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Luca glared at me from beneath his dark eyelashes. “I don’t answer to you.”
“Then don’t expect me to answer to you.”
He crossed the room, avoiding my gaze. “Where I was last night is none of your business.”
“Were you with another woman?”
There was no answer, only a nasty scowl.
Even though I wanted to look away from him, I held his gaze. “I hate you.”
His cell phone rang. The obnoxious sound blared throughout the room. He raised it to his ear without glancing at me and muttered a few words in Italian. Then he left the room as if I didn’t exist.
On Thursday night,Marcello ate dinner with me at the table on my balcony. We had steak and lobster, eating mostly in silence. I liked that about him. The silence was oddly comforting.
He could walk on his own now and was healing nicely. If I tried to baby him, he gave me a warning look. So, I stopped pressing him to get rest and take care of himself. His number one priority lately seemed to be me.
After dinner, he cleaned up after us and left my bedroom with our trays. He usually handed them off to someone else, then sat in the chair beside the window, drinking while I sketched new designs for my next exhibition. We fell into a comfortablebut strange pattern. But I slid off the bed when he didn’t return, abandoning my latest sketch.
He’d been gone for a while, and after seeing his spy shed, I wondered if other secrets were hidden in the house. I cracked open the door and poked my head into the hallway lit by sconces. Dom wasn’t on duty tonight. It was just Marcello and me on this floor. So I stepped into the hall and headed left, checking for cameras as I tiptoed toward the back stairwell.
I turned doorknobs as I crept down the corridor, most of which were locked. The last door on my left opened without issue. My heart pounded as I pushed on the wood and heard loud moaning.
Not what I had expected.
I leaned against the frame, peeking into the dark room. Skin slapped together. A woman cried out in pain. Someone grunted. Then, a groan ripped from a man’s mouth.
“Harder,” the woman moaned.
Another slap.
Then another.
Was it Luca?
Anger surged through me, sending a ripple of heat down my arms. We’d never committed to each other. He was free to do as he pleased, but I fucking hated him and his double standards.
As I stood in the doorway, my nipples pebbled. Liquid heat pooled between my legs with each moan and scream. Even though I couldn’t see them clearly, the sounds alone were enough to spark something inside me.
What the hell was wrong with me?
A hand snaked around my middle, and another covered my mouth. “Shhh,” he whispered against the shell of my ear.
I leaned back against his muscular chest and felt his hard cock digging into my ass. His hand slid up my stomach and over my breasts. Slow and steady, he took his sweet ass timeexploring my body. My skin heated from his touch, like it was about to catch fire.
His hand dipped beneath my silky pajama top. More moans filled the quiet air. My own slipped from my throat as he rolled his thumb over the aching bud. The woman inside the room screamed, snapping my attention back to her. She whined, her words muffled as she attempted to speak.
Breathing hard, I pressed my palm to the wall before me. A rough hand slid down my stomach and over the front of my shorts. My nipples stiffened against the fabric, painfully sore as he rubbed my clit. I grabbed his hand and shoved my shorts and panties to the side.
His tongue glided across the back of my neck, his teeth grazing my hot flesh as he plunged two fingers inside me. I moaned against his hand. He fucked me harder with his fingers. Rocking my hips to meet each of his thrusts, he stretched me out, rubbing against my inner walls.
I licked his hand, and he groaned in my ear. He liked it. So I did it again, tasting his skin.
Heat spread down my arms, igniting a fire and bringing me back to life. I closed my eyes and listened to the moans and groans in the room, riding out my high as I came on his fingers. Out of breath and desperate for air, I tugged on his hand. He lowered his hand to my hip. Both of us struggled to catch our breath.
I stared at the wall, wondering if I should acknowledge what we did. What difference did it make? We were both consenting adults.
“Marcello,” I whispered.