Bastiano Romano: A Standalone Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 4) by Parker S. Huntington (20)

Since I’d met him, I noticed three things about Bastiano Romano—all of them nothing but trouble.

Firstly, when I thought I finally knew him, understood some semblance of his motives, and could at last prepare myself against him, he’d pull the rug out from under me, and I’d be back at square one. Completely clueless. The worst part was, I wanted to know him for reasons I loathed to admit went beyond the call of duty.

Secondly, he answered to no one but himself. Asher may have owned this restaurant, but for reasons I refused to admit, the staff responded to, respected, and admired Bastian. He was horrible to deal with, yet for the most part, he treated his employees quite fairly and successfully ran one of the most impressive restaurants and bars in the world. Still, the fact that he was always in control of everyone and himself disconcerted me at best.

Thirdly, Bastiano knew how attractive he was, and he used it like it was another weapon in his already impressive arsenal. I rarely saw Bastian at the bar side of L’Oscurità, but when I did, our eyes always found one another’s, and his smoldered, searing through me and invading my space like knock-off T-shirt vendors outside a Lakers game.

But despite the fact that I’d rarely seen him lately, I felt him. I felt him when I tutored Tessie in the break room, and she stared keenly at me with eyes identical to her brother’s. I felt him when he stepped into the room, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up like a dog raising its hackles. And I certainly felt him each time I hauled hundreds of pounds of ice from the basement, thanks to the right-side shift I should have never been assigned.

I should have cashed in my pick of shifts I’d won from my bet with Bastian, but I was just thankful he’d chosen to drop the questions on how I knew about Emily. So, I lifted my last load of ice for the night, dropping it almost instantly as my back gave out.

I leaned my head forward, pressing it against the wall. “Fuck my life.”

“There’s that can-do attitude.” Bastian’s presence flooded the room.

I forced myself not to groan. In this moment, I felt weak. Physically but also mentally. The last person who needed to see me weak was Bastiano Romano.

I kept my head facing the wall. “I know this is normal for us—you push, and I pull, or whatever—but can you not, Mr. Romano? Just for today. Because I can’t. I just can’t.” My shoulders and back ached, and my legs were struggling to hold my bodyweight as it was. He’d already taunted me yesterday, and if he poked the bear right now, I swore I’d bite him.

He took a step closer. “Bastian.”

“What?”

“Call me Bastian.”

I kept my forehead pressed against the wall, not daring to risk a glance at Bastian. The electric tension that swam between us whenever we were near each other was nothing short of dangerous. “What is this?”

My brows pressed together as I tried and failed to decipher his tone. It didn’t have the bite he usually reserved for me. Did he feel guilty seeing me like this? I doubted it. The man was colder than an ice cube frozen in an igloo in the South Pole.

He continued his approach. “Maybe I feel a little bad.”

“What happened to—” I deepened my voice and mocked, “‘this conversation changes nothing?’”

“It didn’t.”

His voice was closer, and still, I didn’t turn. I probably should have—having a conversation with him while staring at a wall reached a level most would consider weird—but I couldn’t.

He continued, no trace of mocking in his tone even though I knew he was mocking me, “I was human when I said that, and I’m human now. Humans tend to help when they see another in peril.”

Disbelief ransacked my frame, and I let loose a huge laugh. “Help? You put me in this situation. How are you going to help?”

I shuddered when the tip of his fingers brushed my neck, but I didn’t pull away. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he gathered my hair and repositioned it to the side, exposing my neck. His thumb brushed along the slender nape once, twice, and a third time—harder. I held back a moan, my mind reeling and my breaths shaking.

His hands shifted over my shoulder.

No way.

He was massaging me.

Bastiano Romano—of the freakin' Romano crime syndicate—was massaging me.

I leaned into his touch as his hands trailed down my back. I’d thought I couldn’t afford the four-hundred-dollar-an-hour massage Jenn had suggested, but this… This felt even more out of my means.

I didn’t stop him, but I should have. Each day I stayed here tugged me deeper under the spell of this cover. This had never happened before. Sure, some covers changed little pieces of me, but none of them had possessed me before. I’d never lost myself in an assignment. Maybe it was the people—Bastian and Tessie—or maybe it was the fact that I was my own cover. This was me I lost myself in.

Okay, maybe it was a little Bastian, too.

One hand gripped my waist, holding me still as he pressed harder into a knot below my shoulder. My front teeth dug into my lower lip, refusing to show him how good this felt. His hand splayed out across my waist, the sheer size of it consuming my skin as his other hand worked on my knots.

My eyes pressed shut, and I caved. I balled my hands up.

“Harder.”

The plea slipped out like powdered sugar passing through a sieve, my broken clumps spreading into tiny little pieces before they fell to the floor beside my resolve. I did not just beg that. Except I did, and I couldn’t take it back, so I tried to keep quiet as he continued.

He stopped entirely before he started up again, harder this time, giving me what I refused to admit I wanted. His breath fanned the exposed skin of my neck, and I dug my nails into my thighs until little crescent grooves formed on the flesh.

“Bastian, this isn't a good idea.”

My body defied my words, meeting his fingertips, begging for more. I dropped my neck to the side, and he slid his palm along my shoulder and up the nape, caressing it. If I closed my eyes and let myself forget about everything—forget about where we were, who we were, and the hate we shared for one another—I could have convinced myself that we were lovers, fogging up the tiny room with our lust.

And fuck, it felt so good. I'd never had vices before, but I imagined fighting them felt like this, and giving in...

It’ll feel better, that lurching in my stomach whispered.

She’s right, my heart agreed.

Truth was, I needed this. My back ached. My feet hurt. No amount of physical activity at the bureau prepared me for hauling hundreds of pounds of ice and vodka up and down the stairs all day long.

That's definitely why you haven't moved, I rationalized before I hesitated, reached up, and lowered the straps of my dress. The fabric dropped, and I caught it before it fell past my waist. I gathered the top of the dress together and held it bunched against my stomach, my bare breasts pushed against the wall. The coarse texture drew my nipples into hard peaks that demanded attention, but I ignored them like I ignored rational thoughts.

I faltered for an explanation before fumbling out, “It feels better skin-to-skin.”

Really, no explanation existed to justify this. Body aches could be eased by a hot bath, not a private topless massage from someone affiliated with one of the city’s most dangerous crime families. And the prick who put me in this situation in the first place.

Bastian muttered something under his breath, a cross between a groan and a swear, but his hands returned to my bare back as he leaned down to whisper into my ear. “Tell me to stop.”

Stop?

How could I?

I wanted this. I wanted him. Rationally, I knew I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I had a responsibility to fulfill, an oath I'd sworn to uphold, and nothing about this situation possessed an ounce of the integrity I'd once prided myself in.

But maybe if I gave in just one time, I could shed myself of the desire scratching at my throat and get on with this legend without falling apart. I latched onto that poor logic like it would absolve me of my sins and leaned against Bastian’s touch.

"Don't stop," I begged.

His fingers paused against my skin, and I arched my head back, seeking his eyes. They looked torn—so unlike his normal cocky, self-assured attitude—before his eyes met mine and narrowed with lust. He reached out and guided my head until my cheek rested flat against the wall.

My fingers pressed against the brick, failing to hold onto something as his fingers slid down my back, dragging the dress’ fabric with them until it laid pooled around my ankles. The wait pained me as he trailed kisses from my neck to my spine, his hands following his lips’ descent down my body.

“Spread your legs wider.” The gruffness of his voice scratched at my insides, churning lust in dizzying circles, and I knew, if he were to reach around me and slide his fingers into my panties, I’d be wet and ready for him.

Fucking hell.

I obeyed his command, and his hands rewarded me by tearing at the bottom of my panties until they hung open, not a care in the world that I would either have to work in ripped panties or without any at all. The opened-mouthed kiss he pressed to my ass cheek preceded the bite he gave me, his teeth sinking down on my flesh until pain sent jolts of lust straight to my clit.

I shifted, agitated, needing more but unable to bring myself to ask for it. A smack! echoed in the room, and it took me a moment to process what had happened.

He’d slapped my pussy from behind, light but firm against my swollen clit. “Stop moving. Palms flat against the wall.”

I placed them against the brick, but I couldn't stop my movements as he leaned forward and licked a trail down my slit from behind. His hands gripped my hips on either side when I jerked forward. He kept me still as his tongue slipped past my lips, skating across my clit.

“What?” I faltered as he stood.

I’d convinced myself I didn’t want this, but now that he’d begun, I couldn’t fathom stopping. Ever. Instead of leaving, Bastian ignored my question and yanked my panties until they tore at my hips, leaving angry red marks on my sides. Then, he stood, grabbed each of my hands, bunched them together behind my back, and bound them tightly together with my panties.

“When I say stop moving, you stop fucking moving. Got it?”

Holy fuck.

This man could ruin me.

If anything, his words forced more wetness to escape my lips. I couldn’t even hate myself for this, because I’d tried, damn it. I tried to hate him. I tried to force into myself that bone-deep, soul-consuming, will-crushing hatred that usually came easily when it came to my marks, but with Bastian, it never stuck.

The cocky attitude and demanding behavior only made me want him more. I’d met a litany of men who knew what they wanted, but I’d never met a man who could actually take it. That take-no-shit dominance drew me in like bait on the tip of a fishing rod, and that man I’d connected with and almost kissed when I was supposed to be spying on his family? That was the side of him I wanted to hold me… after the side of him who forced me to serve him in front of a crowd fucked me harder than I’d ever been fucked.

I had issues.

“Got it?” he repeated, his body pressing me against the wall, his hard cock digging into my back.

“Yes.” My moaned words parted my lips and he slid two fingers in my mouth before he returned them to my bare ass.

He tested me by reaching between us and stroking a slick finger against my slit. I didn’t move. His finger shifted to my clit, and he flicked it. The sharp pain nearly sent me forward, but I dug my nails into my palms and forced myself to stay still. I could almost feel his satisfaction unfurling.

“Good girl,” he praised.

The tip of his nose traced a path down my neck to my shoulder before he bit down. Hard. Moving his hand back, he slid his thumb into my pussy, gathering my wetness, before he pushed it between my ass cheeks. I stiffened, unused to the sensation as he used my own wetness to tease my backside.

“Never been touched here? You innocent little thing.” His condescending tone should have pissed me off. Instead, it fueled my lust, and I needed the hate-fuck he all but promised me each time he provoked me.

He leaned down, plucked a melted ice cube from the bucket of ice, and slid it up my ass, the tip of his finger with it. I screamed out, shocked by the cold and his roughness, clinging onto him for strength.

He slid his finger deeper. “Are you on the pill?”

Oh, God.

This was happening.

Holy fuck.

I could hear the zipper of his pants lower, and I relinquished all semblance of control I had. My heat melted the ice cube, and he used the wetness to slide his finger in and out, adding another finger until I gasped at the fullness. My hands jerked, fighting the restraints, begging to touch him, until my lust ripped the panties binding my wrists. They fell to the floor in tattered scraps like scattered evidence in a crime scene.

I didn’t allow myself to question this.

Bastian slapped my clit again when I didn’t answer, his voice rougher and impatient as he repeated, “Are you on the pill?”

“Yes!” The words struggled to squeeze past my lips as I panted and rubbed my clit against his fingers.

His free hand latched onto my hair, and he used it to pull my head back until I stared him in the eyes. “I’m going to fuck your tight little pussy raw until you come on my cock.” His thumb returned to my backside, and he teased my entrance. “And then, I’ll fuck you harder, and when I come, I’m going to pull out and leave a trail of my cum from your pussy…” He pushed the tip of his thumb into me. “…to your ass.” His harsh laugh filled the air when I cried out. “Who knew you’d be so needy?”

“Fuck you.” I tilted my head to the side and nipped at the hand holding my long locks back.

He hissed out and tightened his grip on my hair. “You are so goddamned difficult. You know that?”

“Shut up and fuck me already.” The more we talked, the more time I had to convince myself that I shouldn’t do this.

And hell, I wanted to do this.

My taunt broke his little restraint. He spun me around until I faced him. My eyes dipped down, taking in his erection. He’d unzipped his pants and lowered his black boxer briefs. His piercing glared at me from the tip of his long, thick cock before each of his palms met my shoulders, and he guided me down.

I let him, taking my time to lower myself to my knees. “What are you doing?”

“You’re going to thank me for massaging you.” He stroked himself, running his fist up and down his length.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Placing his free hand on the back of my head, he guided himself to my lips and traced them with the head of his cock.

“You’re the reason I needed a massage in the first place.” My tongue brushed his piercing as I spoke. I arched a brow, nodded at the buckets of ice behind him, and taunted, “The ice is melting. Are we doing this or what?”

“Open.” He groaned out when I took him into my mouth and squeezed my arm as I reached down to play with myself. “Stop.”

“What?” I tried to ask around him as he thrust into my mouth.

His piercing hit the back of my throat. My nails clawed a path down his pressed slacks as I struggled to keep up with his pace. He ran his fingers through my hair and yanked a little, tilting my head so our eyes met as he spoke.

“Right now, your pussy is mine, and you don’t touch what’s mine unless I tell you to.” He arched a brow, daring me to argue with him. Almost like he wanted me to fight him. Truth was, our fights fueled our lust, drove us straight off a cliff, into this unknown territory that frightened me and clouded my rationality.

He pulled out and pushed back in, his movements rough and jerky, like he couldn’t wait to slide back into my mouth. This attraction between us had grown into a boulder I couldn’t stop, and I knew I should have stopped this.

Sleeping with people while undercover happened. It came with the territory. But this? I couldn’t control myself if I tried, and that was dangerous. I had a job to do, and if this snowballed any further, the bureau would lose this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take down the Romano syndicate.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Bastian pulled out of my mouth, stroked himself once, and let go. His cock smacked my face, jerking me out of my thoughts.

I peeked up at him past my lashes with furious eyes. “What the hell?”

He looked unapologetic as he ran his hand up his length and toyed with his piercing. “You were distracted.”

“So, you spanked me with your cock…”

“Yes.”

“You don’t apologize for anything, do you?”

“I hear an awful lot of talking and very little fucking.”

My god, he was such an bastard. It escaped me why I still wanted him. Time and time again, he gave me reasons to run the other way, and still… I remained fixed to the floor, my legs like stubborn roots, unable to move. Transfixed by a man who could snap my neck with a twist of his wrists and leave the mess for his family to clean up.

I stood and met him face-to-face. “You don’t need to be an asshole.”

“I’m not an asshole. I take what I want, and you dislike it. There’s a difference.”

“You’re in denial if you don’t think you’re an asshole.”

“Call me an asshole again, and I’ll have to fuck yours.”

I reached up on my tip toes, leaned forward, and whispered, my lips brushing his with each syllable, “Ass. Hole.”

He placed his palms on each side of my head and kissed me, backing me into the wall. His tongue slipped past my lips, deepening the kiss as he stroked the roof of my mouth and ground his cock into me.

“So. Damn. Needy.” His lips didn’t leave mine as he spoke. He lowered his hand to my pussy, gathered my wetness, brought it up to my face, and smeared a line down my cheek. Amusement danced in his eyes as he pulled back. “The evidence is spread across your cheek. You can call me an asshole all you want, but you and I both know you want me. So, what does that make you?”

I opened my mouth to answer, floundering for something to say. This wasn’t a game. Life wasn’t a game. But being near Bastian felt like a round of wins and losses, and him? He was always the victor.

Standing to face him, I took a step to him, but he met it, leading me back into the wall. His hand slid to my pussy, and he dipped his fingers past my folds. I should have been embarrassed by how easily his fingers slid in. I should have been a lot of things, none of which included riding his fingers like he was a wild horse.

I leaned my head back as he twisted his fingers and added a third finger. The door to the hallway creaked open, and I swung my head to the curved stairwell. Bastian didn’t bother covering himself as footsteps descended, but my mouth dropped a bit as I tried to reorient myself with Bastian’s fingers still inside me.

“Ariana?” Dana’s voice flooded the room as Bastian added a fourth finger.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-shouted, but he didn’t stop, and I didn’t stop him. If anything, my hips met his thrust and begged for more.

“Ariana?” Dana repeated, her voice more irritated.

Bastian’s palm met my clit as his fingers slid in and out of me. His other hand covered my mouth when I moaned out his name, my body not caring that Dana stood at the top of the stairs, separated only by the thin drywall that ended at the bend. All she had to do was walk half a flight, and she’d see him finger fucking me.

He bit down on my neck, then flicked his tongue out, and I knew he’d leave a mark. Inside. Outside. Everywhere. If anything, I think he enjoyed the audience. His ex-girlfriend, no less. He was fucked up, and I was fucked up for loving it.

Dana huffed out a breath I heard from all the way down here. “I know you’re in here, Ariana. I’ll tell Bastian you’re taking a break down there.”

Bastian laughed against my throat. My skin muffled his mirth as he ground his cock against my belly. I reached forward and stroked him. My hand glided up and down easily, the skin still slick from my spit.

His mouth met mine, and his tongue flicked the roof of my mouth as he thrust into my hand. He pushed my palm away, removed his fingers from my soaking pussy, and slid inside me, hard and fast and bare.

No words.

No warning.

Nothing held back.

My eyes widened, my breath hitched, and I nearly screamed in surprise as I came around his cock within his first thrust.

Pounding into me harder, he bit my earlobe and murmured, “You may think you hate me, but your body hasn’t gotten the message. It wants to be mine. It thinks it’s mine.”

“Hello? Are you down there? You know how hard it is to walk these steep stairs in heels!” I filed Dana’s complaints under the Things I Give No Fucks About tab.

Bastian’s piercing hit my G-spot just right. I cried out, unable to hold it in. I had half a second to process his smirk before he pulled out, leaving me empty as my core spasmed, and I almost fell to my knees. He waited until I lost my footing to catch me.

“What was that?” Dana took her first step down the stairs.

The click! clack! of her heels sped my pulse.

“Nothing!” I faltered for an excuse as Bastian held me up while I rode my orgasm out, feeling so empty without him in me as I clutched his shoulders for dear life. And damn, he looked like he knew it, too. “I s-slipped and spilled ice everywhere. Just c-cleaning up the mess!”

Did that even qualify as sex? He’d made me come and pulled out midway, staring at me like the control he had over my body amused him more than finishing off would. He wanted me to want him back inside me. It felt like a power play above all else, and as much as I wanted to hate him for it, I’d never felt more liberated in my life.

I leaned against the wall and slid down, trying to catch my breath. Bastian’s eyes dipped to the way my breasts heaved. He rubbed himself, his movements unapologetic. Jets of cum shot out of him without any warning.

My eyes widened when I realized he was aiming at my face or hair—that jerk. I leaned forward in a hurry, connecting my mouth with his cock, and taking all his cum, much to his amusement, like he’d planned it this way all along.

He pulled back and parted my lips with his thumb. His cum pooled in my mouth pushed to the edges of my lips, nearly spilling past my lower lip.

“Swallow,” he ordered, his voice low. Barely a whisper.

My glare spoke of refusal, but my mouth closed, and I swallowed. Didn’t even think twice until Dana’s second footstep shot me into action. I pulled up my dress straps and discarded my ripped panties. Bastian pried them from my fingers before I could toss them and rubbed the lace on his cock, drying himself, then pocketing my panties when I tried to retrieve them.

“I’m taking a break,” I finally shouted up to Dana. I figured I couldn’t get in trouble for it, considering my boss stood in front of me, tucking himself back into his pants while the taste of him lingered on my tongue.

“Where’s the ice? It’s getting crowded.” Dana sounded pissed but also satisfied. Like she took joy in my failures. “I’ll have to write this up.” Fucking delusional. She held no authority. The most she could do was report this to Bastian, and well…

I shifted my eyes to him, took in his mirth, rolled my eyes, and shouted, “The machine’s messed up, and I have most of the spill cleaned! It’ll be a minute.”

“Fine.”

Her footsteps halted, and I closed my eyes and sagged against the wall. The relief swept up my back as I listened to her retreat. When the door slammed shut, I straightened up and faced Bastian, who looked so unaffected, it riled me.

The pain in my back flared as the adrenaline and lust cleared. I rubbed at the base of my spine, ignoring the pounding of my heart as Bastian’s eyes drifted to my hand, and his brows furrowed. It couldn’t be concern I saw. Probably amusement at the pain he’d caused.

I swiped a finger at my lips. “I’m gonna go, um, to the restroom. I’ll get the ice in a bit. Promise.”

I strode away before he could answer, not making eye contact with him as the ramifications of what we’d just done punched me in my gut. The gut filled with Bastian’s cum of all things.

Almost kissing was one thing.

Blowing him in the bar’s cellar? Worse.

Liking it? Unbelievable.

Bastian’s eyes burned my back, and he muttered, “Fucking hell, I need a drink.”

You and me both, Bastian.

But not together.

Definitely not together.