourself one. This pussy belongs to me.”

A spike of white-hot anger zips through me. Yeah, redhead. I glare as I yank my pants up. “Fuck you, Tacone.”

“Hey.” He catches my arm. I register alarm on his face, regret even, but I don’t care. It’s probably just the sexual frustration, but I’m pissed. Ready to knee him in the balls again, pissed.

Although I wouldn’t do that to him again.

“Hey.” He matches my intensity, spinning me around and pinning my arms behind my back. He pushes my torso down over the desk and smacks my ass.

“Stefano,” I grit through my teeth.

He smacks me again. “Yes?”

“You’d better fuck me now or I will seriously never speak to you again.”

He doesn’t answer, but starts spanking me, hard and fast.

It’s exactly what I need, the sharp slaps matching my fire, meeting me, channeling my fury into something more sensual. More satisfying.

I struggle, not because I want to get away, but because he’s right; I like to be held captive. I like to know I can’t escape, to feel his strength, to surrender to his will, which I know will leave me satisfied.

He doesn’t stop—not until my ass burns, even with the protection of my jeans. A mixture of triumph and relief rushes through me when he finally releases my arms and works open the button of my jeans, the bulge of his cock pressed insistently against my ass.

Flutters bloom in my belly. Stefano shoves my pants and panties down a second time, then slaps me between the legs.

I groan. I don’t even register the smack as pain. It’s all a means to release, to satisfaction. “Please,” I mumble. I guess all my bluster is gone. I’m his now—all it took was a spanking. Or the knowing I’ll soon get what I need.

I hear the crinkle of foil as Stefano makes sure to protect me, and then he slams in all the way. I gasp at the sensation of being nearly split in two. Stefano shudders, staying buried in me. Whether it’s for me to adjust or for him, I can’t be sure. One thing I do know—when he starts, he’s going to bring it.

He grips my hips and, as expected, backs up and slams in hard again. The rhythm he sets is fast and brutal. My hands fly to the desk to brace myself, lift my face off the desk before I get hurt.

I sink into the experience, surrender completely lost in the waves of sensation that cascade through me. The phone flies off the desk. A notepad, my phone charger. I both need to come and don’t want it to end.

Stefano changes to quick up-thrusts, changing the angle to fill me even more.

I moan and whine, push my torso up so I’m leaning on my hands. I look over my shoulder at him, already sorry for my temper. Wanting to make sure he’s not mad.

He is. His jaw flexes, eyes are black and unforgiving. He catches my hair in his fist and pulls my mouth back to his, dragging his lips across mine. I kiss him back, eager to give now, wanting to speed his satisfaction so I get mine.

Need.

Must.

Please.

“Stefano,” I pant when he breaks the kiss.

“Tell me you’re moving in.” His guttural tones are hard, more a growl than words. His loins slam into my smarting ass with thrust after forceful thrust.

“Okay!” I surrender. “Yes, I’ll move in.”

“Now,” he demands. He’s totally pissed.

“Now, yes.”

Tears spike my eyes for a reason I can’t fully comprehend, but Stefano comes and he pinches my clit and a nipple at the same time so I come, too. I toss my head back on a strangled cry, my body bucking against his, pussy milking his cock for all it’s worth.

Stefano gentles, stroking a hand up and down my throat while still buried inside me. He kisses the side of my face and I turn away.

“I’m keeping my apartment,” I say, like I’m a child who has to win one small point.

Stefano pulls out and throws away the condom while I pull my pants back up and zip them. When he returns, he spins me around and cradles my head. He kisses me once, sensually, his lips gliding over mine.

“Okay. I get it. You need to know you have somewhere to go if this doesn’t pan out.” He watches my face closely and must see confirmation there, because he nods. “Fine. You do what you need to do. But if you think I don’t want to burn that fucking place to the ground, you’re delusional.”

My lip curls. “Why?” I demand.

“You lived there with your testa di cazzo ex. I don’t like you being there.”

I admit I’m surprised. Stefano hasn’t shown jealousy before. I figure he’s confident enough, he doesn’t have to worry. Maybe I read it wrong.

“It was my place before he lived there. I paid the rent. I cleaned. He was just an asshole who lived there for a while.”

“Okay.” Stefano still doesn’t sound happy, but he’s conceding. He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Are you okay?”

I give a wry smile. “Do you mean is my ass okay?”

“No, I mean us. Are we good?”

“Because you just railroaded me into what you want?”

He winces.

I inch closer to him, even though we’re standing toe to toe. “I don’t know. I feel a bit raw.”

He immediately wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. “Yeah, me too,” he whispers against my hair.

I lean into his strength, wondering how I became the biggest coward on the face of the Earth. Why do I have so many barriers up? What am I afraid of losing—my heart? My pride? Are they so damn important?

“You want me to help you pack?”

“Like you personally? Or you’ll send someone over?”

“Me personally. Me and you—packing your shit together.”

It sounds great, actually. A pain in the ass, but great. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He releases me from the hug to stroke my hair back from my face. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Stefano

I’m cheerful as hell packing Corey’s shit that afternoon. Yeah, I was an asshole about it and I feel bad, but I won. She’s giving something more of herself to me.

And yeah, I still know our relationship is complicated as hell considering who our fathers are, but I don’t want to worry about that now. All I care about is getting closer to Corey. Getting into her head. Having her near me at all times.

At four o’clock I get a text from Junior, my oldest brother.

Che due coglioni! I groan when I read it.

Corey twists from where she’s standing. “What is it?”

“My fucking brother.”

“What did Nico say?”

I growl and stuff my fingers through my hair. “Not Nico. Junior—the oldest stronzo. He says he’s bringing all the guys to Vegas this weekend for Nico’s bachelor party.”

Corey straightens. “I didn’t know Nico was having a bachelor party this weekend.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t,” I grumble.

Fucking Junior.

“Ah. It’s a surprise ambush.”

I flick a glance at her, surprised she gets it. “Exactly. And I’m supposed to set everything up.”

“This is the brother who tried to kill Nico when they were in Chicago?”

“Not tried,” I correct. Junior doesn’t try. He doesn’t fail. He gets done whatever the hell he wants to get done, just like our father. “Threatened.”

“I’m sorry,” she says simply. “Family sucks.”

“Understatement.” My family lives and breathes by La Famiglia. Blood is important. Only family can be trusted.

Supposedly.

And it was family money that funded the Bellissimo, helped Nico generate millions. But when you’re afraid for your life just because you want to marry the woman of your own choosing?

That’s just plain fucked up.

So Junior bringing everyone out for a bachelor party isn’t to help celebrate with Nico. It’s using him at best. They’ll turn the wedding into every form of business tactic they need it to be. PR for the family, greasing wheels, a deadline for people who owe them money.

Nico will be expected to perform like a trained monkey. Act the jovial host to everyone, make a stand when needed. He’ll take it fine. He’ll do his part. And so will I, of course.

Because really—what other choice do we have?